Mr. Robert James Arthur led an eventful life. As he sat in his worn armchair by the bay window, he looked out at the street below the brownstone. These days, he spent most of his afternoons by this window, a tattered blanket warming his lap, and a book in his hand. He felt antiquated. He missed the days when he had the dexterity to pick a lock or crack a safe. But those days were long behind him.