Confessions Of A Burglar.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18043, 31 December 1926, Page 17

Confessions Of A Burglar.

(WRITTEN FOR THE “ STAR ” BY

A.H.C.)

THOLGH I am only one of the lesser fry of the union or rather the confraternity T belong to, I am by no means an insignificant one. I am known to all the best homes of the city, but I never go in for the big busi li e s s—the daring, twocolumn heading, coups that the leaders of my profession indulge in from time to time. After serving my time as a pickpocket, I was apprenticed to a very well-known burglar whose name and address, for obvious reasons, I cannot very well disclose. With him I spent an exceedingly happy and interesting period of my life. There is nothing

quite so exhilarating as, after a job well done, to step out of the darkness of some well-furnished family mansion, one’s swag well filled, into a beautiful moonlit garden! to linger for a moment amongst the flowers and exotic shrubs while the local heavy-footed policeman passes on his way and then the drive home in a powerful car through the coolness of the early morning, knowing that one has concluded successfully an intricate and delicate bit of business. I soon finished my course and was very thankful to have received it at such kindly and capable hands and when I had gone through the final qualification of three singlehanded enterprises I only had to obtain the final diploma, as wa cajl it, of two periods of not less than three months in gaol, to be permitted to set up my own establishment and start in business as a fully qualified burglar. Thanks to the generosity of my men tor, I had put away quite* a tidy little sum and with the success that has followed me ever since. I hope soon to retire and get married As soon as I regain, my liberty, in fact. Yes. lam now serving .six months, my fourth term, in all, as a guest of Ilis Majesty, and I must say that I think the l>eak was a bit hard. Six months was over the t>dds altogether. I only transferred the ownership of a paltry £6o—from a man who could well afford it. too. But you know what these skinflints are.

If the old cow had dropped a halfpenny in the river he would have wanted to get it drained so that he could get it out, before the silt covered it up. It was his roses that caught me. That’s the worst of being a sentimental sort of blighter. There was I looking at his new bed of standards and wondering what manure he was using when I heard a voice behind me: “What’s your little game?” and there stood P.C. 49, as large as life and twice as natural. No, I’m not of that sort. I always go on quietl}-. I always find it best to be polite to those Johnnies, but I couldn’t, give any adequate reason for being there, they seemed to think that rose culture was not sufficient inducement to attract a man into a gentleman’s garden at two in the morning, particularly when he has a wad of notes in his pocket coinciding with what the owner of the property had lost. I’m satisfied. T do an odd job every now and again that keeps me in comfort and respectability for a couple of months and then when mv bank balance gets a bit low. T do another. It is a great life and the occasional visits to such places as this I find very convenient for quiet meditation as Gilbert says "For maturing his felonius little plans,” though 1 do object to the word felonius. I’m no criminal. All J want is enough cash to live like a gentleman and no bother about it. Yes. the atmosphere of a gaol is a bit depressing, but the living is very economical and you are not troubled with income tax, and collectors and so forth. I don’t mind an occasional spell—it hardens you up. 1 always leel a new man, fit fop anything, when I come out and usually have a tidy little plan up my sleeve to buy tha next crust with.