I try to look for the good in all things. I was eventually released from prison, and in their story learned the valuable lesson of due diligence.

The second challenge of any burglary is dealing with the residents of the target itself. In the case of the Rogaire mansion, I had figured that out like the cleverest street performer. It had been years since I retired from duping spent clients or cleaning out their hotels. I found through careful study that homes were the most lucrative risk to take. The exhilarating joy of standing in an unoccupied dwelling surrounded by the fruits of your soon-to-be labor is mouthwatering. Besides, escalation is the sign of improvement.

I’d been staking out the Rogaire mansion for close to a year. I know you wonder: why wait so long? Why not just get the goods and scamper off? Many would follow your instincts, and there was a time I did as well. That jumpy impatience, however, only results in a minimal score—and, after all, it’s the score we all do it for. I shiver at the thought of the money I left in unsearched nooks, mattresses unslit, and rooms behind mirrors. I reckon if I had the patience then that I have now, I would be long retired. Maybe buy a flock of young Suelan boys and live out my days in Pelliul, attending reenactments and theater.

Regardless, I had just about reconnoitered that behemoth place, more a small castle than a mansion. Still, there were locked doors and inconsistencies under floor planks yet to be pried. I had solved almost every riddle, save for the location of a few keys and a peculiar noise I’d regularly hear coming from outside my bedroom window. Besides, despite the high number of reasons that would make any sane person wish to leave, I wasn’t leaving until I knew where the vault was, how to get in, and how to gallop off in un-pursued glee.

The denizens of that dreary house were as familiar with my face as they were the gargoyles that stare down from the cornice. It is impossible to repress a smile. Every day getting dressed in the mirror, fixing my bow tie and sash. I am not a big man, lean with shoulders that insist on a mild slouch. My hair, forever blond, now combed over a nagging bald spot. Yet despite such a modest frame and a face referred to as “birdish,” I possess the bluest eyes in all Mulgara. Vain? Well, Dear Heart, in two of my careers it was a sad dog that didn’t wag its own tail, or know when it could sleep next to the fireplace rather than in a gutter.

—

Dressed for duty, I tightened white gloves over learned hands and proceeded from my chambers.

—