Free Night Over Water by Ken Follett

the part, Harry strode to the window and looked out. “Gone already!” he said.
    “Please explain yourself!”
    Harry took a deep breath, as if marshaling his thoughts. Lady Monkford was about forty, a fluttery woman in a green silk dress. If he kept his nerve, he could deal with her. He smiled winningly, assumed the persona of a hearty, rugby-playing, overgrown schoolboy—a type that must be familiar to her—and began to pull the wool over her eyes.
    “It’s the oddest thing I ever saw,” he said. “I was in the corridor when a strange-looking cove peeped out of this room. He caught my eye and ducked back in again. I knew it was your bedroom, because I had looked in here myself when I was hunting for the bathroom. I wondered what the chap was up to—he didn’t look like one of your servants and he certainly wasn’t a guest. So I came along to ask him. When I opened the door he jumped out of the window.” Then, to account for the still-open drawers of the dressing table, he added: “I’ve just looked into your dressing room, and I’m afraid there’s no doubt he was after your jewelry.”
    That was brilliant, he said admiringly to himself. I should be on the bleedin’ wireless.
    She put her hand to her forehead. “Oh, what a dreadful thing,” she said weakly.
    “You’d better sit down,” Harry said solicitously. He helped her to a small pink chair.
    “To think!” she said. “If you hadn’t chased him off, he would have been here when I walked in! I’m afraid I shall faint.” She grasped Harry’s hand and held it tightly. “I’m so grateful to you.”
    Harry smothered a grin. He had got away with it again.
    He thought ahead for a moment. He did not want her to make too much fuss. Ideally he would like her to keep the whole thing to herself. “Look, don’t tell Rebecca what’s happened, will you?” he said as a first step. “She’s got a nervous disposition and something like this could lay her low for weeks.”
    “Me, too,” said Lady Monkford. “Weeks!” She was too upset to reflect that the muscular, hearty Rebecca was hardly the type to have a nervous disposition.
    “You’ll probably have to call the police, and so on, but it will spoil the party,” he went on.
    “Oh, dear—that would be too dreadful. Do we have to call them?”
    “Well ...” Harry concealed his satisfaction. “It rather depends on what the blighter stole. Why don’t you have a quick look?”
    “Oh, goodness, yes, I’d better.”
    Harry squeezed her hand for encouragement, then helped her up. They went into the dressing room. She gasped when she saw all the drawers open. Harry handed her to her chair. She sat down and started looking through her jewelry. After a moment she said: “I don’t think he can have taken much.”
    “Perhaps I surprised him before he got started,” Harry said.
    She continued sorting through the necklaces, bracelets and brooches. “I think you must have,” she said. “How wonderful you are.”
    “If you haven’t lost anything, you don’t really have to tell anyone.”
    “Except Sir Simon, of course,” she said.
    “Of course,” Harry said, although he had hoped otherwise. “You could tell him after the party’s over. That way at least you won’t spoil his evening.”
    “What a good idea,” she said gratefully.
    This was very satisfactory. Harry was immensely relieved. He decided to quit while he was so far ahead. “I’d better go down,” he said. “I’ll leave you to catch your breath.” He bent swiftly and kissed her cheek. She was taken by surprise, and she blushed. He whispered in her ear: “I think you’re terribly brave.” With that, he went out.
    Middle-aged women were even easier than their daughters, he thought. In the empty corridor he caught sight of himself in a mirror. He stopped to adjust his bow tie and grinned triumphantly at his reflection. “You are a devil, Harold,” he murmured.
    The party was coming to an end. When Harry reentered the