A Question of Trust — Story

Everyone who knew Horace Danby considered him a thoroughly good and honest citizen. He was approximately fifty years old, unmarried, and lived with a housekeeper who fussed over his wellbeing. In general, he was healthy and contented — except for his annual summer attacks of hay fever. He manufactured locks and was successful enough at his trade to employ two assistants. Yes, Horace Danby was considered good and respectable — though not entirely honest. Irony

Fifteen years earlier, Horace had served his one and only prison sentence — in a library, fortunately — and had discovered his passionate love for rare, expensive books. Since then, he had robbed a safe exactly once every year. Each year he planned with great care, stole precisely enough to last twelve months, and then quietly purchased the books he loved through an intermediary. Irony

Now, walking through the bright July sunshine, he felt confident that this year's robbery would go as smoothly as all the others. For a fortnight he had been studying Shotover Grange in detail — its rooms, its electrical wiring, its pathways and garden. That afternoon the two servants who remained at the Grange while the family was in London had gone to the cinema. Horace watched them leave, then emerged from behind the garden wall with his bag of tools. He noted with slight annoyance a tickle of hay fever in his nose. Irony

Inside the house, the safe in the drawing room contained approximately fifteen thousand pounds' worth of jewels. If he sold them gradually, he expected to realise at least five thousand — enough to sustain him comfortably for another year and acquire three rather interesting books coming up for auction that autumn. He found the kitchen key where the housekeeper had left it hanging outside on a hook. He pulled on his gloves — he was always careful about fingerprints — took the key, and opened the door. A small dog lay in the kitchen. It stirred, wagged its tail in a friendly way. "Good dog, Sherry," Horace said in a low voice. The trick with dogs was simply to know their name and show them a little affection. Imagery

The safe was in the drawing room, concealed behind a rather mediocre painting. Horace briefly considered whether he ought to be collecting paintings instead of books — but no, they took up far too much space. A large bowl of flowers stood on the table, and the scent made his nose prickle at once. He laid down his tools carefully. He had four hours before the servants returned. The safe was not going to be difficult. After all, locks and safes had been his life's work. He went to the hallway to cut the burglar alarm wire, returned, and sneezed vigorously as the floral fragrance struck him again. A magazine article — he had even read it himself — had described this very house, given a plan of all its rooms, and mentioned that the painting concealed a safe. How foolish wealthy people were, he thought. Irony

He was burying his nose in his handkerchief when he heard a voice from the doorway: "What is it — a cold, or hay fever?" Before he could consider his response, Horace answered automatically, "Hay fever" — and found himself sneezing again. The voice continued warmly: "You can cure that, you know, if you identify the specific plant that triggers it. You really should see a doctor — I could hear you from the top of the house." Irony

A young woman was standing in the doorway. She was quite attractive, dressed in red, and carried herself with calm confidence. She walked to the fireplace and straightened some ornaments. The dog rubbed against her legs. "Down, Sherry," she said cheerfully. "Anyone would think I'd been away for a month!" She smiled at Horace and added, "I came back just in time, it seems — though I hadn't expected to meet a burglar." Irony

Horace felt a cautious hope flicker. She seemed more amused than alarmed. If he managed this correctly, he might still escape. "I hadn't expected to meet one of the family," he replied. She nodded sympathetically. "I see what an inconvenience my arrival is for you. What are you going to do?" Horace said his first thought had been to run. She said she would telephone the police and they would catch him at once. He suggested he could cut the telephone wires and ensure she was unable to do anything for a few hours. She looked at him searchingly: "You'd hurt me?" He hesitated. "I think," he said honestly, "I was trying to frighten you. It didn't seem to work." Imagery

He asked her simply to forget she had ever seen him and let him go. She refused — if she let him go, he would only rob someone else. Society had to be protected from men like him. Horace smiled with genuine feeling: "I'm not someone who threatens society in any real sense. I steal only from those who have far more than they need. I steal for a very specific reason. And I have a genuine dread of prison." She laughed at his earnestness, and he begged with sudden urgency: "Look — I have no right to ask you for anything. But I'm desperate. Let me go, and I promise on my honour — I will never do this again. I truly mean it." Irony

She watched him in silence for a moment, then said with a slow smile: "I have always had a weakness for the wrong kind of people." She picked up a small silver box from the table and helped herself to a cigarette. Horace, eager to demonstrate goodwill, pulled off one of his gloves and held out his lighter for her. "You'll let me go?" he said, holding the lighter towards her. "Yes," she replied. "But only if you will do something for me first." She explained: before leaving for London, she had promised her husband to deposit her jewels in the bank — but she had forgotten. Now she needed them for a party that evening. She had come back for them. But — she smiled apologetically — she had forgotten the combination numbers. "You've forgotten the combination, haven't you?" Horace said softly. She nodded. "Just leave it to me," he said. "You'll have them within an hour — though I may have to break the lock." "Don't worry about that," she said pleasantly. "My husband won't be back for a month, and I'll have the safe repaired by then." Irony

Within an hour, Horace had opened the safe, handed her the jewels, and left — feeling, surprisingly, rather pleased with himself. For two days he kept his promise to the kind young woman and did not attempt any further theft. On the morning of the third day, however, he remembered the books he wanted, and he knew he would need to find another safe to rob. He never got the chance. By midday, a police officer had arrived and arrested him for the jewel robbery at Shotover Grange. Irony

His fingerprints — for he had removed his gloves to work the safe more carefully — were found throughout the room. Nobody believed him when he explained that the wife of the owner had asked him to open it for her. The actual wife of the owner turned out to be a grey-haired, sharp-tongued woman of sixty who dismissed the whole story as complete nonsense. Horace is now assistant librarian in the prison. He thinks often of the charming, clever young woman who was in the same profession as he was — and who tricked him so completely. He grows very angry whenever anyone mentions the phrase "honour among thieves." Irony