After a moment’s indecision, he started across to the wide, carpeted staircases in the centre of the building.   One of two that led up to the next floor.   Just past the twin staircases was a small, wire-framed elevator.   But having been caught twice previously for burglary, he was not careless enough to risk using the elevator.   If the rattles and crashes didn’t awaken the entire household, the shrieking of the cables and antiquated motor starting and stopping undoubtedly would.

“Besides, I’m not going any further than the second floor, Richie decided.   “So who needs an elevator?”

Half an hour later he had completed the second floor.   On the plus side he had only encountered one locked door and had managed to slip away unnoticed by anyone sleeping within.   On the negative side, he had found little worth lifting.   An original Norman Lindsay painting would fetch notably more than the two Ainslie Robertses combined, so he had taken the time to liberate it.   But nothing else had been worth adding to his meagre stash.

After much soul-searching, he reluctantly went up to the third floor.   In the first room he found a handful of small silver cups in what was obviously the games room.   There was also a $50,000 full sized pool table, which he had no possible hope of moving.   So he was forced to settle for the silver trophies.

Returning to the corridor, he paused for a second, tempted to leave now.   When from overhead came a sudden shriek, then a female voice crying, “No, oh God no!”   Then a muffled, half choking sound, followed by silence.

Startled, Richie looked up as though possessing X-ray vision, hoping to see the crier through the ceiling.   “Nightmares, I guess,” he said, knowing that the Westons had a twelve-year-old daughter, Tara.   ”I guess even rich kids can have nightmares,” he thought.   “I suppose their bad dreams are about stock market crashes; governments of the world getting serious about taxing the rich; about the United States no longer functioning as a haven for billion-dollar tax-avoiders from other countries …?”

Despite his fear of being caught by the Westons, Richie reluctantly continued hunting through the rooms on the third floor.   He would not dare try rifling through the fourth floor or the fifth floor suites with the Westons sleeping up there.   But he decided it was worth risking a bleary-eyed valet or maid.