could easily see himself as a pilot. So he was going to be an officer in the R.A.F He had not yet figured out how, but he would manage it: he was lucky that way.
In the meantime he decided to use Rebecca to get inside one more wealthy home before dropping her.
They began the evening at a reception in the Belgravia home of Sir Simon Monkford, a rich publisher.
Harry spent some time with the Honorable Lydia Moss, the overweight daughter of a Scottish earl. Awkward and lonely, she was just the kind of girl who was most vulnerable to his charm, and he enchanted her for twenty minutes more or less out of habit. Then he talked to Rebecca for a while, to keep her sweet. After that, he judged the time was right to make his move.
He excused himself and left the room. The party was going on in the large double drawing room on the second floor. As he crossed the landing and slipped up the stairs he felt the thrilling rush of adrenaline that always came to him when he was about to do a job. The knowledge that he was going to steal from his hosts, and risk being caught red-handed and shown up as a fraud, filled him with fear and excitement.
He reached the next floor and followed the corridor to the front of the house. The farthest door probably led to the master bedroom suite, he thought. He opened it and saw a large bedroom with flowered curtains and a pink bedspread. He was about to step inside when another door opened and a challenging voice called out: “I say!”
Harry turned around, his tension drawing tighter. He saw a man of about his own age step into the corridor and look curiously at him.
As always, the right words came to him when he needed them. “Ah, is it in there?” he said.
“What?”
“Is that the lav?”
The young man’s face cleared. “Oh, I see. You want the green door at the other end of the corridor.”
“Thanks awfully.”
“Not at all.”
Harry went along the corridor. “Lovely house,” he remarked.
“Isn’t it?” The man descended the staircase and disappeared.
Harry allowed himself a pleased grin. People could be so gullible.
He retraced his steps and went into the pink bedroom. As usual, there was a suite of rooms. The color scheme indicated that this was Lady Monkford’s room. A rapid survey revealed a small dressing room off to one side, also decorated in pink; an adjoining, smaller bedroom, with green leather chairs and striped wallpaper; and a gentleman’s dressing room off that. Upper-class couples often slept separately, Harry had learned. He had not yet decided whether that was because they were less randy than the working class, or because they felt obliged to make use of all the many rooms in their vast houses.
Sir Simon’s dressing room was furnished with a heavy mahogany wardrobe and matching chest. Harry opened the top drawer of the chest. There, inside a small leather jewel box, was an assortment of studs, collar stiffeners and cuff links, not neatly arranged but tumbled about haphazardly. Most of them were rather ordinary, but Harry’s discriminating eye lit on a charming pair of gold cuff links with small rubies inset. He put them in his pocket. Next to the jewel box was a soft leather wallet containing about fifty pounds in five-pound notes. Harry took twenty pounds and felt pleased with himself. Easy, he thought. It would take most people two months’ hard work in a dirty factory to earn twenty pounds.
He never stole everything. Taking just a few items created a doubt. People thought they might have mislaid the jewelry or made a mistake about how much was in the wallet, so they hesitated to report the theft.
He closed the drawer and moved into Lady Monkford’s bedroom. He was tempted to get out now with the useful haul he had already made, but he decided to risk a few minutes more. Women generally had better jewelry than their husbands. Lady Monkford might have sapphires. Harry loved sapphires.
It was a fine evening, and a window was open wide. Harry glanced through it and saw a small balcony with a wrought-iron balustrade. He went quickly into the dressing room and sat at the dressing table. He opened all the drawers and found several boxes and trays of jewelry. He began to go through them rapidly, listening warily for the sound of the door opening.
Lady Monkford did not have good taste. She was a pretty woman who had struck Harry as rather ineffectual, and she—or her husband—chose showy, rather cheap jewelry. Her pearls were ill-matched, her brooches big and ugly, her earrings clumsy and her bracelets flashy. He was disappointed.
He was hesitating over an almost attractive pendant when he heard the bedroom door open.
He froze, stomach in a knot, thinking fast.
The only door out of the dressing room led to the bedroom.
There was a small window, but it was firmly closed and he probably could not open it quickly or silently enough. He wondered if he had time to hide in the wardrobe.
From where he stood, he could not quite see the bedroom door. He heard it close again; then there were a feminine cough and light footsteps on the carpet. He leaned toward the mirror and found he could see into the bedroom. Lady Monkford had come in, and she was heading for the dressing room. There was not even time to close the drawers.
His breath came fast. He was taut with fear, but he had been in spots like this before. He paused for one more moment, forcing himself to breathe evenly, calming his mind. Then he moved.
He stood up, stepped quickly through the door into the bedroom, and said: “I say!”
Lady Monkford was brought up short in the middle of the room. She put her hand to her mouth and let out a tiny scream.
A flowered curtain flapped in the breeze from the open window, and Harry was inspired.
“I say,” he repeated, deliberately sounding a bit stupefied. “I’ve just seen someone jump out of your window.”
She found her voice. “What on earth do you mean?” she said. “And what are you doing in my bedroom?”
Acting the part, Harry strode to the window and looked out. “Gone already!” he said.
“Please explain yourself!”
Harry took a deep breath, as if marshaling his thoughts. Lady Monkford was about forty, a fluttery woman in a green silk dress. If he kept his nerve, he could deal with her. He smiled winningly, assumed the persona of a hearty, rugby-playing, overgrown schoolboy—a type that must be familiar to her—and began to pull the wool over her eyes.
“It’s the oddest thing I ever saw,” he said. “I was in the corridor when a strange-looking cove peeped out of this room. He caught my eye and ducked back in again. I knew it was your bedroom, because I had looked in here myself when I was hunting for the bathroom. I wondered what the chap was up to—he didn’t look like one of your servants and he certainly wasn’t a guest. So I came along to ask him. When I opened the door he jumped out of the window.” Then, to account for the still-open drawers of the dressing table, he added: “I’ve just looked into your dressing room, and I’m afraid there’s no doubt he was after your jewelry.”
That was brilliant, he said admiringly to himself. I should be on the bleedin’ wireless.
She put her hand to her forehead. “Oh, what a dreadful thing,” she said weakly.
“You’d better sit down,” Harry said solicitously. He helped her to a small pink chair.
“To think!” she said. “If you hadn’t chased him off, he would have been here when I walked in! I’m afraid I shall faint.” She grasped Harry’s hand and held it tightly. “I’m so grateful to you.”
Harry smothered a grin. He had got away with it again.
He thought ahead for a moment. He did not want her to make too much fuss. Ideally he would like her to keep the whole thing to herself. “Look, don’t tell Rebecca what’s happened, will you?” he said as a first step. “She’s got a nervous disposition and something like this could lay her low for weeks.”
“Me, too,” said Lady Monkford. “Weeks!” She was too upset to reflect that the muscular, hearty Rebecca was hardly the type to have a nervous disposition.
“You’ll probably have to call the police, and so on, but it will spoil the party,” he went on.
“Oh, dear—that would be too dreadful. Do
“Well ...” Harry concealed his satisfaction. “It rather depends on what the blighter stole. Why don’t you have a quick look?”
“Oh, goodness, yes, I’d better.”
Harry squeezed her hand for encouragement, then helped her up. They went into the dressing room. She
