“An incomplete pencil, you say?” Detective Chen raised his eyebrows, examining the broken writing instrument on his desk. “And this is our only lead in the embassy cipher case?”
Agent Liu nodded gravely. “Found it in Ambassador Wang’s study after the documents went missing. The strange thing is - it’s broken exactly in half.”
The detective’s office, bathed in the amber glow of a desk lamp, seemed to shrink around them as Chen leaned forward. “Not broken, Agent Liu. Cut. With surgical precision.”
“You noticed too?” Liu smiled thinly. “Our lab confirms it was done with a laser cutter. Only three people in Beijing have access to such equipment.”
Chen picked up the pencil half, turning it in the light. “Curious that our thief would leave such a specific calling card. Unless…”
“Unless it wasn’t meant as a signature, but a message,” a melodious voice completed his thought. Both men turned to see Ms. Song, the embassy’s cryptographer, standing in the doorway.
“Ah, Ms. Song. Please, join us,” Chen gestured to an empty chair. “I understand you were the last person to see the ambassador before the theft.”
She sat down, smoothing her grey skirt. “Indeed. We were discussing the new diplomatic codes. He seemed… distracted.”
“Distracted enough to miss someone breaking into his safe?” Liu’s tone carried an edge.
“The ambassador is many things, Agent Liu, but careless isn’t one of them,” she replied coolly. “Though lately, he’s been receiving strange phone calls. Always at exactly 2:47 PM.”
Chen’s eyes narrowed. “The same time the documents disappeared. Ms. Song, may I see your pencil case?”
She handed over an elegant leather case. Inside, several perfectly sharpened pencils lay in neat rows. All except one space - empty.
“How interesting,” Chen mused, placing the broken half beside her pencils. A perfect match.
“I can explain,” Ms. Song said calmly. “The ambassador himself asked me to cut it. Said it was part of an old code system - splitting a message-bearing pencil between parties.”
Liu leaped up. “Then you admit to being involved!”
“On the contrary,” Chen interjected, “Ms. Song just helped us solve the case. The ambassador didn’t lose any documents - he’s been feeding false information to a mole. The broken pencil was his way of signaling us.”
“But who’s the mole?” Liu demanded.
Right on cue, hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. Ambassador Wang entered, holding another half-pencil. Behind him, security officers escorted a handcuffed man - the embassy’s janitor.
“Well done, Detective Chen,” the ambassador nodded. “Our friend here has been photographing my ‘classified’ documents for months. All carefully crafted misinformation, of course.”
Ms. Song smiled. “The oldest trick in the cryptographer’s handbook - using a broken pencil as a recognition signal. Each half containing microscopic authenticity marks.”
“A masterful plan,” Chen concluded. “Though I must admit, Ambassador, you had us all quite worried.”
“The best operations always do,” Wang chuckled. “Now, shall we discuss this over tea? I believe Ms. Song makes an excellent jasmine blend.”
As they gathered around the detective’s desk, the incomplete pencil lay forgotten - its mission complete, its message delivered, its mystery solved in true Christie fashion.