A Burglary

The curtain was down, but he insisted on raising it until I could peep through the glass
door on the other side and see his handiwork in the shop beyond. Here two dim lights
were left burning, and in their cold amber rays I could at first see nothing wrong. I
looked along a straight passage, an empty glass counter on my left, glass cupboards of
untouched silver on my right, and facing me the black eye of the peep-hole that shone
like a stage moon on the street.

The counter had not been emptied; its contents were in the safe, which had given up at a glance; nor had he looked at the silver, except to choose a cigarette case for me. He had confined himself entirely to the shop window.

This was in three compartments, each secured for the night by removable panels with separate locks. Jack had removed them a few hours before, and the electric light shone on a corrugated shutter as bare as the ribs of a cadaver. Every article of value was gone from the one place which was invisible, from the little window in the door.

Every where else, all was as it had been. Except for a train of mangled doors behind the iron curtain, a bottle of wine and a cigar-box with which our liberties had been taken, a black towel in the toilet, a burnt match here and there, and  finger-marks on the dusty  old handrail, not a trace of our visit did we leave.



My author page is at; https://www.amazon.com/author/algwriter

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