Amateur Burglary
Next morning, which was Thursday, at breakfast, Larry smashed a cup
and saucer, burned his hand and almost established a reputation for
nerves.
He was giving me my breakfast at the time and had a cup of hot coffee
in his hand. My question was mild enough, too.
“Larry,” I asked him, “where could I buy a kit of burglar’s tools?”
Larry stared. “D’ye mean jemmies an’ that, sor?”
“That’s just what I mean!”
Larry stared. “Sure, d’ye think I’d be usin’ them, thin?”
“On the contrary, Larry,” I told him calmly, “I want to use them
myself. You see, I intend to become a burglar.”
It was then that Larry dropped the coffee-cup, burning his hand rather
badly.
I waited until he had finished hopping around the room, and until the
really remarkable richness and variety of his profanity had exhausted
itself. Then I told him a little about my plans for that afternoon.
The night before, after seeing Natalie home, I had gone to a dinner
and theater party, and had not reached my own flat until the small
hours. Nevertheless, I found Larry waiting up for me, with the news
that Moore wanted to speak to me the moment I came in. I don’t know
how much Larry guessed of our relations and plans, but he seemed
content to obey orders and ask no questions. And he and Moore were on
the best of terms by now.
Moore answered at once when I rang him.
“Listen, old fellow,” he said. “There’s some really big news for you.
I have had another talk with Vining. I took him out to dinner last
night and gave him a really good time, and I think he has thawed out
at last. At any rate, he admitted that he could take me to a wonderful
party if he wanted to.
“I had told him,” Moore went on, “that my one object in life was a new
and unique sensation, and of course when he admitted that he could
give me one, I deviled the life out of him to do it. Well, Clayton, he
finally consented!”
“Great stuff,” I told him.
“I wanted to go to it to-morrow night. But he couldn’t manage that.
He’s going out of town to-morrow. However, he promised to take me the
night after. That’s Friday night. But I am to be blindfolded, to
travel in a closed car and to pay $200 for the privilege. Pretty
steep, eh?”
“It ought to be _some_ party,” I remarked.
“You’d think so,” Moore continued. “Now I’ve been thinking the thing
over and I can’t believe that a gang like that will give me the
slightest chance to learn where I am going or how I got there. They
couldn’t afford to. And they’re probably too clever to fool.
“That leaves two other courses open to us. We can try to find out
beforehand approximately where they are going, and you can pick me up
on the way and follow on. Or you can attempt to follow me from the
start. But if they are the clever rogues I think they are, the latter
will not be easy.”
“Nor the former, for that matter,” I remarked.
“Perhaps not,” Moore replied. “But now that we know definitely that
Vining is mixed up with _some_ gang, even if it isn’t the one we are
looking for, I think we can take more definite steps to find out more
about him. And he’s to be away to-morrow afternoon.”
“Search his rooms,” I said.
“Exactly,” said Moore. “What do you say?”
“Do you think he’s at all suspicious of you, Moore?”
There was silence for a moment. Then Moore’s voice came more slowly
over the wire. “Damn it, Clayton, I can’t be sure. Of course he seems
perfectly friendly now. But he did change a bit suddenly. However,
that’s probably only my imagination.” Moore hesitated. “He certainly
wouldn’t loosen up at all at first.”
“Well then, listen. I don’t believe that it’s worth while your taking
a chance of running foul of him. Did he tell you of his own free will
that he was going out of town to-morrow?”
“Yes, made quite a point of it. But, of course, I was disappointed at
not going to the party sooner.”
“Well, if he’s at all suspicious of you and he’s as clever as you say
he is, maybe he’s counting on your doing that very thing!”
“What? Searching his rooms? Clayton, you’ve got a head on you!”
“It’s just possible,” I answered. “So I think it would be better if I
go. Then if I’m caught, he’ll take me for a burglar and not suspect
you necessarily. I’ll take Larry with me, and if they’re planning to
surprise me, maybe I’ll give them a surprise in return. Besides, if he
does try to ambush me, we’ll know that he is suspicious of you.”
So Moore agreed to this plan, if rather reluctantly, and gave me
Vining’s address. He told me something else, too, that strengthened my
conviction that it would be unwise for him to go. He was pretty sure,
though not certain, that he was being followed. We discussed this
rather disturbing news for a while, I told him my own news and we rang
off.
Some of this I explained to Larry. And then and there Larry made a
suggestion which I was convinced would be of great value to me.
“Sure, sor,” said Larry, “I’d burgle Dublin Castle itself wid the
loikes of yerself. But I hate to burgle a house where they mebbe know
you’re comin’.”
“Can’t be helped, Larry. We’ve got to take that chance!”
“Well, sor, mebbe we could get away from the loikes av thim, anyhow.
But if this Vining is such a clever lad, he must be a real dangerous
customer, sor?”
“Shouldn’t be surprised, Larry.”
“Well, then, mebbe ’twould do ye no good to get away from him, if he
was to see yer face. Mebbe he’d get ye in the long last, in any case.”
“That’s another chance we’ve got to take, Larry!”
Larry scratched his head. “Well, sor, in me spare toime I’ve been
dippin’ into some of these detecative shtories. ’Tis enough to make ye
laugh, some av thim is, but there was one lad, a gintleman cracksman
he called himself, that had some bright ideas. And one av thim was
that he wore a mask.”
“Been keeping in touch, have you, Larry?” I laughed. “But that’s a
damned good idea, all the same. Go to one of the theatrical make-up
stores in the West Forties this afternoon and get two of them. Then
buy a kit of tools. Then go to Vining’s house and look over the lay of
the land. He lives on the second floor.” And I told him the address.
“Finally, Larry,” I added, “meet me with your kit at 59th Street and
Lexington Avenue at nine o’clock to-night, and do _not_ bring a gun.
If we’re going to have to injure any one, we’ve got to do it quietly.
For we can’t afford any kind of publicity. That’s all, Larry.”
Natalie and I went for a ride in the Park that Thursday morning, and
for a few hours I forgot my quest. Perhaps I will be accused of lack
of feeling for that. But I loved and longed for my little sister none
the less because Natalie had come into my life.
Only, I had led a curiously uneventful life, up to that time, aside
from my experiences in the war; my knowledge of women was limited to
social amenities and books; the light loves of the average young sower
of wild oats had never appealed to me; and so I had to struggle
against a very torrent of dammed-up longing and emotion now that I had
met Natalie.
For I was wildly, hopelessly in love with her. We had only known each
other for some three weeks, I know, but the thing had come on me like
a very flash of revelation, and was unmistakable and not to be denied.
They say that women are aware of these things. If she knew that I
loved her, she at least did not show it, by word or look. And, of
course, after a friendship of only three weeks, I had done my best to
hide my feelings until I could give her a chance to “get used to me,”
as I expressed it to myself.
She was very lovely that morning. The sun vied with the wind in
tormenting me by playing hide-and-seek in her wayward masses of hair.
Her beautiful face radiated health and happiness, so that passers-by
turned and watched her brazenly. And ever the lovely eyes looked into
mine, clear, innocent and friendly, until laughter and badinage died
on my lips and I rode beside her tongue-tied and almost blind with
longing to take her into my arms, there in the sunlight, and tell her
that she meant the past, the present, the future and all life to me.
Perhaps she guessed. For she talked on at random and more rapidly than
usual, until I recovered some show of casual companionship, and
presently she told me that she was tired and asked me to take her
home.
But at her door she left me with lowered eyes and only a faint
“Good-by,” so that, for some reason, I left her house happier than I
had ever been in my life.
By the time I had bathed and dressed for my lunch with Ivanovitch,
something of the mood of the morning had passed and I was back in the
spirit of my quest again.
I called for him in my little car and took him to an inn out on the
Peekskill road. It is a beautiful place, that inn, and I think the
Russian enjoyed himself, although I could not supply him with anything
to match his wonderful tea. But I’m not so sure that he enjoyed the
drive. He struck me as something of a hothouse product, and I drive
rather fast.
By the time we got there I had schooled myself to a line of subtly
degrading conversation to spring on him, more in keeping with his
tastes, I hoped. It succeeded better than I expected.
I discovered that the precious Mr. Ivanovitch followed my lead with
extraordinary alacrity. In his subtle and charming way he gave vent to
a series of the nastiest remarks that I have ever listened to. It
would have been a real pleasure to throw him over the balcony of the
inn, into the gorge some fifty feet below. But I had more than my
personal tastes to consider in that interview.
I did my best to convince him that I shared his views and his tastes.
I took a leaf from Moore’s book, and admitted that I had run through
pretty well the entire gamut of sensations with the exception of
drugs, and that I was too lazy to go in search of those. Finally, I
admitted quite frankly that I had heard of some wonderful tea that he
had served at his house and begged him to tell me whether it was
really as captivating as it had been called.
But Ivanovitch was cautious. He told me that I had had some of that
tea the preceding afternoon and that it was merely good tea.
So I let the matter drop entirely, and talked about Russia and other
general subjects until it was time to take him home.
At his door, however, I tried once more. “Well, Monsieur, I have to
thank you in turn”—he had expressed himself as pleased with his
entertainment—“for a delightful luncheon, and I can only hope that you
will give me another opportunity to enjoy your society. You are a man
of the world, Monsieur,” I laughed; “and I hope, too, that if you run
across something new in this weary round of nights and days, you will
let me share it with you!”
He bowed, smiling his cynical smile. “Who knows, perhaps I may yet be
able to introduce you to a new sensation, my dear Mr. Clayton.”
And with that we parted.
There had been something about his smile that I did not entirely like.
But I did not like the man at all, anyway, and I put it down to the
fact of his alien temperament. At all events, if he, too, knew
anything about the famous revels of which we were beginning to learn,
I had made a fair start to learn more through him.
The real event of the day began when I met Larry at nine o’clock. He
was at the appointed place promptly on time, and I could see by his
slightly increased girth that he had brought the kit of tools with
him. I myself was dressed in my oldest clothes and looked as much like
a burglar as possible, so that if Vining saw me he would not connect
me with Moore or think it more than a coincidence. With nothing more
than a nod and a smile, Larry jumped into the car and we proceeded to
Vining’s home, parking the car down the street a little way.
The house was one of those high, narrow, brown-stone fronts in the
Sixties. Originally it had had a basement and steps leading up to the
first-floor front door. But, like many of these houses, it had been
converted into apartments, the steps had been torn down and the
basement entrance was now the front door. The latter was set in, in a
little vestibule, the entrance was overshadowed by the steps of the
house next door, and forcing an entrance, Larry said, was child’s play
if we didn’t get caught.
Larry had found out through local stores that Vining lived alone, as a
rule, and that his apartment was cared for by a woman who came in by
the day, so that once we reached his rooms we were in little danger of
detection. But the difficulty was forcing the lock on the front door
without attracting attention.
Vining lived on the second floor. His windows were dark. But there
were lights in the apartment on the first floor although there were
none in the basement, so that we were in constant danger of detection
as we stood in the little entrance.
However, Larry began fishing under his coat and calmly made ready to
force the lock. I confess that I was uncomfortable. This was taking
the law into our own hands with a vengeance—and if we were caught, I
could not take the law into my confidence. Then, too, if any one came
along while we were searching Vining’s rooms and saw the forced lock,
there would be a hullabaloo at once.
“Wait a minute, Larry,” I said, “there are some children coming. I’ve
got a better idea, I think.”
There were letter-boxes for each apartment in the vestibule and a push
button underneath each letterbox. We stood quietly waiting until the
children had come, laughing and calling, nearly opposite us. Then I
pressed all the bells.
I waited a moment, and then sure enough I heard the latch lifted.
“Quick, Larry,” I whispered. “Slip something into the door to hold it
open.”
He slipped one of his tools under the door at the bottom, so that the
latch could not close again, and then I drew him back into the shadow
of the steps next door.
We waited a few moments and presently we heard a window raised
overhead. The children were still calling in the street, and a woman’s
voice floated down to us, faintly: “Drat those children!” Then the
window was closed with a bang.
Larry drew closer to me. “Say, have you done this before, sor?” he
demanded.
We waited for perhaps ten minutes, But nothing happened and no one
came to the front door, either from inside the house or from the
street. Then Larry slipped quietly forward, pushed open the door,
picked up his jemmy and stood waiting for me. “Come on, sor,” he
whispered, “’tis now or never!”
I followed him into the house.
Now I had told Larry that there was just a possibility either that
they were waiting for us or that they might return and catch us. On
that account I had arranged that we should not stick together after we
got into the apartment, but that he should drop behind a little and
follow me. As soon as he was inside, he was to hide somewhere where he
could watch me, to act, if necessary, as surprise reënforcements. What
I had heard of Vining had made me skeptical as to the ease with which
his rooms could be searched, especially if there were anything there
for him to conceal.
There was a light in the entrance hall, but everything was quiet. We
passed through it and up the first flight of stairs. My heart was in
my mouth. However, the stairs creaked hardly at all, and we reached
the dark hall one flight up with very little noise.
Larry had called with a parcel for an imaginary tenant earlier in the
evening, and had not only marked in his memory the stairs that
creaked, but had also ascertained that Vining’s door would be
comparatively simple to open.
As it lessened the chance of people coming in and catching us, we
mounted the second flight at once. We were almost in darkness, I could
see nothing, and the necessity for speed coupled with the need for
making absolutely no sound had me, at least, keyed up to a pretty high
pitch.
We were half-way up the second flight, on our hands and knees
fortunately, and maneuvering a creaky step, when a door opened in the
hall just below us, letting out a flood of light. Fortunately it came
from a chandelier high up in the room beyond and did not reach the
spot where we stood. But it was nervous work, standing, or rather
crouching, with one knee in the air, while that woman put out her
light, locked the door and proceeded down the stairs to the front
door.
A moment later we stood in the dim hall in front of Vining’s door and
donned our masks.
I stood and waited while Larry let go of my hand and stooped down. I
heard a little scraping sound, a chink as of metal striking metal and
then a sharp crack, that sounded as loud as a big gun in the silent
hall. We stood still for a moment, but nothing happened.
“There you are, sor,” came Larry’s cheerful whisper. “You go ahead and
I’ll foller and hide.”
So, with a little electric torch in one hand and the other held out
blindly before me, I crept into the darkness that was, presumably,
Vining’s entrance hall.
After a moment I heard the front door close softly behind me, and then
I ventured to use the torch.
Have you ever gone into a strange house and tried to make out the lay
of the land with a pocket torch? The torch shows up only one tiny spot
at a time, and when you have swept it all over one article of
furniture and made out its general dimensions, you have forgotten
everything else!
However, I found my way through the tiny hall and into a room on the
left, which appeared to be a sitting-room. This room was dimly lit
with a faint radiance that filtered in from the street below, and I
was able to make out the distribution of the furniture. One of the
first things I noticed was a desk in the far corner by the window, and
I decided that that was my goal. Larry was still at my heels.
“Open up that desk, Larry,” I whispered. A moment later I heard the
snap of the lock. “Now follow me while we search the rest of the place
first.” We went back into the tiny, pitch-dark hall again.
The front door was at right angles to the outside hall. The little
entrance hall was also at right angles to the outside hall and ended
almost at once in an alcove with a sofa and some chairs in it. But we
found that another and narrower hall, the entrance to which was hidden
by a heavy curtain, passed back inside the flat for its entire length.
The dining-room, kitchen, bathroom and two bedrooms led off it in
turn, and the hall ended in a window at the back of the house. A third
bedroom lay to the right of the hall at the back. As it was a corner
house all these rooms had windows.
We found nothing, that is, nothing of any importance to our search.
One of the rooms showed evidences of recent feminine occupancy. But
there was no one in the apartment—that was certain.
A good deal relieved, I returned to the front hall, stationed Larry in
the alcove there, and made my way to Vining’s desk in the front room.