Mr. Hubbard taught me everything I know, not that I was an good learner. When you grow up on the streets you have other things to think about than tinkering with tiny gears and metal bits. Old Hubbard is a clever one and figured out that he could use someone with lock picking abilities. Now that is something I was capable of to the dismay of many London copper. No sooner did they have me behind bars or I would greet them from across the street the very next day. One day I was working my way out of a place instead of in. This one Friday the lads and myself regarded this rundown watch-shop as a prime target for a quick in-and-out. Sebastian on the corner and Olivia under the streetlamp just outside the store. Those two are part of the Urchin Patrol as they are known. A gang of clever street kids is what they really are. They are for hire for any odd job. I usually work alone but for this one I needed some insurance. Everything went just fine and getting into the store was easy. The lock was a simple cylinder key system and did not have any additional bolt behind it. Standing on the inside of the store it occurred to me that I might as well have used a crowbar because the sound of hundreds of clocks and watches ticking would surely have drowned out any noise. At first the sound was overwhelming and kept me standing still for a minute or so. The store was not particularly large but  had a very high ceiling and was obviously kept clean. That does not mean it was tidy. Parts were all over the place and you had to be careful to make sure you were not pointing at a broken watch in a display case while you were shopping for that heirloom. It was clear that the owner was used to visiting libraries, since the shelves were actually high-ceiling cabinets made for stacks of books. There were two ladders on rails, one on either side. They allowed someone to access clocks that were either to be repaired or waiting for their owners (on the left side of the store) or models that were for sale (on the right side). If you have been in a watchmaker's workshop before you will immediately notice the smell of oil and metal. Not oil as in lamp oil but instead the refined one used in spinning wheels and the instruments used by jewelry makers. Besides these two distinct greetings there was also a clear wood odeur present. Someone must wax and polish the dark oak used in the display cabinets and shelves. As I was taking all of this in I did not notice the soft click behind me and the simultaneous rining of a small bell somewhere in the back of the store. By the time this had seeped into my consciousness it was too late. I turned around quickly and tried the door to no avail. Something had locked it, this time with a bolt. I was about to break a window when a soft but clear voice behind me said: "I would not do that if I were you, at least not if you want to work here".