The Fantastic Hotel on Curzon Street - the Jewel Thief
The mantis stepped down from the tram and leaned casually against a wall, directly across the street from The Fantastic Hotel. He'd come across the river, shaken in the old tram with a crash and a bang and sparks from the wire as it lurched around corners. He'd been gracious to old ladies and charming to young ones, with a grin and a joke and a twirl of his fancy moustachios.
His pockets were deep to hide the tools of his trade: an awl, a small hammer, and a set of false keys. Clever with doors, seldom bothered with locks, the mantis went where he wanted, an invisible thief. He collected newspaper headlines in a thick leather book. He was on several Wanted posters down at Scotland Yard, but they had his height completely wrong, depicting a short fellow, whereas the mantis was in fact very tall. He'd hear the blow of a constable's whistle and look about to see who it was, most amused.
And here he was, calm and casual, shooing away boot blacks with their boot brushes and bottles of peregrine oil. After a good long perusal of the building opposite, he straightened up and crossed the road with several long steps, his long limbs quite advantageous.
Clang jangle, there came a loud noise from the bell of a badly driven tram, the driver drunk and quite careless. The mantis dodged quickly, and would have lost his hat if he had one. He grinned, kicked his heels, and headed straight for the circular door. He looked askance at the doorman and smirked down at the small boy by his side.
"Sirrah, Sir, did you see that? That almost perilous danger? Those drivers should truly be banned." He bowed down to the boy. "And you, my boy, are you well?"
And with that bluster and charm, a deliberate diversion, the mantis spun within the revolving doors, leaving the guardians outside confused and perplexed. If questioned later they would be quite bedazzled, unable to accurately describe the intruder. The mantis knew that a spectacular entrance left doubt. Was he six foot four or four foot six? Quite a difference, and who could be certain?
Once inside, he proceeded directly to the lifts. Four to the top and two to the basement; he pressed the button for lift three. Direct to the penthouse on the twenty-third floor. The corridor, when he got there, was deserted. The mantis pulled a mask from his pocket. It was time to go incognito.
He slunk up to the door of Room 237 and put an ear to it, twitching antennae forward to make certain. There was no noise inside and no noise by the door. The mantis thought it safe to sneak in. So he plucked from his pocket a long intricate key, with four tiny levers, two mirrors and a small magnifying glass, for to see the inside of a lock broken into. With a satisfying click the mantis broke in. He eased the door open and peered into the gloom, then swiftly stepped forward, closing the door silently behind him.
It was dark in the room, with a silver glow of moonlight just rising, creeping in through the wide windows. The mantis stood listening, but no, not a sound. He stole forward on thick carpets, his boots hushed, his pockets held close to stop his tools rattle. He stopped in front of a painting, a magnificent, voluptuous nude. He admired her for a moment, then whispered, "Such beautiful eyes. And see how the artist captures the little dog."
He fancied himself as a collector, a purveyor of admirable things, but his speciality was something more tangible.
Hush, what was that? The mantis spun around but saw only shadows. He stood listening, his antennae bending this way, then that. Satisfied with the silence, he carefully took the painting down from the wall, placing it on the floor a few feet away. The temptress lay voluptuous, gazing silly at his feet.
"You need to be higher up, my darling." The mantis chuckled, and turned to the spinnable lock on the grey metal door. He pulled a stethoscope from inside his jacket, cracked his fingers, and set to work.
He spun the dial five times to get the feel of it, then set the stethoscope and both antennae against the door. Sound and vibration, no lock could escape. His fingers were delicate as he slowly turned the dial, listening for the tumblers to fall. It was an elegant task, quite precise, and the mantis took his time about it. Two minutes later, or a few seconds more, the wheel spun around to its final click, and the mantis grasped the lever and turned it.
He pulled the door open and there on the first shelf was a tight stack of money, tied this way and that with a very black bow. One loop of it was in a tight circle, the other end a long trailing thread. Below the stack, on the floor of the metal chamber, lay three bags, one blue in velvet, two a deep tumultuous red.
The mantis's eyes glinted. Here was the prize. He stretched his fingers forward to get the blue velvet sack -
"I'll have that," whispered a voice behind him; female, seductive, and low. "Give it me."
The mantis turned quickly, his fingers instinctively grasping the bag, his other hand going for the awl in his pocket.
"I don't think so," she said, staying his hand with a cocked click of a small pearl-handled revolver, pointing straight at him. "I said, give it to me."
The mantis recovered his wits quickly and put both hands above his head in surrender. Being a fellow with very long limbs, this meant the bag dangled in plain sight, but was unreachable by his assailant. The mantis smiled, but made no sudden movement.
"Curse you," snarled the intruder. "I didn't think of that." She was very much shorter than he, a voluptuous black eyed lady beetle; a lady bug if she'd hailed from New York or San Francisco, but she did not. "I suppose this means we negotiate, because a pistol shot..."
"... would make far too much noise," the mantis replied. "Yes, it would. Yes, we should."
He slowly lowered his arms, and gestured her to put the gun down.
"Madame," he enquired, "who are you, and how did you get in so silently? I was completely unaware of your delectable presence."
"I was here before you, waiting for you to arrive. I observed from the window, looking down at you lounging in the lackadaisical street." She pointed to a tall window with elegant curtains, and a balcony hovering over the boulevard.
"You know me? But I don't know you." The mantis studied the beetle before him, observing her bright carapace. "You're not really made for sneaking about, with that glossy red coat and those unmissable black spots. Any man could see you."
He glanced down at her voluptuous breasts, pleasingly constrained in a sheer mesh top, with large dark nipples clearly visible.
"Any man would want to," he added, admiring her curves and her large dark eyes. The pistol, dangling from a finger, gave her a certain panache and a certain danger.
"You can talk," she rebutted, "with your nearly fluorescent green jacket and extraordinary multi-coloured trousers."
The mantis looked down at himself. "I don't see what you mean. I always dress like this. No-one's mentioned it before. Anyway," he went on, "my pictures are all in black and white, so how would anyone know?"
The lady beetle laughed. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps that's why they can't find us, the constabulary. Because they search for us in black and white, shades of grey; while in truth we thieves sport ourselves in the most amazing colours."
She looked down at herself, and indeed, she had a fascinating array of colours about her. She wore a tight red dress made of a beautiful cloth, which clung to her curves of delicious, tumultuous flesh, with a rose pink motif right in the middle. Her dressmaker had placed a flowering rose pattern, with its convoluted petals and a deep rich centre, right over the subtle mound of her pubis.
The mantis admired the provocation, the deliberate wit. He smiled at her, and she saw him looking. She smoothed her dress down with the palm of her hand to reinforce the illusion, smoothing it neatly over her mons Venus.
The mantis began to think the real thing beneath would be so very much better; her bare belly and a neatly trimmed quiff, with the finest soft black hair, of course.
"But who are you?" he repeated. "I'd quite like to know."
While he distracted the lady with chat, he surreptitiously reached back inside the safe to extract the remaining two bags, disguising his movements with a clumsy bump of the piled money onto the floor. With a quick legerdemain he dipped the bags into his pockets, then just as quickly, slicked back his hair.
The mantis continued to look at the lady beetle, an admiring look on his face. He admitted to himself she was clever, waiting for him to do the dirty work by opening the safe and then, presumably, having a plan to snatch the plunder and make a run for it, a quick getaway.
He wondered if she would speed through the streets on a bicycle, all a clattering on the cobbles with her sturdy strong legs pumping the pedals. Or would she escape using a motorised craft, like a velocipede or a fast gondola? But wait, it's not Venice. A tall red London bus then, up the top; with a flirt for the conductor who would discount the ticket just to get another smile. She'd ring the bell for her destination, and jump off.
But her plan was foiled by the mantis with his long, strangely angled arms, holding the booty well out of her reach.
Nevertheless, the mantis began to ask questions. At first to be friendly, but then, because she was a fellow thief, she might have some useful knowledge. He began slowly, as much to hear her voice as anything else. She had a gleeful laugh in it, or was that light-hearted flirting most deliberate? He couldn't be sure.
"Your plan, my lady, if you had absconded with these jewels? Where had you thought of taking them?"
It would be useful knowledge, to know a good fence. The mantis had to admit he'd not thought much further than getting out the door, his booty hidden in a small gunny sack, the money scattered throughout his pockets.
"Madame the Cat," she said, "down at the end of the boulevard, over the river and turn west. She'll pay good money for the finest jewels, and has an eye for them."
"Ah yes, I know of her." The mantis nodded. "Impeccable taste and indeed, a good eye, so I've heard."
There was good money to be made with bright jewels, and Madame the Cat liked tiny gems the best, those bright shining lights hidden where you least expected them. She made a habit of finding them, their collectors too, and would sew up the best in her big glad bag, made up of myriad patches. She'd nurture the rest, polishing them like diamonds till they'd glint, then hand them back to the owner, or pass them on to a friend.
"Shall we go there together then?" the mantis asked. "I'll confess, I'm a little afraid of you and your gun. A sudden move, a loud noise, you might startle and let loose a bullet."
