The man, all dressed in black, looked up the manor’s forbidding facade, his eyes slowly travelling over every ledge, protrusion and other irregularity that could offer a hold to his nimble hands and feet. He had studied the facade before, was familiar with its possibilities, but he always liked to take a moment and plan the route ahead, see it in his mind as clearly as he could.

Although there was always the issue of time and the danger of discovery, he liked to be thorough. He had learned early on in his career that rushing in only led to trouble.

And trouble was the last thing he needed on this all-important night.

From the trees in the distance an eerie call resounded, sending a shiver up his spine. It was only an owl, but as a city person he thoroughly disliked animals and the risk they posed in his profession. Once, climbing a front in the city, a pigeon had popped out of a hole, almost making him lose his footing and fall, backwards, ten feet down on the unforgiving pavement. That could have been the end of his career. Of his freedom even – as he would have been discovered for what he was and taken into custody.

But he had survived the pigeon’s surprise attack, and tonight he’d survive whatever was waiting for him on his ascent. It could be bats, or it might even be a guard dog as soon as he stepped through the window. But he was prepared for anything. The loot lured him like it had a scent that he could detect on the air. Already he saw the precious stones, reflecting the light with their carefully honed facets, glittering as if there was fire inside of them. For all of his life he had followed the call of the stones, and the most desirable ones were calling for him tonight. Up there.

His eyes had reached the window that was his destination, and he nodded to himself. The route was the same as he had planned it in his head on his way out here. He had come by train, had walked the stretch out to the manor. It paid to stay out of sight, not be remembered by the make of a car, by a stay in an inn where a nosy innkeeper had taken too close a look at your face. Strangers were always noticed in the countryside.

But in his old dishevelled clothes, with the bottle in his hand, staggering through the fields along dirt tracks suited better to deer than to men, he was just a vagabond that nobody would remember. As soon as the job was done and he’d left the area, he’d turn into his own self again, a far cry from such a pitiful wanderer.

He laughed softly to himself, then sobered to rub his hands. They had to be completely dry to have the best grip.

He cast a look around him, listening for any sound that indicated disturbance.

But there was nothing but the rush of water from the fountain on the lawn.

He put his hands on the stone and began the climb. It was his luck that the house had a pillar on each side beside the steps leading to the front door. These huge pillars were worked into the house’s construction by decorated stony elements that led upwards like rungs of a ladder. If this was your specialty, it was as easy as walking up the stairs in your own home.

Nevertheless he took his time, knowing this was the ideal hour for the thief. People had fallen soundly asleep and were far away, especially if they had enjoyed a drink or two after dinner. He knew the master of this house liked his liquor. He was a widower, so no wife there who might be a light sleeper and who might hear something and prod her husband into action.

The eldest son’s pretty little high-strung wife took laudanum and would not wake either.

The younger son had left the house during the evening, shouting and cursing his father’s name, riding his horse to the local inn. He would not be back before eleven in the morning, and then only if they rode him out on a cart, with the horse being led behind it.

Like any rich man, this house owner had plenty of servants, but those sampled the remains of the meal and the draughts left in the pitchers after wealthy guests had been around.

And this had been an evening full of wealthy guests. He had seen all of them leave, group by group talking, laughing, getting into cars and carriages, reflecting their luxury taste, or by contrast a strict, almost fanatic adherence to the old country ways.

He had watched and grinned as he recognized those who had earlier been the victim of one of his jobs. How they had enjoyed the evening air, waving goodbye to each other, unaware of the man who had robbed them standing so close, waiting to strike again.

Perhaps they had even discussed it over dinner, how sad it was that such crimes had become more common and the police did nothing to prevent them or solve the crime once it had been committed.

The police…

He snarled at the thought of those self-satisfied inspectors, the sergeants desperate for a jump up the ladder, the constables who only cared for keeping their jobs and feeding the kids at home. He liked the latter best, could understand their position. It was work to them, an honest job to keep the family alive and well. He would never do anything to hurt a constable.

But the higher ones with the over-confidence in their abilities, their talents, their intuition, he liked to taunt them, tease them, make them look the fool, as he broke into place after place and left them scratching their heads wondering how on earth he had done it.

He even knew of two instances where the police had arrested someone from the staff, claiming it had to have been an inside job, as there had been no signs of any break-in.

Like he needed to break in!

For a moment he frowned, thinking of those people who had been arrested innocently and dragged through the police courts to the shock and horror of their СКАЧАТЬ

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