The police arrived in minutes. Two officers, who left their blue-and-red lights flashing outside, and who had to tell the old man to set his gun down. The old woman watched from the stairs. Henry was made to sit down. The officers, one of whom was much younger than the other, almost a boy, were polite, even jovial. They called Henry sir. Questions were asked, answers were given. The old man and his wife had arrived from Philadelphia that evening and found the place a mess. No, nothing had been stolen, as far as they could tell. Yes, Henry confirmed, he’d broken into the house multiple times. No, he said, he hadn’t stolen anything. Yes, he’d had an accomplice, a friend, whose name was Alma. He didn’t know where she was. They’d only been looking at things. No, that wasn’t all, they’d been having sex too. The old man was appalled. The officers’ faces turned beet red, they cleared their throats. He was from Georgia. He was on his honeymoon. No, not with Alma. His wife’s name was Effie—he spelled it. No, he didn’t know where she was either. He could have lied and made things easier for himself, but he felt too miserable and penitent to say anything but the truth.

“Heck yes, we want to press charges,” the old man said.

The officers placed Henry in handcuffs and led him outside and into the backseat of the squad car, and as soon as they were on their way, they laughed.

“So let me get this straight,” the young one said, turning in his seat to look back at Henry. “You’re on your honeymoon, but you and this sweetheart—not your wife—you just break into that house every night—to screw? Oh, Mack, we can’t arrest this fellow,” he said to the other one, who was driving. “We should give him a medal. He’s my hero.”

Cape May swept darkly by outside. He rested his head against the window. It was a short trip: the police station, along with the City Hall and courthouse, occupied a building on Washington Street, near the town center, a stretch he and Effie had passed many times. They led him into the station, where the lights were bright and the air smelled like burnt coffee. Only one other officer was on duty, manning the front desk, and he seemed to enjoy the story even more than the other officers had. “I bet you’re glad you’re in here, aren’t you, pal? We can tell your wife we never heard of you. You’ll be safe here.” It was probably the most excitement they’d seen in months. They uncuffed him, took his information—reluctantly, he gave them his address and phone number back home—and took his prints and his picture. They told him the judge would be in first thing Monday morning, to set bail.