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

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 the old man," Harris replied dropping the mail bag into his wagon.
"Then you've got to drive me out."
"What, all the way to your place? No, sir, I guess it is too stormy for me, too."
But Geoffrey at last, by the promise of three times what the trip was worth, induced Harris to change his mind. He stepped into the mail cart, and having stopped at the post-office to leave the bag, and at the stable to change the cart for a sleigh, they finally set