The Oakdale Affair | Page 3

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THE OAKDALE AFFAIR
EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS

Chapter One
The house on the hill showed lights only upon the first floor--in the spacious reception
hall, the dining room, and those more or less mysterious purLieus thereof from which
emanate disagreeable odors and agreeable foods.
From behind a low bush across the wide lawn a pair of eyes transferred to an alert brain
these simple per- ceptions from which the brain deduced with Sherlock- ian accuracy and
Raffleian purpose that the family of the president of The First National Bank of--Oh, let's
call it Oakdale--was at dinner, that the servants were be- low stairs and the second floor

deserted.
The owner of the eyes had but recently descended from the quarters of the chauffeur
above the garage which he had entered as a thief in the night and quitted apparelled in a
perfectly good suit of clothes belong- ing to the gentlemanly chauffeur and a soft,
checked cap which was now pulled well down over a pair of large brown eyes in which a
rather strained expression might have suggested to an alienist a certain neophy- tism
which even the stern set of well shaped lips could not effectually belie.
Apparently this was a youth steeling himself against a natural repugnance to the
dangerous profession he had espoused; and when, a moment later, he stepped out into the
moonlight and crossed the lawn toward the house, the slender, graceful lines which the
ill-fitting clothes could not entirely conceal carried the conviction of youth if not of
innocence.
The brazen assurance with which the lad crossed the lawn and mounted the steps to the
verandah suggested a familiarity with the habits and customs of the inmates of the house
upon the hill which bespoke long and care- ful study of the contemplated job. An old
timer could not have moved with greater confidence. No detail seemed to have escaped
his cunning calculation. Though the door leading from the verandah into the reception
hall swung wide to the balmy airs of late Spring the prowler passed this blatant invitation
to the hospitality of the House of Prim. It was as though he knew that from his place at
the head of the table, with his back toward the great fire place which is the pride of the
Prim dining hall, Jonas Prim commands a view of the major portion of the reception hall.
Stooping low the youth passed along the verandah to a window of the darkened library--a
French window which swung open without noise to his light touch. Step- ping within he
crossed the room to a door which opened at the foot of a narrow stairway--a convenient
little stair- way which had often let the Hon. Jonas Prim to pass from his library to his
second floor bed-room unnoticed when Mrs. Prim chanced to be entertaining the femi-
nine elite of Oakdale across the hall. A convenient little stairway for retiring husbands
and diffident burglars-- yes, indeed!
The darkness of the upper hallway offered no obstacle to this familiar housebreaker. He
passed the tempting luxury of Mrs. Prim's boudoir, the chaste elegance of Jonas Prim's
bed-room with all the possibilities of forgot- ten wallets and negotiable papers, setting his
course straight for the apartments of Abigail Prim, the spinster daughter of the First
National Bank of Oakdale. Or should we utilize a more charitable and at the same time
more truthful word than spinster? I think we should, since Abigail was but nineteen and
quite human, de- spite her name.
Upon the dressing table of Abigail reposed much sil- ver and gold and ivory, wrought by
clever artisans into articles of great beauty and some utility; but with scarce a glance the
burglar passed them by, directing his course straight across the room to a small wall safe
cleverly hidden by a bit of tapestry.
How, Oh how, this suggestive familiarity with the innermost secrets of a virgin's sacred

apartments upon the part of one so obviously of the male persuasion and, by