Affinities, and Other Stories

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

"They'll think you broke in, which answers as well," she said. "And you can get the money and let yourself out the side door without any trouble."

"I sha'n't have any dinner," I reminded her. But she said she'd have something ready for me at home after I'd committed my crime, and went down the staircase whistling.

I shall never forget that awful night. I was most uncomfortable. There was a chance that the servants, locking up, would go into Viv's study and find the glass, although it was behind the curtain. But I'd seen Peters lock up before. He stood in a doorway and looked at each window, and if the curtains did not blow the house was safe. Luckily there was no wind that evening!

But I hated the whole thing. It got darker and darker and things scrambled in the walls. Poppy brought the money and put it in a drawer but of course I did not speak to her. She had to be able to swear she knew nothing. She kissed Viv's picture which she had painted, and trotted out again, sighing. Peters did not discover the broken window in the den below, because he never even went to look. And I felt very dreary, with no one really caring for me, and so far from America, and men—like Basil, for instance—acting so strange and uneasy.

Of course I could have taken the money and gone, as soon as it was dark. But a policeman took up a position outside the area door, and waited for somebody. He and Peters had a few words about Poppy's maid, and the policeman said he would see her if he had to stay there all night. He stayed for hours.

I got the money and put it in my handbag, and because I did not wish to get it mixed with my own, I put it by itself in one of the pockets. Then I think I dozed for two or three hours, for when waking the street was quiet and the policeman had gone away. I was stiff, tired, and out of humor, and I started down the little staircase past Viv's study to the area door. As I reached the bottom, somebody tried the lock outside. I nearly fainted. I turned and ran up in the dark, and the door below opened. A man came in stealthily and went directly to Vivian's den. And just then a church clock struck two.

I was frightened. It seemed to me that as soon as he ransacked the room below, he'd come up to the studio. Perhaps he knew about the money. Burglars seem to be able to smell money. And the idea of being caught in the studio, as in a cul de sac, made me panicky. I clutched my bag, and slipped down the staircase, past Vivian's door. The burglar was there, going through Viv's desk, with a light turned on and a cap down over his eyes.

I forgot to be cautious then. I bolted for the door, flung it open—it was a patent lock, with a knob inside—and stepped out into the night air and the policeman's arms.

"Easy a bit, hold girl!" he said. "Hi'm 'ere and you're 'ere. What's the 'urry?" He held me off and looked at me. Luckily I'd never seen him before. "Quick with your 'ands, ain't you! In you goes and in five minutes out you pops!"

"If you think I'm a burglar," I said haughtily, "I'm nothing of the sort. I'm——" It came over me, all at once, that I'd better not say I was a friend of Poppy's. You see she was being watched very closely. If I was searched, and the exact amount of her income tax in my pocket, it would look very queer, and the whole thing would be out, of course. "The burglar you followed is still in the house," I said. "He's in Mr.—in the study, just beyond that door."