CHAPTER V. THE BURGLARY AT THE VICARAGE

by H. G. Wells · 2026-03-31

The details of the burglary at the vicarage came to us primarily from the vicar and his wife. It happened in the early hours of Whit Monday, a day dedicated to the Club festivities in Iping. Mrs. Bunting suddenly woke up in the stillness just before dawn, convinced that the door to their bedroom had opened and closed.

At first, she didn’t wake her husband but sat up in bed, listening intently. Soon, she distinctly heard the soft sound of bare feet padding out of the adjoining dressing room and walking down the hallway toward the staircase. Once she was sure of what she heard, she quietly nudged the Rev. Mr. Bunting awake. He didn’t turn on the light; instead, he put on his glasses, slipped into his dressing gown and bath slippers, and stepped out onto the landing to listen.

From downstairs, he could hear a fumbling noise at his study desk, followed by a loud sneeze.

That was enough to send him back to the bedroom, where he grabbed the most obvious weapon he could find—the poker—and crept down the staircase as quietly as possible. Mrs. Bunting followed him out onto the landing.

It was around four in the morning, and the darkest part of the night had passed. A faint shimmer of light glowed in the hall, but the study doorway was a deep, impenetrable black. The only sounds were the soft creaking of the stairs under Mr. Bunting’s weight and the slight rustling from the study. Suddenly, something snapped, a drawer opened, and papers rustled. Then came a curse, and a match was struck, flooding the study with yellow light.

Mr. Bunting stood in the hall, unsure of what to do. Through the crack of the door, he could see the desk, the open drawer, and a candle burning on the desk, but the burglar was nowhere in sight. He hesitated, and Mrs. Bunting, her face pale and focused, crept down the stairs after him. One thought kept Mr. Bunting’s courage alive: the belief that the burglar was someone from the village.

They heard the clink of coins and realized the robber had found their stash of gold—two pounds ten in half-sovereigns. That sound spurred Mr. Bunting into action. Gripping the poker tightly, he rushed into the room, with Mrs. Bunting right behind him. “Surrender!” he shouted fiercely, only to stop in confusion. The room appeared completely empty.

Yet they were both convinced they had just heard someone moving around. For a moment, they stood there, stunned. Then Mrs. Bunting crossed the room to look behind the screen, while Mr. Bunting, driven by a similar impulse, bent down to peer under the desk. Mrs. Bunting pulled back the window curtains, and Mr. Bunting checked the chimney with the poker. Mrs. Bunting examined the waste-paper basket, and Mr. Bunting lifted the lid of the coal scuttle. They paused, exchanging puzzled glances.

“I could have sworn—” Mr. Bunting started.

“The candle!” he exclaimed. “Who lit the candle?”

“The drawer!” Mrs. Bunting said. “And the money’s gone!”

She hurried to the doorway.

“What a strange occurrence—”

Suddenly, a loud sneeze echoed in the hallway. They rushed out, and as they did, the kitchen door slammed shut. “Bring the candle,” Mr. Bunting instructed, leading the way. They both heard the sound of bolts being hastily shot back.

As he opened the kitchen door, he saw through the scullery that the back door was just opening. The faint light of early dawn revealed the dark shapes of the garden beyond. He was certain that nothing had gone out of that door. It opened, lingered for a moment, and then slammed shut. As it did, the candle Mrs. Bunting was carrying flickered and flared. It took them a minute or more to enter the kitchen.

The place was empty. They secured the back door, thoroughly searched the kitchen, pantry, and scullery, and finally went down into the cellar. No one was to be found in the house, no matter how hard they looked.

As daylight broke, the vicar and his wife, a quaintly dressed little couple, continued to marvel at the strange events that had unfolded in their home, illuminated by the flickering light of a guttering candle.