William Steals a Wallet

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ILLIAMS, the suavely impassive and smug-faced valet of young Mr. Reginald van Pelt, entered the bedchamber of his master on noiseless feet, carrying over one arm a pair of freshly creased dress-suit trousers. These he draped over the back of a convenient chair and shot a quick, appraising glance about the room. From behind a closed door—the door of the bath—came the cheerful sound of running water. It was quite evident that Mr. van Pelt was performing his evening ablutions.

The valet went quickly to the door and listened with head averted. Then he crossed to a mahogany dressing table and his eyes sparkled as he saw a roll of money his master had placed on its top, along with his watch and chain and a diamond-studded cigar cutter. With twitching fingers Williams picked up the money and ran it over, counting the bills. They totaled a trifle over three hundred and ninety dollars. After a moment's deliberation he slipped a twenty from the middle of the roll, pocketed it hastily, and replaced the money in its former position.

Next the valet softly opened the drawers of the dressing table and explored them, frowning as they revealed no trace of the small leather wallet he sought. The wallet like the money, was the property of young Mr. van Pelt and to Williams it was a source of constant torment. His master never let it wander from his possession and it was for this reason the valet knew its contents were of value. All of the crookedness within him rose when he thought of the wallet.

As long as Williams could remember, he had been a thief; not a midnight marauder or a yegg who made robbery a profession, but a petty, cheap crook who, not content to live upon his salary, made it a habit to pilfer small amounts from those who employed him. Ever within his heart Williams had longed for the opportunity to make a rich haul, but cowardice held him back. He could not summon up enough nerve to do a job that might expose him to the penalties of the law. He guarded his precious skin like a miser guarded hidden gold. The small amounts he helped himself to were never missed. He had never even been under suspicion.

While the sound of the running water continued, intermingling with the shrill, gay whistle of Mr. van Pelt, the valet laid out the evening apparel of his master, touching the pearl studs he inserted in the bosom of a glossy white shirt with itching fingers; thinking of the wallet guarded so zealously.

Some day, in some way he meant to possess himself of the wallet. He intended to call upon all of whatever courage was his and to steal it.

The door of the bath suddenly opened and Reginald van Pelt entered the room, swathed in a fantastic Chinese bathrobe. With the aid of the valet he commenced the business of dressing and it was not until Williams had correctly tied his white cravat that he spoke. Then he said:

“Williams, I shall not need your services after the twentieth of the month. I am sailing for England on that date and I am telling you now so you may look about for another place. If references are required refer any one you may care to, to me.”

The valet winced. The twentieth of the month was but two weeks distant. He trembled a little, imperceptibly. He was not worried about finding another situation; that would not be very difficult. What agitated him was the fact that if he was to steal the wallet he must find the necessary courage to do the deed within the fortnight.

Fully dressed, Mr. van Pelt picked up the money on the dressing table and pocketed it. Then he informed the other that he would not be home until late and, picking up his stick and gloves, he walked to the door. Here he paused and stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“By Jove!” Mr. van Pelt muttered half aloud. “I almost forgot”

Paying no attention to the valet, who was busy tidying up the room, the young man strode to the space between the windows, pushed aside a frame etching by Morini, and exposed the dial of a small wall safe which reposed directly behind it. The valet's mouth opened as the young man clicked off the combination.

During the four months of his employment with Mr. van Pelt, he had never known of the existence of the hidden safe. His eyes blazed as he saw the other open it and withdraw the leather wallet. Then with a brief “Good night,” the young man tucked it into an inner pocket and went out.

Williams dropped heavily into a chair and stared at the etching by Morini which concealed the safe.

During the week that followed he made no effort to look for or secure another position. He did not care if he found one or not. All he thought of, all he could think of was the wallet. By day he speculated on what its contents might be and by night he dreamed of it. He felt that he possessed the necessary courage to steal it. All he required now was the moment when he might put himself to the test, the moment of opportunity.

On the evening of the seventeenth of the month, Mr. Reginald van Pelt, as he dressed for dinner at the club, engaged the valet in conversation.

“Have you placed yourself yet, Williams?”

The other shook his head. “No, sir. I have several things in view, sir, but nothing definite.”

“I see,” said Van Pelt as he arranged his cravat to his satisfaction and but toned his waistcoat. “Just go to that wall safe, Williams, and bring me the wallet you will find inside of it. I came in so late last night I neglected to lock it. You will find it open.”

Inwardly aquiver, the valet did his bidding. The safe containing the wallet had been open all day and he had not known it!

With shaking fingers he pushed aside the Morini and opened the little round steel door of the safe. The chamber was empty save for the leather wallet. This he withdrew and, striving to control his emotion and to keep it from appearing on his face, he carried it to his master who took it with a nod.

“Thank you, Williams. I think that is all.”

The valet bowed and left the room. But once outside, in the corridor, he dropped to one knee and peered through the keyhole of the door. Inside he saw his employer open the wallet and take from it three tissue paper packages. He saw him lay aside his cigarette and open them. And even from where he was, Williams could see the gleam and sparkle of blue-white stones—diamonds!

With beating pulses the valet slunk off to his room and flung himself down on his bed. It was as he had suspected—as he had known! The wallet contained something of great value, and he had but two days to make it his!

After a long interval he heard the outer door close. He looked out. Below his master was stepping into a limousine.

When the car disappeared down the arc-illumined street, the valet quickly hurried back into the bedchamber. His master had closed the door of the safe, but had not locked it.

It was a simple piece of mechanism—more a toy than a real safe lock. The valet found that by bending and running a large, strong pin into a part of the contrivance, he could throw it out of commission so that the bolt could be shot to, and the dial turned without actually locking the safe. It was ridiculous.

The next morning, when his employer had left, he hurried to the safe and cursed audibly when he saw it was empty. The young man had taken the wallet with him. All day he was torn between two emotions—hope and despair. When Mr. van Pelt returned in the evening, the valet's face was white and haggard.

The young man noticed this.

“I say, Williams,” he exclaimed, “You look like the devil! What's the trouble?”

The valet flushed. “Nothing, sir. A bit of a cold, sir, or something of the sort.”

His employer nodded absently. “Run my bath, Williams. I shall remain at home to-night and complete my packing. I'll need you.”

Then, before valet's eyes, Van Pelt took the leather wallet from his pocket, went to the safe in the wall, opened it, and tossed it in, slamming the door.

Like a man wandering in the labyrinth of a queer dream, Williams waited breathlessly until he heard the sound of the shower and knew his master would be busy for at least a quarter of an hour. Quickly he crossed to the safe, plunged a hand into it and drew out the wallet, dropping it into his coat pocket. Then, his heart in his mouth, the valet crept out.

When he reached the street, he almost ran. Sober reflection came to him. It would appear suspicious to display undue haste. He slowed down and boarded a surface car. Farther downtown, near the Rialto district, he alighted and looking back over his shoulder entered a restaurant. Here he found a vacant table, seated himself and propped up a newspaper. A waiter took his order and hurried away. As he did so the valet drew the wallet from his pocket, a smile on his lips.

With unsteady fingers he opened it and brought forth one of the three tissue-paper packages. As he cautiously unwrapped a corner of it, his eyes caught the sparkle of a white stone.

Nervously he replaced the package and, as he did so, he suddenly caught sight of a folded sheet of note paper, in another section of the wallet. This he brought out, frowning, and unfolded it. As his gaze fell on the familiar writing of Mr. van Pelt, something shot through him.

With blurred vision he read: