He pulled into a parking space opposite Turnham Green tube station and walked briskly into the entrance of the station and sat down in the cafe. He took ten minutes to finish his mug of tea and looked at his watch — six o’clock, time to go. He put on a jacket and baseball cap that he had in his backpack and strolled out of the station ready for his last contract.

There had not been a lot of time for preparation, it seemed like this was a rush job. He knew that Broadbent arrived home, at 6.30 p.m., almost to the minute, every evening and that he lived alone. There was a housekeeper, and even though her hours were irregular, she never seemed to stay later than four o’clock.

There was only time for him to do one check of the house, but he was fairly sure that there wouldn’t be any problems as the old man would be alone. Luckily for him, the house next door was vacant. It had a “For Sale” sign prominently displayed in the front garden. When he went there, he posed as a prospective buyer by taking photographs of the house and garden. There was nobody about, but there could have been someone watching from one of the houses across the street.

Bedford Park, London's first garden suburb, built in the late 19th century, consisted of large, attractive detached and semi-detached houses on tree-lined streets. It was an affluent area and nobody walked around the streets after dark. If anyone was coming or going, they would be in their fancy cars. It was still light when he arrived at the house that was for sale. He pretended to take photographs of the street as a way of checking that there was nobody around. He was satisfied he wasn’t being observed and walked quickly to the back garden of the vacant house. 

His plan was to be in Broadbent’s house before he arrived home. He’d seen that the locks on the conservatory doors were Brockworthy's and wouldn't be too difficult to pick, and even if he couldn’t get them open, he could smash one of the small panes of glass and force the doors.

He had originally thought of checking out the inside of the house the previous day by posing as a member of the anti-terrorist squad but dismissed the idea as being too risky and unnecessary. The old man was alone in the house; this would be one of his easiest contracts.

He pulled on pair of white overalls that he got from his backpack, then he sat down on a bench and changed his shoes. He put a size 12 boot on his right foot and a size 10 trainer on his left foot. That should puzzle them, he thought.

A seven foot hawthorn hedge separated the gardens, but it was no barrier for him. He had brought with him a pair of small lopers. He also had a pair of wire-cutters to cut through the fence on the other side of the hedge.

After he scrambled through the hedge, he reached the conservatory and, just as he thought, the lock on one of the doors was not too difficult to pick. He was inside. The door leading from the conservatory to the house was ajar, but as soon was he walked through it, he was surprised by the loud barks of a dog. Something he hadn’t anticipated.

He heard the sound of paws running down some stairs. In a panic, he ran into the kitchen, opened the fridge hoping to find something that a large dog would find tasty. He needn’t have worried as the dog was a lot smaller than its bark indicated, but he needed to keep it quiet so he tossed the dog a lump of cheese.

He walked back to the conservatory and saw that there was a doggie-door leading to the garden. He was getting careless, he should have noticed that earlier.

He glanced at his watch — 6:20, the old man will be home soon. He grabbed his backpack and took out a knife from a side-pocket. He was shocked when he heard a voice behind him.

“Hello. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow? You're not going to paint the kitchen tonight, are you?” 

He dropped the knife and slowly turned around to see Sir Jonathan smiling at him. The old boy had come home early.

“Err, no, I’m just dropping off the paint. I didn’t expect you home so early,” he said, gradually regaining his composure. 

“I had to get a taxi from Acton. I dozed off and missed my stop, I didn’t know the way back from there. I must be getting old. When did Mrs. McGregor leave?”

“Just a little while ago,” he said, grateful for the mistaken identity.

The dog began barking again.

“Oh, you’ve locked Mimi in the conservatory. I was wondering why she didn’t greet me when I got home.”

He followed Sir Jonathan into the conservatory and completed his last contract.

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He waited until it got dark before leaving. He attached Mimi’s lead to her collar and made his way to the garden next-door. After taking off his overalls and changing his shoes, he walked out with Mimi. A man slowly walking his dog in Bedford Park, what could look less suspicious!