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stationery from the office or buy a hot color TV. They almost certainly fiddle a bit on their income tax returns. But they don't make their livings lifting baubles from other people's apartments, or knocking over liquor stores and filling stations, or writing checks drawn on the Left Bank of the Wabash. Their moral caliber may be no greater than mine but their respectability quotient is infinitely higher.
    And as far as any of them know, I'm as respectable as the next fellow. I don't talk much about my work, and in the sort of casual friendships toward which I gravitate there's nothing remarkable about that. It's generally understood that I'm in investments, or living on a small but apparently adequate private income, or doing something dull but earnest in import-export, or whatever. Sometimes I'll assume a more colorful role to impress a youngish person of the interesting sex, but for the most part I'm just Good Old Bernie, who always has a buck in his pocket but never throws it around recklessly, and you can always count on him for a fifth at poker or a fourth at bridge, and he probably does something like sell insurance but hasn't thank God tried to sell it to me.
    Now my dentist evidently knew I was a burglar. The fact that my cover was blown wasn't horrible-there were people in my apartment building who knew, and a few other folks around town. But the whole thing was startling, so was the manner in which it had all been brought to my attention.
    "Couldn't resist that," Craig Sheldrake was saying. "Damn if you didn't just about drop your lower incisors on my linoleum. Didn't mean to shake you up but I couldn't help myself. Hell, Bern, it don't make no never mind to me. You had your name in the paper when they were trying to hang a murder charge on you a year or so ago and I happened to notice it. Rhodenbarr's not the most common name in the world, and they even gave your address, which I of course have in the files, so it looked to be you all right. You've been in a few times since then and I never said anything because there was never any need."
    "Urg."
    "Right-but there is now. Bernie, how'd you like to rack up a really nice score? I guess different burglars like to steal different things but I never heard of a one who doesn't like to steal jewelry. I'm not talking about crap from the costume counter at J. C. Penney. I'm talking about the real stuff. Diamonds and emeralds and rubies and lots of fourteen- and eighteen-carat golderoo. Stuff any burglar would be proud to stash in his swag bag."
    I wanted to tell him not to use what he evidently thought was thieves' argot. But what I said was "Urg."
    "You betcha, Bern. But open a little wider, huh? That's the ticket. Let me get to the point. You remember Crystal, don't you? She worked for me, but that was before your time. Then I made the mistake of marrying her and lost a great dental hygienist who put out and gained in return a slovenly wife who also put out-for half the world. But I know I've told you my troubles with that bitch. I poured that tale into any ear that would stand still for it."
    How could any ear escape it when it shared a head with a mouth with Mr. Thirsty slurping up the saliva?
    "Bought her all the jewelry in the world," he went on. "Sold myself on the idea that it was a good investment. I couldn't just hold onto money, Bern. Not built that way. And she gave me this song and dance about investing in jewelry, and I had all this undeclared cash I couldn't invest in stocks and bonds, it had to go into something where you can pay cash and keep the whole thing off the books. And you can get good bargains in the jewelry line if you'll do business that way, believe me."
    "Urg."
    "Thing is, then we went and got divorced. And she got all the pretties, and I couldn't even pitch a bitch in court or the IRS might stand up and start wondering where the cash for those pretties came from in the first place. And I'm not hurting, Bern. I make a good living. But here's