After he’d worked at my company for about three months, I began to suspect James Müller of something. I didn’t even know what at first, but there was something suspicious about him.

The fileroom incident is probably what really aroused my suspicions. I’d walked out of my office, up on the fourth floor, during lunch and headed toward the fileroom to pick up some documents I had filed away.

I collided with Müller as I opened the door, scattering papers everywhere.

“Oh!” he gasped and put a hand to his chest, “Good Lord, Murphy, I’m terribly sorry! I didn’t see you coming!”

“No, no,” I replied, “My fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” I knelt down and began gathering his papers up.

An unreadable look fluttered across Müller’s round features. “No.” Beneath his glasses, his brown eyes blinked nervously. “That’s okay. Don’t trouble yourself.”

“No trouble.” I scooped up the remainder of his papers, and noticed a black object under them. A camera. I placed it on top of his papers and handed the bundle to Müller. “Nikon. That’s a good quality camera. Have one myself.”

“This one’s always served me well. Sorry again about that.” With a flash of reflected light from his bald head, Müller was gone.

Shrugging, I continued into the fileroom as I looked the row of gray metal cabinets over, I noticed that the door of one was ajar. I noticed as I moved closer to it that the door wasn’t ajar; it had been forced open – the metal was bent and the paint chipped. I searched around and uncovered a hammer and chisel hidden behind the radiator.

But, it was when I pulled open the burglarized drawer that my suspicions truly crystallized. It was full of long-range financial plans, blueprints for products my company made and several industrial production schedules. The papers were wrinkled and out of order, almost as if they’d been hurriedly shoved back into the drawer.

What had Müller been doing in here? Suddenly, it all came together; the camera, the tools, the files and Müller’s nervousness.

He was a spy.