The Rainy Day

Wrapped in a heavy overcoat and scarf with a wide-brimmed hat perched upon his head, George made his way out of the depressing drizzle and into the bright, artificially lit subway.
His black boots pounded against the stairs and squeaked as he strode across the empty platform. As he shook the water droplets from his coat, he smiled. He knew exactly what he was looking for and it wouldn't take him a minute to find it.
George thought back to earlier that day, when the client had stumbled into his office. The man had been wearing an expensive-looking suit and chattered nervously with him for a moment before getting to the point.
“I've lost something.”
George raised an eyebrow, vaguely interested. “Oh?”
“It's, well,” the man's eyes darted about the room, “it's my engagement ring.”
“Oh.” George slumped back in his chair, disappointed. A lost ring wasn't what he would call a thrilling case. “So,” George continued reluctantly, “what do you want me to do about it?”
The man turned red at this and a thin, blue vein became visible just above his left eye. “Well, find it of course! Isn't that your job?”
George looked away and sighed. “Fine. Where did you last have it?”
“The train, I think. Or was it the street outside the station? Oh, I don't know!” he shouted and pulled a mobile phone from his pocket. “Look, you just go to the subway station down the road and have a search for it. I'm too busy to be dealing with this.”
“Aren't you interested in the price?”
“Excuse me?”
“The price,” George repeated, “this is going to cost you.”
“Money isn't an issue. I'll give you the money you want when you return with the ring, understand?” With that, the man dialed a number and, putting the phone to his ear, walked out the door.
So George had gone to look for the ring.
He had wondered at first why a man as well-off as his client had no just bought a new one, but the answer had been obvious. It must be a family heirloom, and so irreplaceable.
George's smile widened. If there was another private investigator in London as clever as he, then he had yet to meet them.
He had deduced from the client's behaviour that the ring must have been dropped in the subway itself – he hadn't seemed half as confident about it being outside. George supposed it was in the man's subconscious memory, or something like that, so he emembered where the ring was but didn't know it.
He leaned on the side of the escalator as it carried him. He couldn't wait to get the payment for a job as easy as this. He could buy a new umbrella. George may have been the smartest Private Investigator in London, but he was still poor.
He blinked as something glinted at the bottom of the escalator, like a small light flashing. But it was no light. Caught on the last step, stopped from rolling into the machanics only by its size, was the diamond engagement ring.
George laughed as he scooped it up, then turned and headed back. That was even easier than he had thought.
As he reached his office door, he hesitated. Normally, he would wander for a while to increase the cost of his time, but the drizzle was so pervasive today that he decided to go straight inside.
He pushed the door to his office, and small flat, open. A gasp left him as he saw the chaos inside.
Desk overturned, crystal ball gone from the mantlepiece, gold cigarette case missing. His eyes darted. Antique clock, famous autograph, silver birdcage, emergency money. All of it was gone.
George clenched his hands into fists until the ring bit into his flesh. He had been tricked – he! The smartest P.I. In London, burgled!
George raised his arm, about to hurl the ring at the ground in fury. Then he stopped anda small smile curved his lips. The ring. Of course, it must have been worth at least £3000. He examined it with glee, but as he did the smile faded. The 'diamond' was just glass, the band cheap copper. It wasn't worth much, £10 at most.
George let out a sob as he slumped into his chair. He had been too confident – not in himself, but in his client. And it had cost him dearly.