The Unscheduled Visitor

Arthur was a creature of habit. His nights were for sleep, his mornings for tea and contemplation of the garden's consistent mediocrity. The sound of splintering wood from his back door was, therefore, an anomaly. He adjusted his spectacles, noted the time (2:17 AM – far too early for existential dread, far too late for a polite social call), and padded downstairs.

A large man, clad in black, was rummaging through his antique clock collection. Arthur cleared his throat.

The burglar jumped, dropping a particularly gaudy mantelpiece clock. "Oh, blast," Arthur murmured. "That one was a gift from Aunt Mildred. Ghastly thing, but sentimental value, you understand."

The burglar, visibly unnerved, stammered, "Look, mate, just stay calm."

"Calm is my default setting," Arthur replied, inspecting the chipped ceramic. "Rather a clumsy entry, wouldn't you say? And frankly, the choice of target is curious. My grandfather's coin collection is in the study, much easier to fence, I imagine."

The burglar blinked. "You're... telling me where the valuables are?"

"Well, yes. If you're going to inconvenience me by waking me up, the least you could do is be efficient about it. And try not to damage the floorboards on your way out. The Mrs. just had them refinished. She's quite particular about wood grain."

The burglar, now utterly bewildered, simply stared.

"Right then," Arthur continued, stifling a yawn. "If you could perhaps use the front door on your departure? Less drafty. And do mind the cat; she's prone to darting between feet. A trip hazard."

The burglar, after a moment of stunned silence, slowly backed out, leaving the mantelpiece clock. He didn't even bother with the coin collection. Arthur watched him go, then sighed. "Honestly," he muttered to himself, "some people just don't grasp the concept of an orderly transaction." He then made himself a cup of tea, a full hour before his usual schedule, which was, in his estimation, the true tragedy of the night.