The police rushed to the scene but by the time they arrived the burglars had fled. Tiger, summoned from his residence in Mayfair, was distraught. He didn't care about stolen office equipment and other standard swag. The only thing that mattered was that Kaiser, his beloved tiger pelt, had gone. It was an incalculable loss. New Scotland Yard took on the case, but when they failed to get a quick result, Tiger took matters into his own hands. “I am going to infiltrate the underworld,” he declared. Over the next day or two, notices appeared in the classified columns of the Evening Standard appealing for information about Kaiser's whereabouts and offering a reward for his safe return. Meanwhile Tiger sat by a special phone connected to a tape recorder, waiting for news from the hostage taker, living and breathing every moment of the drama. He made hundreds of calls on another line, his voice alternating between hushed conspiratorial tones and, when it came to the police whom he thought incompetent, full-scale roaring.
