"It lies in this," said Mr. Pedagog, impressively. "You confess at once to the burglar the exact location of the things he's after. Without a safe your silver, or Mrs. Idiot's jewels, such as they are, might be found anywhere in the house. But when you take the trouble to buy a safe, any burglar in creation who has ordinary common-sense must know that your valuables are concentrated in that one spot."
"That, I rejoice to say," said the Idiot, "is the burglar's view."
"You should not rejoice," said Mr. Pedagog, with some of his old-time severity. "You make his work so comparatively easy that he is content to follow a base profession, as you have termed it. Truly, I wonder at you. You place on your first floor a bald safe—"
"I haven't seen any advertised as having a full head of hair," observed the Idiot, complacently.
"You misunderstand me," said Mr. Pedagog. "When I say bald I mean evident, plain, obvious. You practically say: Here are the things which I value. What is to be found within this safe, Mr. Burglar, are the very things you are after. Therefore, say you to the burglar: Attack this safe. Break it open, rifle it of its contents; in other words, here is the swag, as I believe it is called."
"You are wholly right," said the Idiot. "I bought that safe for that precise reason, and I bought a big one and a strong one. But you don't know the story of that safe, do you, Mr. Pedagog?"
"I do not," said the Schoolmaster.
"Then let me tell you," said the Idiot. "That safe has been broken open, and by a professional burglar. The burglar had his tools, and he had his expert knowledge of their use. He arrived at my house, as I recall the situation, somewhere about—ah—two o'clock at night. He bored at the lock until three. He fooled about the combination. He did everything that a respectable burglar might be expected to do, and—"
"He failed, of course, since you say you have lost nothing," said Mr. Pedagog.
"Not at all," said the Idiot. "After two hours and fifty-five minutes' work on that safe he got it open. And—"