Samantha was flying. Tom had given her the funny little flat tin that evening, and she had taken six of the blue capsules. Her head was light, her nerves tingled, and she was bursting with excitement.
She sat in the front seat of the van, squashed between Tom and Eyes Wright. Tom was driving. There were two other men in the back.
Tom said: ?Remember, if we?re very quiet we should have it off without waxing anybody. If someone does catch us bang to rights, pull a shooter on him, and tie him up. No violence. Quiet now, we?re there.?
He switched the engine off and let the van coast the last few yards. He stopped it just outside the gate of Lord Cardwell?s house. He spoke over his shoulder to the men in the back: ?Wait for the word.?
The three in the front got out. They had stocking masks, pulled up to their foreheads, ready to cover their faces if they were seen by the occupants of the house.
They walked carefully up the drive. Tom stopped at a manhole and whispered to Wright, ?Burglar alarm.?
Wright bent down and inserted a tool into the manhole cover. He lifted it easily and shone a pencil flashlight inside. ?Piece of cake,? he said.
Samantha watched, fascinated, as he bent down and put his gloved hands into the tangle of wires. He separated two white ones.
From his little case he took a wire with crocodile clips at either end. The white wires emerged from one side of the manhole and disappeared on the other. Wright clipped the extra wire from his case onto the two terminals on the side of the manhole farthest from the house. Then he disconnected the wires at the opposite pair of terminals. He stood up. ?Direct line to the local nick,? he whispered. ?Shortcircuited now.?
The three of them approached the house. Wright shone his flashlight carefully around a window frame. ?Just the one,? he whispered. He delved in his bag again and came up with a glass cutter.
He cut three sides of a small rectangle in the window near the inside handle. He pulled a strip of tape from a roll and bit it off with his teeth. He wound one end of the tape around his thumb, and pressed the other against the glass. Then he cut the fourth side of the rectangle and lifted the glass out on the end of the tape. He placed it carefully on the ground.
Tom reached through the opening and undid the catch. He swung the window wide and climbed in.
Wright took Samantha?s arm and led her to the front door. After a moment it opened silently, and Tom appeared.
The three of them crossed the hall and climbed the stairs. Outside the gallery, Tom took Wright?s arm and pointed at the foot of the doorpost.
Wright put down his bag and opened it. He took out an infrared lamp, turned it on, and beamed it at the tiny photoelectric cell embedded in the woodwork. With his free hand he took out a tripod, set it under the lamp, and adjusted its height. Finally he put the lamp gently on the tripod. He stood up.
Tom took the key from under the vase and opened the gallery door.
Julian lay awake listening to Sarah?s breathing. They had decided to stay the night at Lord Cardwell?s house after the dinner party. Sarah had been sound asleep for some time. He looked at the luminous hands of his watch: it was 2:30 A.M.
Now was the time. He pulled the sheet off him and sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. His stomach felt as if someone had tied a knot in it.
It was a simple plan. He would go down to the gallery, take Lampeth?s Modigliani, and put it in the trunk of the Cortina. Then he would put the fake Modigliani in the gallery and come back to bed.
Lampeth would never know. The pictures were almost identical. Lampeth would find that his was a fake, and assume that Julian had had the real one all along.
He put on the dressing gown and slippers which had been provided by Sims, and opened the bedroom door.
Creeping around a house at the dead of night was all very well in theory: one thought of how unconscious one would be of anyone else doing it. In reality it seemed full of hazards. Suppose one of the old men got up for the lavatory? Suppose one fell over something?
As he tiptoed along the landing Julian thought of what he would say if he were caught. He was going to compare Lampeth?s Modigliani with his own—that would do.
He reached the gallery door and froze. It was open.
He frowned. Cardwell always locked it. Tonight, Julian had watched the man turn the key in the door and put it in its hiding place.
Therefore someone else had got up in the middle of the night to go to the gallery.
He heard a whispered:
Another voice hissed:
Julian?s eyes narrowed in the darkness. Voices meant thieves. But they had been foiled: the pictures were gone.
There was a faint creak, and he pressed himself up against the wall behind a grandfather clock. Three figures came out of the gallery. One carried a picture.
They were taking the real Modigliani.
Julian drew in his breath to shout—then one of the figures passed through a shaft of moonlight from a window. He recognized the famous face of Samantha Winacre. He was too astonished to call out.
How could it possibly be Sammy? She—she must have wanted to come to dinner to case the joint! But how had she got mixed up with crooks? Julian shook his head. It hardly mattered. His own plan was awry now.
Julian thought fast to cope with the new situation. There was no longer any need to stop the thieves—he knew where the Modigliani was going. But his own plan was completely spoiled.
Suddenly he smiled in the darkness. No, it was not spoiled at all.
A faint breath of cold air told him the thieves had opened the front door. He gave them a minute to get away.
Poor Sammy, he thought.
He went softly down the stairs and out of the open front door. He opened the trunk of the Cortina quietly, and took the fake Modigliani out. As he turned back to the house, he saw a rectangle cut in the glass of the dining room window. The window was open. That was how they had got in.
He closed the car trunk and went back into the house, leaving the front door open as the thieves had. He climbed to the gallery and hung the fake Modigliani where the real one had been.
Then he went to bed.
He woke early in the morning, although he had slept very little. He bathed and dressed quickly, and went to the kitchen. Sims was already there, eating his own breakfast while the cook prepared the meal for the master of the house and his guests.
?Don?t disturb yourself,? Julian said to Sims as the butler rose from his seat. ?I?m off early—I
Sims piled bacon, egg and sausage onto his fork and finished the meal in one mouthful.
Julian sat down and sipped his coffee while the butler went away. The shout of surprise came a minute later. Julian had been expecting it.
Sims came quickly into the kitchen. ?I think we?ve been burgled, sir,? he said.
Julian faked surprise. ?What?? he exclaimed. He stood up.
?A hole has been cut in the dining room window, and the window is open. I noticed this morning that the front door was open, but I thought Cook had done it. The gallery door was ajar, too—but Mr. Lampeth?s painting is still there.?
?Let?s have a look at this window,? said Julian. Sims followed him across the hall and into the dining room.
Julian looked at the hole for a moment. ?I suppose they came for the pictures, and were disappointed. They
