“The thief was evidently looking for money only. Unfortunately, the old ladies had money in the house: a foolish habit of theirs. The writing-table drawers had flimsy modern locks, easily enough picked by anyone with a little skill in that direction. The rascal got away with five-and-twenty pounds.”
“How dreadful!” Mrs. McNab said. “I am so sorry for them. And—the police? are they looking for the thief?”
Dr. Firth shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh, of course. But the Wootong policemen aren’t a very brilliant pair, and the man left no trace, they say. It is so easy, nowadays, to get away with the proceeds of a robbery; a motorcar or motor-cycle lands a thief forty miles away in an hour. And the Parkers’ cottage is on the main road, where cars pass every few minutes. I don’t suppose the poor old ladies have much chance of seeing their money again. It is a heavy loss for them: they have very little to live on, and the elder sister is not strong.”
“Poor old things!” Mrs. McNab said, in a troubled tone. “It was a very mean robbery.”
“It was; and it looks as though the thief knew something of their circumstances. One would not expect a little cottage like that to be burgled; the ordinary thief would hardly expect to get enough to make his risk and trouble worth while. Some people are saying that the burglar is not far off. It appears that Henessy, of the hotel, lost some money last week; some one had helped himself from the till. Henessy had been in and out of the bar a good deal, and a great many people had been there during the day; he felt that he had no clue, so he held his tongue at the time. But he told the constable about it this morning.”
“But that is very worrying to the whole neighbourhood,” said Mrs. McNab anxiously. “You should be careful, Dr. Firth: your house is lonely, and you have so many beautiful things in it.”
“Oh, they’re well enough secured, I fancy,” he said. “My brother had very special locks for all his cabinets of curiosities. All the same, I admit that I think there is too much there for prudence. I have none of the collector’s fever, as my brother had, and a good many of his treasures mean very little to me, valuable as they are. They would not be much use to the average burglar, either.”
“Oh, but think!” Mrs. McNab urged, leaning forward. “The jewels set in those barbaric ornaments—they would be easily removed. I don’t think you should run the risk.”
“Well, yes, I suppose the jewels would make decent plunder,” Dr. Firth admitted. “To tell you the truth, Mrs. McNab, I don’t seem to have had time to learn my brother’s collections yet: there are ever so many things of which I have only a hazy notion. They are all listed, of course, and I had an expert down to value them, in connection with Michael’s estate; but since then they have been locked away.” He looked almost apologetic as he spoke. “I’m pretty busy, you know: there has been so much business to see to, and so much writing to England—I left at a moment’s notice when the news of Michael’s death came. And the local people won’t believe that I am not a practising physician: they come to me whenever Dr. Harkness is not to be found in Wootong. I tell them it’s their own risk, considering that I haven’t practised my profession for fifteen years. But one can’t refuse them. So my time is sadly cut to waste. But for that I should have found out Miss Earle and her brother and sister long ago: and then, I doubt if you’d have had Miss Earle here, for I should have wanted her myself.”