The Burglar and the Blizzard: A Christmas Story | Page 2

touched his elbow.
"Mr. and Mrs. Vaughan have come, sir," he said.
"Send up to my apartment and tell Mrs. May we are sitting down to
dinner," returned Holland promptly, and advanced to meet the
prosperous looking couple approaching.
"I'm afraid we are late," said the lady, "but can you blame us? Have you
heard? We have been telegraphing to Hillsborough all the afternoon to

find out what has gone."
"You are not late. My sister has not come down yet. I was just reading
about your robbery. Have you lost anything of value?"
"Oh, I suppose so," said Mrs. Vaughan cheerfully, sitting down and
beginning to draw off her gloves. "We had a Van Dyke etching, and
some enamels that have gone certainly, and Charlie feels awfully about
his wine."
"Yes," said Mr. Vaughan gloomily. "I tell you he is going to have a
happy time with that champagne. It is the best I ever tasted."
"Upon my word," said Geoffrey, "they are a nice lot of countrymen up
there. Four robberies and not so much as a clue."
"You need not be afraid," said Mrs. Vaughan rather spitefully. "In spite
of all your treasures, I don't believe any thief would take the trouble to
climb to the top of your mountain."
Holland's selection of a distant hilltop for his large place pleased no
true Hillsboroughite. As an eligible bachelor he was inaccessible, and
as a property-holder he was too far away to increase the value of
Hillsborough real-estate by his wonderful lawns and gardens.
Mrs. Vaughan's irritation did not appear to disturb Geoffrey, for he
laughed very amiably, and replied that he could only hope that the thief
was as poor a pedestrian as she seemed to imagine as he should not like
to lose any of his things; and he added that in his opinion Vaughan
ought to be starting for Hillsborough at once.
"Pooh," said that gentleman, "I can't go with the market in this
condition,--would lose more than the whole house is worth."
"You would go duck-shooting in a minute," said Holland, "and this
would be a good deal better sport."
Mr. Vaughan ignored this remark. "The thing to do," he said, "is to
offer a reward, a big enough reward to attract some first-class
detective."
"All right," said Geoffrey readily, "I'll join you. Those other fellows
ought to be willing to put up a thousand apiece,--that will be five
thousand. Is that enough? We can have it in the papers to-morrow.
What shall I say? Five thousand dollars reward will be paid for
information leading to the conviction--and so on. I'll go and telephone
now," and with a promptness which surprised Mr. Vaughan, he was
gone.

When he came back his sister was in her place and they were all
discussing the burglary with interest. Mrs. May, who was somewhat
older than her brother, had some of the more agreeable qualities of a
gossip, that is to say she had imagination and a good memory for detail.
"For my part," she was saying, "I have the greatest respect and
admiration for him. Do you know he could not find anything worth
taking at the Wilsons',--after all his trouble. I have often sat in that
drawing-room myself, and wondered if they should offer me anything
in it as a present, whether I could find something that would not
actually disgrace me. I never could. He evidently felt the same way.
The Wilsons make a great to-do about the house having been entered,
and tell you how he must have been frightened away,--frightened away
by the hideousness of their things! Those woolly paintings on wood,
and the black satin parasol that turns out to be an umbrella stand."
"My dear Florence," said her brother mildly, "how can a black satin
parasol be an umbrella-stand?"
"Exactly, Geof, how can it? That is what you say all through the
Wilsons' house. How can it be! However it is not really black satin,
only painted to resemble it. The waste paper baskets look like trunks of
trees, and the match boxes like old shoes. Nothing in the house is really
what it looks like, except the beds; they look uncomfortable, and some
one who had stayed there told me that they were."
"Dear Florence," said Mrs. Vaughan, "is it not like her kindness of
heart--it runs in the family--to try and make my burglary into a
compliment, but really though it is flattering to be robbed by a
connoisseur I could forego the honour. You see you have taken away
my last hope that my very best escaped his attention."
"No, indeed, the best is all he cared for. Honestly, Jane, haven't you an
admiration for a man of so much taste and ability? Just think, he has
entered four houses