The Lost Teeth Office Takes the Case

The Lost Teeth Office is at the very end of the bottom corridor at No. 1 Enamel Way, just past the broom cupboard. It has a frosted glass door, a squeaky chair, and a filing cabinet with drawers labelled in neat handwriting.

Down the Plughole. Behind the Sofa. Lost at the Park. Swallowed, which is perfectly fine and happens all the time. And at the very bottom, a drawer that just said: Mysteries.

This was the office of Officer Thimble, who was small and serious and wore a long coat with the collar turned up. Her partner was a glow-worm called Lumen. Lumen was the torch. He glowed brighter when he was excited and dimmer when he was sleepy, and he was very nearly always excited.

At nine o'clock a card came through the slot, and Thimble read it out loud. "Case LT-0611. Tooth lost at school, during lunch. Last seen near a cheese sandwich. Owner: Sami, aged six, Class Two."

She picked up her magnifying glass, which was bigger than her head. "Lumen," she said. "Coat on. We have a Mystery."

The school was dark and empty, and it smelled of glue sticks and oranges. Somewhere a radiator ticked. Lumen glowed a little brighter, partly for light and partly for courage. They started in the dinner hall, under table three, where the cheese sandwich had been eaten.

The floor had been mopped so shiny that Thimble could see her own reflection looking back at her, also holding a magnifying glass. There were no crumbs. There was no tooth. There was one pea, which had rolled under the radiator and was hoping not to be noticed.

Next they searched the coat pegs. Inside a red welly boot they found a blue marble. Inside a green welly boot they found half a raisin. Inside a yellow welly boot they found a very surprised woodlouse, who said sorry and went back to sleep.

Then they questioned the class goldfish, whose name was Captain Bubbles. "Have you seen a tooth?" asked Thimble. "Bloop," said Captain Bubbles. Lumen did not speak Goldfish, but he nodded as if he did. "He says he's been very busy swimming round in circles," Lumen whispered, and Thimble wrote that down.

Last of all they searched the sandpit. They found a plastic dinosaur, a hair bobble and a spoon that nobody could explain. But no tooth. Thimble sat down on the edge of the sandpit and put her chin in her hands, and Lumen's glow went soft and worried.

Then Thimble remembered the words painted above her own office door. She had walked under them every night for years. We Count the Gap. She stood up so fast that her collar flopped down.

"Lumen," she said, "it doesn't matter where the tooth went. The tooth came out. There's a gap. And a gap is proof." Lumen blazed so brightly that the whole sandpit lit up like a summer afternoon.

They flew straight to Sami's house. Under his pillow was a folded paper in careful pencil. It was a Lost Tooth Affidavit, which is a grown-up word for a promise. I promise my tooth came out at lunch, it said. I looked everywhere, and I looked in my sandwich twice.

Officer Thimble read it under her magnifying glass. She took out her stamp and pressed it down. Gap verified. Claim approved. She left a shiny coin under the pillow, and on the way back she dropped the marble, the dinosaur, the bobble and the spoon into the school's lost property box, where they belonged.

Back at the Lost Teeth Office, Thimble filed the case in the top drawer, which is labelled Closed, Happily. She hung up her long coat and sat down in her squeaky chair, and it squeaked, softly, once.

On the desk, Lumen was getting sleepier. His glow went from bright to warm, and from warm to soft, and from soft to the tiniest glimmer. And then the office was dark except for the moon in the window, and both of them were fast asleep.