The Burglar and the Blizzard: A Christmas Story | Page 3

and there is not the slightest trace of him."
"There must be traces of him," said Geoffrey. "The Inness house was
entered after that snow storm in the early part of the month. There must
have been footprints."
"Of course," said Mr. Vaughan, "that is what makes me think that the
watchmen are in it. It's probably a combination of two or three of
them."
"Well, that lets Geoffrey out," said the irrepressible Florence. "No one

would take his watchman into any combination,--he is a thousand and
two and feeble for his age. However, there is no use in discussing the
possibility, for it is not a combination of watchmen, begging your
pardon, Mr. Vaughan. It is lonely genius, a slim, dark figure in a slouch
hat. That is the way I imagine him. Do you really suppose that a
watchman would take six pair of Mrs. Inness' best linen sheets,
embroidered in her initials, the monogram so thick that it scratches
your nose; and a beautiful light blue silk coverlet,--all just out from
Paris. I saw them when she first had them."
"What," said Geoffrey, addressing the other male intellect present, "do
you make of the young woman who disposed of some of the Marheim
silver in Boston?"
[Illustration: "IT WAS A YOUNG LADY WHO DISPOSED OF THE
SILVER"]
But it was Mrs. May who answered: "She is of course the lady of his
love--a lady doubtless of high social position in Boston. There was a
book about something like that once. He is just waiting to make one
more grand coup, rob the bank or something and then the world will be
startled by the news of their elopement. They will go and live
somewhere luxuriously in the south Pacific, and travellers will bring
home strange stories of their happiness and charm. Perhaps, though, he
would turn pirate. That would suit his style."
"I hope," said Holland, "that he won't take a fancy to rob the
Hillsborough Bank, for I consider it public spirited to keep quite a little
money there. You begin to make me nervous."
"No bank robbery would make me nervous," replied his sister, "that is
the comfort of being insignificant. I have not enough money in any
bank to know the difference, and as for my humble dwelling in
Hillsborough, who would take the trouble to rifle it when Geoffrey's
palace is within an easy walk. Besides, I haven't anything worth the
attention of a respectable burglar like this one."
"Thank you," said Geoffrey, "I'm sorry I spent so much time choosing
your Christmas present a year ago."
"Oh, of course, Geof dear, that wonderful old silver is valuable, but it is
put away where I defy any burglar to find it. There is only my sable
coat, and I am going to send for that as soon as I have time to have it
cut over."

"In my opinion," said Mr. Vaughan, "the man is no longer in the
neighbourhood. He would scarcely dare try a fifth attempt while the
whole country was so aroused. You see Hillsborough has always been
an attractive place to thieves. It is such an easy place to get away
from,--three railroads within reach. A man would be pretty sure to be
able to catch a passing freight train on one of them at almost any time,
to say nothing of the increased difficulty of tracing him."
"I don't suppose he will ever be caught," said Florence. "When he has
got all he wants he will simply melt away and be forgotten. If he were
caught--"
Here she was interrupted by the waiter who laid a telegram at her plate.
It had come to her brother's apartment, and been sent down.
"Who is telegraphing me," she said, as she tore it open. "I hope Jack
has not been breaking himself."
Opening it, she read:
"Your house was entered about five o'clock this afternoon. Tea-set and
sable coat missing."

II
The next evening at seven o'clock, Holland stepped out of the train on
the Hillsborough station. He wore a long fur-coat, for the morning had
been bitterly cold in New York, and though the snow was now falling
in small close flakes, the temperature had not risen appreciably, and a
wild wind was blowing.
He looked about for the figure of McFarlane, for he had telegraphed the
old man to meet him at the train with a trap, but there was no one to be
seen. The station, which in summer on the arrival of the express was a
busy scene with well dressed women and well-kept horses, was now
utterly deserted except for one native who had charge of the mails.
"Hullo, Harris," Geoffrey sung out. "Is McFarlane here for me?"
"Ain't seen him. Guess it's too stormy for