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Extract from account in a local paper.

A man appeared before the Magistrate’s court yesterday charged with breaking into the residence of Mr Henry Sutcliffe with intent to steal. Mrs Sutcliffe’s bedroom was ransacked and left in wild confusion whilst the members of the family were at Church on Sunday morning. The kitchen staff who were preparing the mid-day meal, heard nothing. Police arrested the man as he was making his escape from the house. Something had evidently alarmed him and he had fled without taking anything.

Giving his name as Andrew Ball of no fixed abode, he pleaded guilty. He said he had been out of work and was looking for money. Mrs Sutcliffe’s jewellery, apart from a few pieces which she was wearing, is kept at her bank.

‘I told you to have the lock of that drawing-room french window seen to,’ had been the comment of Mr Sutcliffe in the family circle.

‘My dear Henry,’ said Mrs Sutcliffe, ‘you don’t seem to realize that I have been abroad for the last three months. And anyway, I’m sure I’ve read somewhere that if burglars want to get in they always can.’

She added wistfully, as she glanced again at the local paper:

‘How beautifully grand “kitchen staff” sounds. So different from what it really is, old Mrs Ellis who is quite deaf and can hardly stand up and that half-witted daughter of the Bardwells who comes in to help on Sunday mornings.’

‘What I don’t see,’ said Jennifer, ‘is how the police found out the house was being burgled and got here in time to catch him?’

‘It seems extraordinary that he didn’t take anything,’ commented her mother.

‘Are you quite sure about that, Joan?’ demanded her husband. ‘You were a little doubtful at first.’

Mrs Sutcliffe gave an exasperated sigh.

‘It’s impossible to tell about a thing like that straight away. The mess in my bedroom—things thrown about everywhere, drawers pulled out and overturned. I had to look through everything before I could be sure—though now I come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing my best Jacqmar scarf.’

‘I’m sorry, Mummy. That was me. It blew overboard in the Mediterranean. I’d borrowed it. I meant to tell you but I forgot.’

‘Really, Jennifer, how often have I asked you not to borrow things without telling me first?’

‘Can I have some more pudding?’ said Jennifer, creating a diversion.

‘I suppose so. Really, Mrs Ellis has a wonderfully light hand. It makes it worth while having to shout at her so much. I do hope, though, that they won’t think you too greedy at school. Meadowbank isn’t quite an ordinary school, remember.’

‘I don’t know that I really want to go to Meadowbank,’ said Jennifer. ‘I knew a girl whose cousin had been there, and she said it was awful. They spent all their time telling you how to get in and out of Rolls-Royces, and how to behave if you went to lunch with the Queen.’

‘That will do, Jennifer,’ said Mrs Sutcliffe. ‘You don’t appreciate how extremely fortunate you are in being admitted to Meadowbank. Miss Bulstrode doesn’t take every girl, I can tell you. It’s entirely owing to your father’s important position and the influence of your Aunt Rosamond. You are exceedingly lucky. And if,’ added Mrs Sutcliffe, ‘you are ever asked to lunch with the Queen, it will be a good thing for you to know how to behave.’

‘Oh well,’ said Jennifer. ‘I expect the Queen often has to have people to lunch who don’t know how to behave—African chiefs and jockeys and sheikhs.’

‘African chiefs have the most polished manners,’ said her father, who had recently returned from a short business trip to Ghana.

‘So do Arab sheikhs,’ said Mrs Sutcliffe. ‘Really courtly.’

‘D’you remember that sheikh’s feast we went to,’ said Jennifer. ‘And how he picked out the sheep’s eye and gave it to you, and Uncle Bob nudged you not to make a fuss and to eat it? I mean, if a sheikh did that with roast lamb at Buckingham Palace, it would give the Queen a bit of a jolt, wouldn’t it?’

‘That will do, Jennifer,’ said her mother and closed the subject.