How foolish people are when they own valuable things, Horace thought! A magazine article had described this house, giving a plan of all the rooms and a picture of this room. The writer had even mentioned that the painting hid a safe!
But Horace found that the flowers were stopping him in his work. He buried his face in his handkerchief.
Then he heard a voice say from the doorway:
"What is it? A cold or hay fever?"
Before he could think, Horace said. "Hay fever," and found himself sneezing again.
The voice went on. "You can cure it with a special treatment, you know, if you find out just what plant gives you the disease. I think you'd better see a doctor, if you're serious about your work. I heard you from the top of the house just now."
It was a quiet, kindly voice, but one with firmness in it. A woman was standing in the doorway, and Sherry rubbing against her. She was young, quite pretty, and was dressed in a red suit. She walked to the fireplace and straightened the ornaments there.
"Down, Sherry, "she said." Anyone would think I'd been away for a month! "She smiled at Horace, and went on, "However, I came back just in time, though I didn't expect to meet a burglar."
Horace had some hope because she seemed to be amused by meeting him. He might avoid trouble if he treated her the right way. He replied, "I didn't expect to meet one of the family."
She nodded. “I see what an inconvenience it is for you to meet me. What are you going to do?”
Horace said, "My first thought was to run."
"Of course, you could do that. But I would telephone the police and tell them all about you. They’d get you at once."
Horace said: "I would, of course, cut the telephone wires first and then—" he hesitated, a smile on his face, "I would make sure that you could do nothing for some time. A few hours would be enough."
She looked at him seriously. "You'd hurt me?"
Horace paused, and then said: “I think I was trying to frighten you when I said that."
"You didn't frighten me."
Horace suggested: "It would be nice if you would forget you ever saw me. Let me go."
The voice was suddenly sharp. “Why should I? You were going to rob me. If I let you go, you’ll only rob someone else. Society must be protected from men like you.”
Horace smiled. "I'm not a man who threatens society. I steal only from those who have a lot of money. I steal for a very good reason. And I hate the thought of prison."
She laughed, and he begged, thinking that he had persuaded her, “Look, I have no right to ask anything from you, but I'm desperate. Let me go and I promise never to do this kind of thing again. I really mean it.”
She was silent, watching him closely. Then she said: "You are really afraid of going to prison, aren't you?"
She came over to him shaking her head. “I have always liked the wrong kind of people.” she said.
She picked up a silver box from the table and took a cigarette from it. Horace, eager to please her and seeing that she might help him, took off his gloves and gave her his cigarette lighter.
"You'll let me go?" He held the lighter toward her.
"Yes, but only if you'll do something for me."
“Anything you say.”
"Before we left for London, I promised my husband to take my jewels to our bank; but I left them here in the safe. I want to wear them to a party tonight, so I came down to get them, but..."
Horace smiled. "Like a woman, you've forgotten the numbers to open the safe, haven't you?”
"Yes."
"Just leave it to me and you'll have them within an hour. But I'll have to break your safe."
"Don't worry about that. My husband won't be here for a month, and I'll have the safe mended by that time."
And within an hour Horace had opened the safe, given her the jewels, and gone happily away.
For two days he kept his promise to the kind young lady. On the morning of the third day, however, he thought of the books he wanted, and he knew he would have to look for another safe. But he never got the chance to begin his plan. By noon a policeman had arrested him for the jewel robbery at Shotover Grange.
His fingerprints, for he had opened the safe without gloves, were all over the room, and no one believed his story of the wife of the owner of the house asking him to open the safe for her, The wife herself, a gray-haired, sharp-tongued woman of sixty, said that the story was nonsense.
Horace is now the assistant librarian in the prison. He often thinks of that charming, clever young lady who was in the same profession as he was, and who tricked him. He gets very angry when anyone talks about “honour among thieves.”