The morning sun filtered through the high stained-glass windows of the manor, casting jewel-toned patterns across the polished oak floorboards.
Vane rested inside a warm sunbeam on the wide library windowsill, easing his tired muscles after a long night of watching and leaping.
He had spent the early morning hours checking every latch, bolt, and window frame throughout the three floors of the house.
The two intruders had left the grounds before dawn, but their deep footprints in the damp garden mud proved they were camped in the nearby pine woods.
Vane nibbled on a dried apple slice he had retrieved from the kitchen pantry, chewing methodically as he planned his next moves.
He knew that small victories like closing the fireplace damper or rousing the swallows would not deter men driven by greed.
The thieves now understood the layout of the cellar and the location of the library shaft.
When night returned, they would bring heavy iron equipment designed to force the main vault door by direct mechanical pressure.
Vane finished his apple slice, licked his whiskers clean, and hopped lightly down onto the thick wool carpet.
He trotted over to the grand piano standing in the sunlit corner of the music room.
Inside the piano casing, a complex network of copper wires, spruce soundboards, and felt hammers rested in perfect mechanical alignment.
Vane had discovered long ago that plucking specific piano strings sent acoustic vibrations traveling along the iron water pipes throughout the building.
He climbed the carved leg of the instrument with practiced ease and slipped beneath the heavy rosewood lid.
He tested the lowest bass string with his front paw, plucking the wound copper wire with a sharp claw.
A deep vibration rumbled through the wooden body of the piano, causing the brass candle sconces on the wall to hum in resonance.
Vane noted the acoustic feedback and moved down to the brass pedals near the floor.
If he jammed a solid wooden wedge under the sustain pedal, the piano strings would remain un-damped, vibrating continuously whenever anyone stepped heavily on the surrounding floorboards.
He scurried into the adjoining hallway and searched beneath a row of antique side chairs.
He found a small oak peg that had fallen from a decorative chair rail.
Dragging the heavy wooden peg between his teeth, he returned to the music room.
He positioned the peg beneath the central brass pedal and wedged it firmly into place using his hind feet.
He tested his work by jumping onto the floorboards nearby.
The vibration immediately caused the un-damped piano strings to produce a low, haunting drone that filled the room.
Satisfied with his acoustic alarm, Vane headed toward the grand entrance hall.
He wanted to examine the primary lock mechanism on the front oak doors before the afternoon sun began to sink.
The main doors were three inches thick, constructed from solid English oak and reinforced with wrought-iron strap hinges.
The central lock was a heavy mortise unit featuring five brass lever tumblers and an eight-inch keyway.
Vane scaled the thick velvet draperies that hung beside the entrance.
From his high perch on the brass curtain rod, he looked straight down onto the polished lockplate.
He immediately noticed a dark, sticky film of oil around the keyhole opening.
The thieves had sprayed lubricant into the lock mechanism during their night attempt to ensure their picks would turn without friction.
Vane wrinkled his dark nose in disgust at the sharp chemical odor rising from the brass plate.
He slid down the velvet fabric and dashed to the kitchen pantry.
He navigated the lower shelves until he found a cloth sack of fine wheat flour used by the house cook.
Working with careful precision, Vane bit a small hole through the woven linen near the bottom seam.
He dragged the leaking sack across the tile floor to the front hallway.
He shook the sack back and forth, dusting a thick, even layer of white flour over the oiled lockplate and across the marble threshold inside the door.
Any hand grasping the brass knob or any boot stepping through the entrance would leave unmistakable white prints.
More importantly, the fine wheat flour would mix with the sticky lubricant inside the keyway, turning the liquid oil into a thick, gummy paste that would jam the tumblers.
Vane stood back and inspected his defensive boundary with a sharp eye.
The white powder covered the floor and keyway in a seamless coat.
Suddenly, the low rumble of an internal combustion engine reverberated up the long gravel driveway.
Vane darted up the velvet drapes to peer through the upper glass transom.
A dark green delivery van had pulled onto the circular driveway and stopped near the front steps.
Two men in dark overalls stepped out of the vehicle, carrying heavy steel toolboxes between them.
It was not yet dusk, but the thieves had decided to launch their attack earlier than expected.
Vane felt the fur along his neck rise in sharp anticipation.
The battle for Ironwood Manor was resuming ahead of schedule, and Vane intended to defend every inch of his home.