A working man needs the right tools, and the housebreaker's tool is this.
You take the hand off the fellow while he is still hanging, and you want him fresh. Salt, saltpetre, long pepper, and a fortnight in the sun until it is more object than hand. Light the fingers. Every soul under that roof falls asleep and stays asleep, the locks come open like they are pleased to see you, and you may take your time and take everything.
There is one flaw. The old books mention it in a whisper, as if embarrassed.
Water will not put it out. Neither will your breath. It goes out for milk, and for nothing else on this earth —
— which is a bad thing to remember while the dairymaid, who never sleeps, is coming up the passage with a jug.
