“Take your time, and when you see one that looks tough, forget it. There ought to be a few soft ones on that list. One good one would do.”
There was nothing of the Bill Sikes about Sanc. He ordered me to do things as a plumber would an apprentice. I took orders and obeyed them as any apprentice should, cheerfully. I worked faithfully day after day, reporting several places to Sanc, who took a look at them and said, “Keep on going, Kid.”
At last I found a house that seemed to interest him. He looked at it and told me to quit my search and turn my attention to the place for a few evenings. It was built to be burglarized. Big yard, trees, shrubs. House of about ten rooms, two stories, porch in front and around one side. It was on a corner lot and from the side street the family could be seen, assembled at dinner.
We looked at it together for several evenings, and Sanc decided it would do. “Ordinarily,” said he, “I would get this alone, but to-morrow night you will come along. That old porch may not bear my weight. If it won’t, you will have to go up.”
The next evening we were in the yard when they gathered round the dinner table. The upstairs was lighted as usual. Sanc left me in the shrubbery, and stepped to the side porch and upon the railing. When he grasped the upper part to lift himself, the whole structure groaned and creaked and rocked. He tried another place and it was worse. He beckoned me. “Up you go, Kid. It won’t hold me. The front rooms first, remember. Take your time; we have half an hour. I’ll protect you.”
I went up with ease and he back to the sheltering shrubs. The nearest window was unfastened. I doubt if one of them was locked. I was nervous. My heart was pounding with the suspense till I could hear it. Sanc had instructed me well. I was fortunate enough to get the long end of what was there. It was on top of a dressing table. No money. The other rooms were bare of valuables.
I was hanging from the top of the porch, feeling for a foothold on the railing, when a pair of arms encircled me, and, thinking it was Sanc helping me down, I said softly, preparing to let go my handholds, “Have you got me?”
The arms tightened around my waist like iron bands, pinning me to the porch post, helpless.
“Yes, damn you, I’ve got you good!” said a strange voice. “Oh, Clarence, come out here. I’ve got a burglar, red-handed.”
Captured red-handed, as I was, my mind turned to Sanc. I could not believe he had deserted me. Another man joined my captor in response to his call and they began tugging and hauling me, trying to break my hold on the porch roof. I could see myself being beaten, mauled, despoiled of my loot, and thrown into the patrol wagon by the two outraged and angry citizens.