You sprinkle a confetti of clues across their path. They don't even notice. They plod obliviously in pursuit of their most recent lead, trampling your careful hints under their clay feet.
The clay criminals think they're very clever […]
From a shadowed doorway, you watch them stride into the mists that wreath the lonely avenues. Half an hour later […] you hear the silvery sound of trumpets. The devils have begun their afternoon hunt.
