Sanc’s philosophy stood up under our bad luck with the near-ruby. “Kid,” he said later, “this is the season of peace on earth and good will to men. Who gives to the poor lends to the Lord, but when I give anything to the poor I am going to have a better motive. However, we are not givers; we are takers, and our taking should be reasoned out rationally. We will reverse this ‘giving and lending.’ We will rob the rich and discomfit the devil; thereby, perhaps, finding favor in the sight of the Lord. And this brings us to the front door of the Diamond Palace. It’s one of the city’s show places and visitors are always welcome. We will visit it.” And we did. Separately, we made several visits in the evening to familiarize ourselves with the inside, and to locate the trays of stones. At night in my room Sanc drew diagrams of the interior and the show cases. We rehearsed the thing in detail night after night. He made a neat dummy parcel and drilled me in placing it over an imitation tray of diamonds; showed me how to place it under my arm securely yet carelessly and walk out of the store with entire nonchalance. He bought his black suit, white shirt, and black tie, put them on and rehearsed his part. We put our rooms in order, cleaning out everything that might look suspicious, protecting ourselves against a possible “pinch.” The hotel keys I had made were put away carefully against a rainy day—or night. Our money was taken from the safety box, changed into bank notes, and secreted in our clothes. I asked him about the guns. “No gun for you, Kid. You might get nervous. Leave yours somewhere. I’ll take mine along.” Christmas was ten days away. Every evening we dressed for our parts, got barbered, shined, and slicked up, and walked about the block prepared to go into the store when it looked right. We made sure every day that the getaways I had located were still open. “I could make it now,” said Sanc as we stood across the street the third evening, “but I’ll wait; it’s getting better every day.” His last instructions were: “Now, don’t get nervous. If you get your hands on the ‘junk’ walk out quietly and away. If they ‘tumble’ me up before I get the tray out you fade away. I’ll do the best I can alone. If there’s a ‘tumble’ after you get the tray and you are chased, hang on to it and get into one of the spots you have picked out and when you get on the other street don’t run; walk briskly direct to the room. If I’m not there five minutes after you, I’ll be in jail. I don’t like to think of that, but the pitcher can go to the well once too often, and it’s better to know beforehand what you are going to do when it breaks. If I don’t appear you put the stones away safely and wait till I send you word. Don’t try to connect with me.”