straight for the apartments of Abigail Prim, the spinster

daughter of the First National Bank of Oakdale. Or

should we utilize a more charitable and at the same time

more truthful word than spinster? I think we should,

since Abigail was but nineteen and quite human, de-

spite her name.

Upon the dressing table of Abigail reposed much sil-

ver and gold and ivory, wrought by clever artisans into

articles of great beauty and some utility; but with scarce

a glance the burglar passed them by, directing his course

straight across the room to a small wall safe cleverly

hidden by a bit of tapestry.

How, Oh how, this suggestive familiarity with the

innermost secrets of a virgin's sacred apartments upon

the part of one so obviously of the male persuasion and,

by his all too apparent calling, a denizen of that under-

world of which no Abigail should have intimate knowl-

edge? Yet, truly and with scarce a faint indication of

groping, though the room was dark, the marauder

walked directly to the hidden safe, swung back the

tapestry in its frame, turned the knob of the combina-

tion and in a moment opened the circular door of the

strong box.

A fat roll of bills and a handful of jewelry he trans-

ferred to the pockets of his coat. Some papers which his

hand brushed within the safe he pushed aside as though

preadvised of their inutility to one of his calling. Then

he closed the safe door, closed the tapestry upon it

and turned toward a dainty dressing table. From a

drawer in this exquisite bit of Sheraton the burglar took

a small, nickel plated automatic, which he slipped into

<<BackPagesTo menuNext>>