At least a cloud of suspicion was dispelled.  Here he lived for two years, with naught to disturb his tranquillity save Mrs. Thompson’s taste for drink.  The hours of darkness were spent in laborious activity, the open day brought its own distractions.  There was always Bow Street wherein to loaf, and the study of the criminal law lost none of its excitement from the reward offered outside for the bald-headed fanatic who sat placidly within.  And the love of music was Peace’s constant solace.  Whatever treasures he might discard in a hurried flight, he never left a fiddle behind, and so vast became his pilfered collection that he had to borrow an empty room in a friend’s house for its better disposal.

Moreover, he had a fervent pride in his craft; and you might deduce from his performance the whole theory and practice of burglary.  He worked ever without accomplices.  He knew neither the professional thief nor his lingo; and no association with gaol-birds involved him in the risk of treachery and betrayal.  His single colleague was a friendly fence, and not even at the gallows’ foot would he surrender the fence’s name.  His master quality was a constructive imagination.  Accident never marred his design.  He would visit the house of his breaking until he understood its ground-plan, and was familiar with its inhabitants.  This demanded an amazing circumspection, but Peace was as stealthy as a cat, and he would keep silent vigil for hours rather than fail from an over keen anxiety.  Having marked the place of his entry, and having chosen an appropriate hour, he would prevent the egress of his enemies by screwing up the doors.

He then secured the room wherein he worked, and the job finished, he slung himself into the night by the window, so that, ere an alarm could be raised, his pony-trap had carried the booty to Evelina Road.

Such was the outline of his plan; but, being no pedant, he varied it at will:  nor was he likely to court defeat through lack of resource.  Accomplished as he was in his proper business, he was equally alert to meet the accompanying risks.  He had brought the art of cozening strange dogs to perfection; and for the exigence of escape, his physical equipment was complete.  He would resist capture with unparalleled determination, and though he shuddered at the shedding of blood, he never hesitated when necessity bade him pull the trigger.  Moreover, there was no space into which he would not squeeze his body, and the iron bars were not yet devised through which he could not make an exit.  Once—­it was at Nottingham—­he was surprised by an inquisitive detective who demanded his name and trade.  ‘I am a hawker of spectacles,’ replied Peace, ’and my licence is downstairs.  Wait two minutes and I’ll show it you.’  The detective never saw him again.  Six inches only separated the bars of the window, but Peace asked no more, and thus silently he won his freedom.  True, his most daring feat—­the leap from the train—­resulted not in liberty, but in a broken head.  But he essayed a task too high even for his endeavour, and, despite his manacles, at least he left his boot in the astonished warder’s grip.