Peter Johannes had one burning ambition—to commit a perfect crime. After much thinking and careful planning, he chose burglary for his experiment and a large brownstone mansion for the scene of his action.
Learning its occupants had left town, he arrayed himself in a business suit of conservative cut, flung a light topcoat over his arm, picked up a Gladstone bag, covered with foreign labels, and set out.
He had ascertained, of course, when the policeman patrolling that beat was farthest away. At such a time he drove up in his swanky sport roadster, swung jauntily to the sidewalk, skipped up the steps, and fitted a skeleton key into the lock, which yielded easily. So far so good, he thought.
Inside, he adjusted a black mask to his eyes and silk gloves to his hands: the former for a bit of local color he couldn’t resist; the latter for more practical purposes. What a jolly thing this burglaring was!
He quickly filled his Gladstone with silver and other valuables. Hurrying out, he removed his gloves after closing the door.
‘Done, and not a single clue left!’ he said to himself.
As he was about to descend the steps, he saw out of the corner of his eye the policeman rounding the corner. Feigning disinterest, he quickly pushed the bell-button and stood there whistling.
‘Hey, you!’ shouted the policeman, now standing at the bottom of the steps. ‘What are you doin’ there? Them people ain’t home.’
‘Howdy, Officer. How goes it?’ said our hero blithely as he turned to greet the bluecoat. ‘I know they’re not home; been trying to raise someone for five minutes. Annoying, too, after running out to see them. Oh, well,’ he continued, ‘I’ll be going along,’ as he unconcernedly picked up his bag.
‘You bet you will—right to the hoosegow,’ bellowed the guardian of the peace. ‘Your story I might have believed, but.... Come on, now, I’m takin’ you down.’
Alas for the perfect crime! ‘What caused our hero’s arrest?’ asked Professor Fordney of his class.
