"What did you think of the show tonight, Jimmy?" asked Raikes.

"I liked it. Arthur was fine. I can't make out, though, why all this
incense is being burned at the feet of the cracksman. To judge by
some of the plays they produce now, you'd think that a man had only
to be a successful burglar to become a national hero. One of these
days, we shall have Arthur playing Charles Peace to a cheering
house."

"It is the tribute," said Mifflin, "that bone-headedness pays to
brains. It takes brains to be a successful cracksman. Unless the
gray matter is surging about in your cerebrum, as in mine, you can't
hope--"

Jimmy leaned back in his chair, and spoke calmly but with decision.

"Any man of ordinary intelligence," he said, "could break into a
house."

Mifflin jumped up and began to gesticulate. This was heresy.

"My good man, what absolute--"

"_I_ could," said Jimmy, lighting a cigarette.

There was a roar of laughter and approval. For the past few weeks,
during the rehearsals of "Love, the Cracksman," Arthur Mifflin had
disturbed the peace at the Strollers' with his theories on the art
of burglary. This was his first really big part, and he had soaked