The burglar, at last, wrapped the yam box carefully in the old blanket. He looked around for something with which to tie it. Fortunately, the master had discarded his silk crepe sash onto the floor before turning in. The burglar tied his bundle tight with the sash and slung it easily over his back. His appearance, as a consequence, was suddenly ungainly. Next, he stuffed the children's padded vests into the master's knitted long johns. The thighs bulged and swelled, like a rat snake that's swallowed a frog -- or perhaps a pregnant rat snake about to give birth is the better description. At any rate, it produced an odd effect. Anyone who doubts this should try it and see. The burglar secured the long johns by wrapping them round his neck. As I wondered what was next, he spread the master's pongee jacket wide, place the wife's sash, the master's undergarments, and various other articles on top of it, and then bundled it all up neatly. I couldn't help but admire the efficiency and dexterity of his movements. After that he tied the wife's sash bustle and undergirdle into another bundle to hand carry. Looking around for anything else of value, he spotted the master's pack of Asahi cigarettes and dropped them into his sleeve pocket. He then took a single cigarette from the pack and lit it from the lamp. Before the smoke, which he'd relished by drawing in deeply and exhaling at leisure, had completed its circuit of the mikly lampshade and risen away, the burglar's footsteps had receded down the veranda and out of earshot. The master and his wife dozed on. Human beings are astoundingly numb to the world around them.
I'm due for another rest. All this storytelling wears me down. ... I slept soundly, and next thing I knew, the spring sky shone bright and clear, and the master and his wife were conversing with a police officer at the side door.
"So it would seem he entered here and made his way to the bedroom. And the two of you were asleep the whole time?"
"Correct," the master replied a bit sheepishly.