your target, Uncle Mick had always told me. So I didn’t give the silver a second thought as I followed him silently through the room and into the foyer, where we began to make our way up the staircase.
Uncle Mick had talked to a woman who had once worked in the house and had gotten a fairly good idea of what the layout was. He was good at that sort of thing, finding sources and gathering information in an offhanded way that didn’t arouse suspicion.
At the top of the stairs, we moved unerringly toward a room at the end of the hall.
The light from our torches played over the walls as we went, casting strange shadows against several paintings, none of them noteworthy, hung upon the dark green silk paper.
We reached the end of the hall, and Uncle Mick opened the door to our right and entered the office. This room was decorated in the same style as the rest of the house, good-but-not-exceptional-quality furniture, mediocre art. There was a large desk and one wall was lined with bookshelves.
Uncle Mick scanned the wall behind the desk with his torch. There was a large painting hung there in an expensive gilt frame. It was just the sort of piece that might hide a safe. Cheap wall safes were somewhat typical in people of this class, people with property valuable enough to be locked away but not so grand as to be stored in a bank box.
We had it on good authority that there was jewelry in that safe. We were rather counting on it, in fact. I tried not to get my hopes up, reminding myself that, if we didn’t come across what we were after, there was always the dining room silver.
Uncle Mick turned to look at me. “Come see what you think.”
Holding my torch up with one hand, I reached out and touched the frame, testing it for any hint of movement. At first I felt nothing, but as I ran my fingers around the edge, I felt a little projection, almost like a knob of some sort. I pressed it, heard a slight click, and the painting swung back from the wall on hinges.
“That’s my girl,” Uncle Mick said.
I flashed my torchlight over the face of the safe that was set into the wall behind the painting.
I frowned. This wasn’t an inexpensive wall safe. It was a Milner, rather more heavy-duty and more of a challenge than the cheaper model I had been expecting.
Uncle Mick was apparently thinking the same thing, for he gave a low whistle. “Looks like they take their valuables seriously.”
This was said in a cheery tone. This more difficult lock might take him a bit longer, but Uncle Mick had always relished a challenge.
I stepped to the side, giving him room and holding up the light so he could see, and he moved closer.
Watching Uncle Mick open a safe was like watching an artist paint a picture or a violinist play a complicated piece of music. There is an art to it, and Uncle Mick had flair. What isn’t as obvious, however, is that it is also like watching a mathematician solve a complicated equation. I used paper when I worked out combinations, but Uncle Mick did it all in his head. I suppose, if he’d come from a different background with better opportunities, he might have been a great success at any number of lofty professions.
The room was dead silent as he worked. I studied his face in the light of the torch. He was a thin, wiry man, with a shock of black hair gone gray and sharp gray-green eyes. Those eyes were focused, his head tilted toward the dial as he moved it, listening. The minutes passed, all quiet in the room except for the tick of a clock somewhere behind us.
“Ha,” he said at last, and the safe handle gave beneath his grasp. I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding.
He pulled the safe open and reached inside. A smile spread across his face as he turned, took my hand, and placed a flat velvet box into it. A necklace.
He reached inside again and pulled out four more jewelry boxes: two for rings, and two I assumed might be bracelets and earrings. I couldn’t resist opening one of the boxes and was met with the brilliant flash of diamonds and rubies.
“Not bad for a night’s work,” Uncle Mick said with a smile.