The problem, of course, derived from an offshoot of Parkinson’s Law. A person, be he bureaucrat or burglar, tends to take for a task as much time as is available for it. Because I knew Crystal Sheldrake would be absent from her apartment for hours on end, I was inclined to spend several of those hours divesting her of her possessions. I’ve always known that burglars should observe the old Playboy Philosophy-i.e., Get In and Get Out-but there’s something to be said for making use of the available time. You can miss things if your work is rushed. You can leave incriminating evidence behind. And it’s a kick, going through another person’s things, participating vicariously (and perhaps neurotically) in that person’s life. The kicks involved are one of the attractions of burglary for me. I can admit that, even if I can’t do anything much about it.

So I lingered. I could have tossed the Sheldrake pied-à-terre in twenty efficient minutes if I put my mind to it. Instead I took my precious time.

I’d finished picking the second Sheldrake lock at 7:57-I happened to note the time before easing the door open. At 9:14 I closed my attaché case and fastened the snaps. I picked it up and noted its increased weight with approval, trying to think of the avoir-dupois more in terms of carats than ounces.

Then I set the case down again and gave the premises another careful contemplative toss. I don’t even know if I was really looking for anything at this point. A person younger than I might have said I was trying to pick up vibrations. Come to think of it, I might have said that myself, but not aloud. What I was probably trying to do, in truth, was prolong the delicious feeling of being where I wasn’t supposed to be and where no one knew I was. Not even Craig knew I was there. I’d told him I would go in a night or two later, but it was such a pleasant evening, such a propitious night for breaking and entering…