o that of Mr. Nuth. To those outside the magic circle
of business, his name is scarcely known; he does not need to
advertise, he is consummate. He is superior even to modern
competition, and, whatever claims they boast, his rivals know it. His
terms are moderate, so much cash down when the goods are
delivered, so much in blackmail afterwards. He consults your
convenience. His skill may be counted upon; I have seen a shadow on a
windy night move more noisily than Nuth, for Nuth is a burglar by
trade. Men have been known to stay in country houses and to send a
dealer afterwards to bargain for a piece of tapestry that they saw
there--some article of furniture, some picture. This is bad taste: but
those whose culture is more elegant invariably send Nuth a night or
two after their visit. He has a way with tapestry; you would scarcely
notice that the edges had been cut. And often when I see some huge,
new house full of old furniture and portraits from other ages, I say
to myself, "These mouldering chairs, these full-length ancestors and
carved mahogany are the produce of the incomparable Nuth."

It may be urged against my use of the word incomparable that in the
burglary business the name of Slith stands paramount and alone; and of
this I am not ignorant; but Slith is a classic, and lived long ago,
and knew nothing at all of modern competition; besides which the
surprising nature of his doom has possibly cast a glamour upon Slith
that exaggerates in our eyes his undoubted merits.

It must not be thought that I am a friend of Nuth's; on the contrary
such politics as I have are on the side of Property; and he needs no
words from me, for his position is almost unique in trade, being among
the very few that do not need to advertise.

At the time that my story begins Nuth lived in a roomy house in
Belgrave Square: in his inimitable way he had made friends with the
caretaker. The place suited Nuth, and, whenever anyone came to inspect
it before purchase, the caretaker used to praise the house in the
words that Nuth had suggested. "If it wasn't for the drains," she
would say, "it's the finest house in London," and when they pounced on
this remark and asked questions about the drains, she would answer
them that the drains also were good, but not so good as the house.
They did not see Nuth when they went over the rooms, but Nuth was
there.

Here in a neat black dress on one spring morning came an old woman
whose bonnet was lined