The facts of the burlgary at the vicarage came to us mainly through the vicar and his wife. It occurred in the early hours of Whit-Monday--the day devoted in Iping to the Club festivities. Mrs. Bunting, it seems, woke up suddenly in the silence that comes before the dawn, with the strong impression that the door of their bedroom had opened and closed. She did not wake her husband at first, but sat up in bed listening. She then distinctly heard the pad, pad, pad of bare feet coming out of the dressing-room next door and walking along the passage towards the staircase. As soon as she felt sure of this, she woke the Rev. Mr. Bunting as quietly as possible. He did not turn on a light, but putting on his glasses, her dressing-gown, and his slippers, he went out into the hall to listen. He heard quite distinctly things being moved at his study desk downstairs, and then a violent sneeze.
At that he returned to his bedroom, armed himself with the most obvious weapon, the poker, and descended the staircase as noiselessly as possible. Mrs. Bunting came out into the hall.
The hour was about four, and the ultimate darkness of the night was past. There was a weak light in the hall, but the open study doorway was impenetrably black. Everything was still except the faint creaking of the stairs under Mr. Bunting's steps, and the slight movements in the study. Then something snapped, the drawer was opened, and there was a rustle of papers. Then came swearing, and a match was lit and the study was flooded with yellow light. Mr. Bunting was now in the hall, and through the crack of the door he could see the desk and the open drawer and a candle burning on the desk. But the robber he could not see. He stood there in the hall undecided what to do, and Mrs. Bunting, her face white and intent, went slowly downstairs after him. One thing kept up Mr. Bunting's courage: the conviction that this burglar was a resident in the village.
They heard the chink of money, and realised that the robber had found the housekeeping reserve of gold--two pounds ten altogether. At that sound Mr. Bunting was moved to abrupt action. Holding the poker firmly, he rushed into the room, closely followed by Mrs. Bunting. "Surrender!" cried Mr. Bunting, fiercely, and then stopped amazed. Apparently the room was completely empty.
Yet they were convinced that they had, that very moment, heard somebody moving in the room. For half a minute, perhaps, they stood with their mouths open, then Mrs. Bunting went across the room and looked behind the screen, while Mr. Bunting looked under the desk. Then Mrs. Bunting pulled back the curtains, and Mr. Bunting looked up the chimney and investigated it with the poker. Then Mrs. Bunting scrutinised the waste-paper basket and Mr. Bunting opened the lid of the coal-scuttle. Then they came to a stop and stood with eyes interrogating each other.
"I could have sworn--" said Mr. Bunting.
"The candle!" said Mr. Bunting. "Who lit the candle?"
"The drawer!" said Mrs. Bunting. "And the money's gone!"
She went quickly to the doorway.
"Of all the extraordinary occurrences--"
There was a violent sneeze in the passage. They rushed out, and as they did so the kitchen door slammed. "Bring the candle," said Mr. Bunting, and led the way. They both heard a sound of locks being rapidly opened.
As he opened the kitchen door he saw that the back door was just opening, and the faint light of early dawn displayed the dark shadows of the garden beyond. He was certain that nothing went out of the door. It opened, stayed open for a moment, and then closed with a slam. As it did so, the candle Mrs. Bunting was carrying from the study flickered. It was a minute or more before they entered the kitchen.
The place was empty. They closed the back door, examined the kitchen thoroughly, and at last went down into the cellar. There was not a soul to be found in the house, search as they would.
Daylight found the vicar and his wife, a curiously-dressed little couple, still wandering about on their own ground floor by the unnecessary light of a candle.