into his mind as he crouched there. "I feel like a cat on the tiles,"
he whispered to himself. It was far better than he had expected--
this adventurous exhilaration. He was sorry for all poor men to whom
burglary was unknown. Nothing happened. He was quite safe. And
he was acting in the bravest manner!

And now for the window, to make the burglary complete! Must he dare do
that? Its position above the front door defined it as a landing or
passage, and there were no looking-glasses or any bedroom signs about
it, or any other window on the first floor, to suggest the possibility
of a sleeper within. For a time he listened under the ledge, then
raised his eyes above the sill and peered in. Close at hand, on
a pedestal, and a little startling at first, was a nearly life-size
gesticulating bronze. He ducked, and after some time he peered
again. Beyond was a broad landing, faintly gleaming; a flimsy fabric
of bead curtain, very black and sharp, against a further window; a
broad staircase, plunging into a gulf of darkness below; and another
ascending to the second floor. He glanced behind him, but the
stillness of the night was unbroken. "Crime," he whispered, "crime,"
and scrambled softly and swiftly over the sill into the house. His
feet fell noiselessly on a mat of skin. He was a burglar indeed!

He crouched for a time, all ears and peering eyes. Outside was
a scampering and rustling, and for a moment he repented of his
enterprise. A short "miaow," a spitting, and a rush into silence,
spoke reassuringly of cats. His courage grew. He stood up. Every
one was abed, it seemed. So easy is it to commit a burglary, if one
is so minded. He was glad he had put it to the test. He determined
to take some petty trophy, just to prove his freedom from any abject
fear of the law, and depart the way he had come.