Lord Hetton lighted his candle and went to bed. In half-an-hour he was sound asleep, and a dead silence reigned in Azalea Lodge. The crickets chirped merrily upon the hearth of the housemaid's pantry, where the remains of a fire still smouldered. But what is that monotonous grating sound which continues with mechanical regularity? It isn't a kettle boiling, though it sounds rather like it, for there is an occasional squeak and then the noise suddenly ceases altogether, only to recommence again.
Mr. Parsons on reaching the Swiss Cottage had walked straight to Azalea Lodge. He entered the front garden of the empty house next door to it, which was still in the hands of the workmen. He flung his three-pronged hook over the high wall which separated Azalea Lodge from the empty house. Quickly, noiselessly, and without effort Mr. Parsons reached the top of the wall; then he removed the three-pronged hook, fixed it on the near side of the wall, and descended by means of the friendly rope attached to it into the grounds of Azalea Lodge. He left the rope hanging, for the return journey might possibly have to be accomplished in a very hurried manner. When Mr. Parsons stood safely within the outer defences of the fortress which he had assailed he proceeded to deliberately remove his boots. The big list slippers which he put on were perfectly noiseless; they are the professional foot coverings common to the British thief and to the ghost of Hamlet's father. Then he walked straight to the pantry window, and shading his eyes with his hands, carefully took stock of the interior. Mr. Parsons lost no time; and, skilled mechanic that he was, commenced his work at once. Gripping his file firmly in both hands, and carefully lubricating its keen edge with oil, he commenced operations vigorously upon the massive bar of soft iron, which with five others protected the pantry window; the bar was at least an inch in diameter and was quite seven feet long. It took Mr. Parsons a good twenty minutes' hard work to cut through, and beads of perspiration stood upon the brow of that clever operator long before the job was finished. Mr. Parsons replaced his files in their special receptacles in his many-pocketed coat, then he seized the massive-looking bar just above where he had divided it, he placed a foot against the window-ledge and tugged with all his might. It's easy enough to bend a poker between the bars of a kitchen range; it is true that the kitchen poker is not an inch in diameter, but then neither is it seven feet long. Mr. Parsons wrenched away with a will, and soon the great bar was bent almost to a right angle. Mr. Parsons slipped a small palette knife between the sashes, but Azalea Lodge had been fitted up regardless of expense, and the window-catch was a patent one which resisted the efforts of Mr. Parsons; but that gentleman was equal to the occasion; he took out a piece of diachylon plaister, apparently from the small of his back, really from one of the numerous receptacles of his professional coat; he carefully affixed and smoothed the plaister over the top centre pane of the lower sash, and then he rapidly drew a glazier's diamond round the pane. Spreading his left hand out upon the middle of the plaister he struck a smart blow upon his fingers with his right fist; he had smashed the window, but without noise—there was no crash or rattle of falling glass. With deliberate care Mr. Parsons effected an opening in the broken window, in a workmanlike manner, large enough to admit his right hand, and then with a smile he gently opened Sharp's Patent Safety window-catch. Mr. Parsons now raised the window-sash with ease, and, taking his boots in his hand, effected his felonious entry, leaping lightly and noiselessly into the room. Mr. Parsons placed his boots in the fender to warm, for nothing is more unpleasant to a careful man than the putting on of cold boots. And now Mr. Parsons proceeded to carefully and deliberately wash his hands and to remove from them the grimy traces of his honest labour; then he lighted a short piece of candle—the match he used gave forth no warning sound. He examined the lock, the key was in the door, the projecting end of it he seized with a pair of peculiarly-made forceps, the key turned noiselessly and with ease. Mr. Parsons ascended the kitchen stairs and proceeded straight to the dining-room, for he was no vulgar thief to whom the contents of the larder of Azalea Lodge would present attractions, but an industrious tradesman and a keen man of business.
Mr. Parsons was occupied for at least half-an-hour in the dining-room, for in the massive oak sideboard he found a good deal of portable property; the patent locks soon yielded to his skilful attack, and the spoons and forks were rapidly packed by him into the smallest possible compass and placed in a bag of suitable size. But Mr. Parsons looked in vain for any sign of the racing plate which had attracted his attention upon his first visit to Azalea Lodge. He placed the bag containing the plunder upon the hall table, and then, his lighted end of candle in his hand, he ascended the stairs. When he reached the first floor he heard the regular breathing of the sleeping Lord Hetton; he carefully removed his lordship's boots from the mat and gently tried the door, blowing out his candle as he did so, for the landing was illuminated by a flicker of gas, and had his lordship awakened, the light would have betrayed the intruder. The burglar entered the room without noise, and the heavy breathing of the sleeper continued without intermission. Mr. Parsons looked around him; his eyes at once alighted on the object of his search; in a corner of the room stood a large safe of painted iron of the most recent construction—Chubbs' Patent Safety. Mr. Parsons was quite aware of what Chubbs' Patent Safety meant; he knew full well that a Chubbs' safe would successfully withstand his attempts for a period of twenty-four hours at least, and that picking the lock would be quite a hopeless matter. But Mr. Parsons did not despond; he knew that owners of safes generally keep the key upon their persons. He looked towards the sleeper; upon a small table at the bedside lay his heavy gold Frodsham chronograph, to the massive chain of which was attached a long slender steel key. The burglar possessed himself of the watch and appendages, knelt down in front of the safe, which yielded to the key, and in a few moments the Toiler of the Night was busy with Lord Hetton's racing trophies. There they lay, the glittering, precious baubles, the prizes for which their owner had schemed ever since his early manhood, the useless cups, vases, &c., which had cost their fortunate proprietor far more than their weight in purest gold. The feelings of Mr. Parsons may be better imagined than described; they must have somewhat resembled those of Ali Baba when the treasures of the Forty Thieves first met his astonished eye. Is it to be wondered at then that Mr. Parsons lost his head for the moment, and that though his eyes were busily employed he forgot to use his ears; he forgot to note that Lord Hetton's breathing, which was a heavy snore when he entered the room, was now inaudible.
His lordship, who had been sleeping heavily, had not exactly awakened, though had he been addressed at the moment he would probably have answered coherently enough; the fact was that he had been sound asleep and dreaming a pleasant dream, and in a state of semi-consciousness he was trying to recall the delightful vision, but it was gone for ever, and he appealed to his memory in vain. Lying perfectly still on his back, his lordship half-opened his eyes, and they rested upon the top of Mr. Parsons' head, which exactly intervened between them and an object they were accustomed habitually to rest upon, namely, the bright gilded handle of the Chubbs' safe. But the sleepy eyes closed again, and reopening half mechanically sought the missing handle. Lord Hetton now opened his eyes widely enough, and almost thoroughly awake stared, without moving his head, in search of the accustomed object. He saw the top of the safe, but he failed to discern the gay lines of green paint and gilding which decorated the door; then it slowly dawned upon Lord Hetton's mind that he was no longer dreaming, or even dozing, but that he was almost wide awake, and that the door of his iron safe was open. And then his lordship became seriously alarmed. Not that he was by any means a coward, but it is alarming to awaken from one's tranquil slumbers and to feel that one may have to fight for one's life and property against possible unknown odds, and without one's clothes. A man may feel very brave indeed with his boots on, but take away his clothes and it considerably reduces his courage. As Lord Hetton became gradually thoroughly wide awake, he grew alive to the fact, not only that the safe door was open, but that (what the Divorce Court calls) "a person unknown" was tampering with its contents. Now perhaps the most prudent thing that Lord Hetton could have done would have been to have gone to sleep again, but it never for one moment occurred to his mind to allow himself to be robbed with impunity. Thoroughly awake at last, Lord Hetton could with difficulty contain his rage, and it was only by a powerful exertion of his own will that he did restrain himself from rushing from his bed and attacking the intruder with his naked fists. But, he reflected, the thief or thieves were probably armed; he remembered too that there was no assistance to be obtained in the house itself, and that there was no means of arousing the neighbourhood. And then Lord Hetton's mind, which was a cool one, came to a determination. Very slowly indeed, and perfectly silently, Lord Hetton gradually stretched out his arm from the bed towards the little table upon which his watch had lain; but it was not upon the top of the table that his extended fingers attempted to grasp the object which they sought, but on a ledge several inches beneath. On that ledge lay a loaded six-chamber revolver. His lordship's fingers gradually closed upon the butt of the weapon, gradually and noiselessly he raised it, and with his thumb he proceeded to cock it.
There was an ominous click.
His lordship sprang from the bed, pistol in hand.
The man Parsons started to his feet with equal celerity, and the two men stood glaring at each other.
There was an appreciable instance of silence, and each of the adversaries could hear the loud beating of his own heart.
"You infernal villain, if you don't surrender, I'll blow your brains out," hissed his lordship.
The burglar made no reply, but placed his right hand in his bosom, and in an instant his keen cruel sheath knife was raised high above his head, and without a word, like an infuriated tiger, he rushed upon the sporting nobleman.