"Some one at the door," the burglar announced, after a moment. Mr. Yollop had failed to hear the tapping.

"You can't fool me, Cassius. It's an old trick but it won't work. I've seen it done on the stage too many times to be caught napping by,—"

"There it goes again. Louder, please!" he called with considerable vehemence and was rewarded by a scarcely audible tapping indicative not only of timidity but of alarm as well—"Say," he bawled, "you'll have to cut out that spirit rapping if you want to come in. Use your night-stick!"

"Ah, the police at last," cried Mr. Yollop. "You'd better take this revolver now, Mr. Smilk," he added hastily. "I won't want 'em to catch me with a weapon in my possession. It means a heavy fine or imprisonment." He shoved the pistol across the desk. "They wouldn't believe me if I said it was yours."

A sharp, penetrating rat-a-tat on the door. Mr. Smilk picked up the revolver.

"You bet they wouldn't," said he. "If I swore on a stack of bibles I let a boob like you take it away from me, they'd send me to Matteawan, and God knows,—"

"Come in!" called out Mr. Yollop.

The door opened and a plump, dumpy lady in a pink peignoir, her front hair done up in curl-papers stood revealed on the threshold blinking in the strong light.

"Goodness gracious, Crittenden," she cried irritably, "don't you know what time of night it—"

She broke off abruptly as Mr. Smilk, with a great clatter, yanked his remaining foot from the drawer and arose, overturning the swivel-chair in his haste.

"Well, for the love of—" oozed from his gaping mouth. Suddenly he turned his face away and hunched one shoulder up as a sort of shield.

"It's long past three o'clock," went on the newcomer severely. "I'm sorry to interrupt a conference but I do think you might arrange for an appointment during the day, sir. My brother has not been well and if ever a man needed sleep and rest and regular hours, he does. Crittenden, I wish you—"

"Cassius," interrupted Mr. Yollop urbanely, "this is my sister, Mrs. Champney. I want you to repeat—Turn around here, can't you? What's the matter with you?"

"Don't order me around like that," muttered Mr. Smilk, still with his face averted. "I've got the gun now and I'll do as I damn' please. You can't talk to me like—"

"Goodness! Who is this man?" cried the lady, stopping short to regard the blasphemer with shocked, disapproving eyes. "And what is he doing with a revolver in his hand?"

"Give me that pistol,—at once," commanded Mr. Yollop. "Hand it over!"

"Not on your life," cried Mr. Smilk triumphantly. He faced Mrs. Champney. "Take off them rings, you. Put 'em here on the desk. Lively, now! And don't yelp! Do you get me? DON'T YELP!"

Mrs. Champney stared unblinkingly, speechless.

"Put up your hands, Yollop!" ordered Mr. Smilk.

"Why,—why, it's Ernest,—Ernest Wilson," she gasped, incredulously. Then, with a little squeak of relief: "Don't pay any attention to him, Crittenden. He is a friend of mine. Don't you remember me, Ernest? I am—"

"You bet your life I remember you," said the burglar softly, almost purringly.

"Ernest your grandmother," cried Mr. Yollop jerking the disk first one way and then the other in order to catch the flitting duologue. "His name is Smilk,—Cassius Smilk."

"Nothing of the sort," said Mrs. Champney sharply. "It's Ernest Wilson,—isn't it, Ernest?"

"Take off them rings," was the answer she got.

"What is this man doing here, Crittenden?" demanded Mrs. Champney, paying no heed to Smilk's command.

"He's a burglar," replied Mr. Yollop. "I guess you'd better take off your rings, Alice."

"Do you mean to tell me, Ernest Wilson, that you've gone back to your evil ways after all I,—"

"I say, Cassius," cried Mr. Yollop, "is this the woman you wanted to bind and gag and—and—"

"Yes, and rap over the bean," finished Mr. Smilk, as the speaker considerately refrained.

"Rap over the—what?" inquired Mrs. Champney, squinting.

"The bean," said Mr. Smilk, with emphasis.

"I can't imagine what has come over you, Ernest. You were such a nice, quiet, model prisoner,—one of the most promising I ever had anything to do with. The authorities assured me that you—do you mean to tell me that you entered this apartment for the purpose of robbing it? Don't answer! I don't want to hear your voice again. You have given me the greatest disappointment of my life. I trusted you, Ernest,—I had faith in you,—and—and now I find you here in my own brother's apartment, of all places in the world, still pursuing your-"

"Well, you went and moved away on me," broke in Smilk wrathfully.

"That's right, Alice," added Mr. Yollop. "You went and moved on him. He told me that just before you came in."

"You may as well understand right now, Ernest Wilson, that I shall never intercede for you again," said Mrs. Champney sternly. "I shall let you rot in prison. I am through with you. You don't deserve—"

"Are you goin' to take off them rings, or have I got to—"

"Would you rob your benefactress?" demanded the lady.

"Every time I think of all that you robbed me of, I—I—" began Mr. Smilk, shakily.

"Don't blubber, Cassius," said Mr. Yollop consolingly. "You see, my dear Alice, Mr. Smilk thinks,—and maintains,—that you did him a dirty trick when you had him turned out into a wicked, dishonest world. He was living on the fat of the land up there in Sing Sing, seeing motion pictures and plays and so forth, without a worry in the world, with union hours and union pay, no one depending—"

"What nonsense are you talking? How could he have union pay in a penitentiary, Crittenden?"

"Don't interrupt me, please. However, I will explain that he was just as well-off at the end of the week as any union laborer is, and no street car fare to pay besides. Free food, fuel, lodging, divorce, music—"

"I forgot to mention baseball," interrupted Mr. Smilk. "And once in awhile an electrocution to break the monotony, to say nothin' of a jail-break every now and then. Say, you'll have to get a move on, Mrs. Champney,—God, will I ever forget that name!—'cause we're expectin' the police here before long. I've changed my mind about havin' you hold your hands up, Mr. Yollop. You made me telephone for the police to come around and arrest me. Now I'm goin' to make you bind and gag this lady. I can't very well do it myself and keep you covered at the same time, and while I ought to give you a wollop on the jaw, same as you done to me, I ain't goin' to do it. You can scream if you want to, ma'am,—yell 'bloody murder', and 'police', and everything. It's all the same to me. Go ahead and—"

"It is not my intention to do anything of the kind," announced the lady haughtily. "But I want to tell you one thing, Crittenden Yollop. If you attempt to gag and bind me, I'll bite and scratch, even if you are my own brother."

Mr. Yollop pondered. "I think, Cassius, if you don't mind, I'd rather you'd hit me a good sound wollop on the jaw."

"I'll tell you what I'll do," modified Mr. Smilk. "I'll lock you in that closet over there, Mr. Yollop, so's you won't have to watch me rap her over the bean. After I've gone through the apartment, I'll—"

"Would you strike a woman, Ernest Wilson?" cried Mrs. Champney.

"See here, Smilk," said Mr. Yollop, "I cannot allow you to strike my sister. If you so much as lay a finger on her, I'll thrash you within an inch of your life."

"Oh, you will, will you?" sneered Mr. Smilk.

"If you want to go ahead and rob this apartment in a decent, orderly way, all well and good. My sister and I will personally conduct you through,—"

"We will do nothing of the kind," blazed Mrs. Champney.

"I'd like to see you try to thrash me within an inch—"

"And, what's more," went on the lady, "I will see that you go up for twenty years, Ernest Wilson, you degraded, ungrateful wretch."

Smilk's face brightened. He even allowed himself a foxy grin.

"Now you're beginnin' to talk sense," said he.

"Sit down, Ernest, and let me talk quietly to you," said Mrs. Champney. "I'm sure you don't quite realize what you are doing. You need moral support. You are not naturally a bad man. You—"

"Are you goin' to take them rings off peaceably?" muttered Smilk, a hunted look leaping into his eyes.

"I am not," said she.

"Speak a little louder, both of you," complained Mr. Yollop. "This contraption of mine doesn't seem to catch what you are saying."

"Jiggle it," said Smilk brightly.

"How long ago did you telephone for the police, Crittenden?"

"How long ago was it, Cassius?"

"Only about an hour. We got plenty of time to finish up before they get here."

"Do you think it will go harder with you, Cassius, if they find Mrs. Champney bound and gagged and everything scattered about the floor, and the jewelry in your possession?"

"It might help," said Cassius. "The trouble is, you never can tell what a damn' fool jury will do, 'specially to a guy with a record like mine."

"You had a splendid record up at Sing Sing," announced the lady. "That's why I had so little trouble—"

"You don't get me," said Cassius lugubriously. "My record is a bad one. I've been paroled twice. That's bound to influence most any jury against me. Wouldn't surprise me a bit if they recommended clemency, as the sayin' is, and after all that's been done to keep me out of the pen, the judge is likely to up and give me the minimum sentence. No," he went on, "I guess I'll have to rap somebody over the bean. I'd sooner it as you, ma'am, on account of the way you forced me into a life of crime when I was leadin' an honest, happy, carefree—"

"Why, the man's insane, Crittenden,—positively insane. He doesn't know what he's—"

"For God's sake, don't start anything like that," barked Cassius. "That would be the LIMIT!"

"You don't understand, Alice," said Mr. Yollop kindly. "The poor fellow merely wants to have the law enforced. He says it's a crime the way the law is being violated these days. Or words to that effect, eh, Cassius?"

"Yes, sir. There are more honest, law-abidin' men up in Sing Sing right at this minute than there are in the whole city of New York. Or words to that effect, as you say, Mr. Yollop. The surest and quickest way to make an honest man of a crook is to send him to the pen. I don't know as I've ever heard of a robbery, or a holdup, or anything like that up there."

"The way he rambles, Crittenden, is proof—"

"It would be just like her to go on the stand and swear I'm batty," snarled Cassius. "I got to do something about it, Mr. Yollop. She's goin' to interfere with the law again, sure as God made little apples. I can see it comin'. I'm goin' to count three, ma'am. If you don't let Mr. Yollop start to tyin' you up with that muffler of his hangin' over there in the closet by the time I've said three, I'm goin' to shoot him. I hate to do it, 'cause he's a fine feller and don't deserve to be shot on account of any darn' fool woman."

"I suppose you know the law provides a very unpleasant penalty for murder," said Mrs. Champney, but her voice quavered disloyally.

"One!" began Cassius ominously.

"Do you really mean it?" she cried, and glanced frantically over her shoulder at the open closet door.

"Two," replied Cassius.

"Count slowly," implored Mr. Yollop.

"You—you may tie my hands, Critt—Crittenden,—" chattered the lady.

"You mustn't bite or scratch him," warned Cassius.

Sixty seconds later, Mrs. Champney stood before the burglar, her wrists securely bound behind her back.

"Will you gag her, or must I?" demanded Cassius.

"I will give you my word of honor not to scream," faltered the crumpling lady.

"It ain't the screamin' I object to," said Smilk. "It's the talkin'. You've done too much talkin' already, ma'am. If you hadn't talked so much I wouldn't be here tonight."

"Have you a hanky, Cassius?" inquired Mr. Yollop.

"I refuse to have that disgusting wretch's filthy handkerchief stuffed into my mouth," cried Mrs. Champney, with spirit. Mr. Yollop chuckled. "Good gracious, Crittenden, what is there to laugh at?"

"I was thinking of your roll of bills, Cassius," said Mr. Yollop.

"Not on your life," said Cassius, who evidently had had the same thought. "She'd swaller it."

"I suppose we'd better repair to your room, Alice, where we can obtain the necessary articles. Mr. Smilk will naturally want to ransack your room anyhow, so we 'll be saving quite a bit of time. And the police are likely to be here any minute now."

"You forgot to take your rings off, ma'am," reminded Mr. Smilk. "That's got to be attended to, first of all. Take 'em off, Mr. Yollop, and put 'em here on the desk." A moment later he dropped the three costly rings into his coat pocket. "Now," said he, "lead the way. I'll be right behind you with the gun. No monkey business, now,—remember that."

It was not long before Mrs. Champney, properly gagged, found herself lashed to a rocking-chair in the charming little bed chamber, occupying, so to speak, a select position from which to observe the hasty but skillful operations of her recalcitrant beneficiary. She watched him empty her innovation trunk, the drawers in her bureau, and the closet in which her choicest gowns were hanging. He did it very thoroughly. The floor was strewn with lingerie, hats, shoes, slippers, gloves, stockings, furs, frocks,—over which he trod with professional disdain; he broke open her smart little jewel case and took therefrom a glittering assortment of rings, bracelets, and earrings; a horseshoe pin, a gorgeous crescent, and a string of pearls; a platinum and diamond wrist watch, an acorn watch, a diamond collar, several bars of diamonds, rubies and emeralds, and odds and ends of feminine vanity all without so much as pausing to classify them beyond the mere word "junk". All of this dazzling fortune he stuffed carelessly into his pocket.

During the proceedings, Mr. Yollop stood obediently over against the wall, his hands aloft, his back towards the rummaging Cassius.

"What's in that room over there?" demanded the burglar, pointing to a closed door. For obvious reasons there was no response. He scowled for a second or two and then, striding over to Mr. Yollop, seized him by the shoulder and turned him about-face. Then he repeated the question.

"That's the room where my niece sleeps. A little ten year old child, Cassius. You will oblige me by not disturbing—"

"Is her hair bobbed?" broke in Mr. Smilk.

"Certainly not. She wears it long. Beautiful golden tresses, Smilk. Particularly beautiful when she's asleep, spreading out all over the pillow like a silken—" An audible, muffled, groan came from the occupant of the rocking-chair heard only by Mr. Smilk. His gaze went first to the purpling face of Mrs. Champney, then to the door, then back to the lady again.

"For your sake, Mr. Yollop, I won't clip it," he announced. "I know I'd ought to, but—Well, I guess it's about time we went back to the library again. The cops will be along in a couple of minutes now, according to my calculations. I can tell almost to a minute how long it takes them to get around to where a burglary has been committed. If you'll tell me where you think your slippers are we'll stop and get 'em on the way."

Leaving Mrs. Champney seated alone and helpless in the midst of the confusion, Smilk marched Mr. Yollop to his bedroom and then up the hall to the scene of the first encounter.

"It seems sort of a pity not to get away with all this stuff," said the burglar, rattling the objects in his pocket. "It ain't professional. I'm beginnin' to change my mind about bein' arrested, Mr. Yollop: I know a girl that would be tickled to death to have these things to splash around in. She's a peach of a—say, I believe I'll use your telephone again. I'll call her up and see how she feels about it. If she says she'd like to have 'em, I'll make my getaway before the cops—"

"You will find the telephone directory hanging on the end of the desk, Cassius," said Mr. Yollop graciously. He was seated in the big arm chair again, wriggling his toes delightedly in the cozy, fleece lined bed-room slippers. "But are you not afraid she will be annoyed if you get her out of bed this time o' night? It's after three."

"I know the number. Yes, she'll be sore at first, but—Hello Central?" He lowered his voice almost to a whisper, so that Mr. Yollop could not hear. "Give me Plaza 00100. Right." Turning to Mr. Yollop, he announced as he sank back into the chair comfortably:

"It's an apartment. We'll probably have quite a long wait. I've found it takes some little time to wake the head of the house and get him to the 'phone. And say, he's the darndest grouch I've ever tackled. Get's sore as a crab. But we've got him where we want him. He knows darned well if he kicks up a row, she'll quit and his wife couldn't get anybody in her place for love or money these days. I was sayin' only the other night—" Again lowering his voice: "Is this Plaza 00100? ... I want to speak to Yilga, please." ... Raising his voice considerably: "Here, now, cut that out! ... Well, it IS important. ... Course, I know what time o' night it is. ... Yes, it's a damned outrage an' all that, but—what? ... All right, I'll hold the wire. Tell her to hustle, will you?"

"I wish I had shot you, Smilk, when I had the chance," said Mr. Yollop sadly. "This is abominable, atrocious. Getting a man out of bed at half-past three! It's unspeakable, Smilk!"

"She's a light sleeper," mused Mr. Smilk aloud, dreamily.

"What say?"

"Don't bother me. I'm thinkin'!"

Mr. Yollop waited a moment. "What are you thinking about, Cassius?"

Cassius started. "... Eh? I was thinkin' about the last time I had breakfast at Mr. Johnson's apartment. It was that terrible cold morning the first of last week. By gosh, how that girl can cook! Six fried eggs and—yes? Hello!"

Plaza 00100: "Yilga's not in yet."

Smilk, sharply: "What's that?"

Plaza 00100: "She's out."

Smilk, sharply: "Out? Come off! You can't put that sort of stuff over me—"

Plaza 00100: "I tell you she's not in. That's all. And say, don't call up this apartment again at—"

Smilk: "Say, it's nearly four o'clock. She must be in."

Plaza 00100: "She's not in, I tell you. She went out last evening with her young man. One of the other maids stuck her head out of her door and told me."

Smilk, with fallen jaw: "What—what time do you expect her in?"

Plaza 00100: "I don't know, and I don't give a damn so long as she's here in time to get break—"

Smilk, furiously: "Hey, you go back there and bust into her room. Hear what I say? Better take a club or a gun or something—"

Plaza 00100; "Go to thunder!"

Smilk, flinching as he jerked the receiver away from his ear: "Lord! I bet he put that telephone out of whack!"

He sagged a little as he slowly hung up the receiver. For a moment he stared desolately at Mr. Yollop and then recovering himself gradually rushed with ever increasing velocity into the most violent hurricane of profanity that ever was centered upon the frailty of woman. Running out of expletives he at last subsided into an ominous calm.

"For two cents," groaned he, "I'd blow my head off." He gazed hungrily at the revolver.

"I never dreamed there were so many cuss-words in the world," gasped Mr. Yollop, blinking.

"There ain't half enough," announced Mr. Smilk, in a far away voice.

"Put that pistol down!" roared Mr. Yollop. "What are you going to do? Shoot yourself?"

"It would save an awful lot of trouble," said Mr. Smilk.

"The deuce it would! My servants would be a week cleaning up after you, and you'd probably ruin this Meshed rug. Besides, confound you, the police would think that I shot you. Give me that pistol! Give it to me, I say. You can come in here and rob to your heart's content, but I'm damned if I'll allow you to commit suicide here. That's a little too thick, Smilk. Why the dickens should you worry about that infernal jade? Aren't you going to the penitentiary for fifteen or twenty years? Aren't you-"

"You're right,—you're right," broke in Cassius, drawing a deep breath. "I guess I had a kind of a brainstorm. It was the jewels that done it. Funny how a feller gets the feelin' that he just has to give diamonds and pearls to his girl. It came over me all of a sudden. The only things I ever gave that girl was a moleskin coat, a sable collar and muff, and a gold mesh bag with seventy-eight dollars and a lace handkerchief in it. For a minute or two I was tempted to give her diamonds and rubies—oh, well, I guess I've had my lesson. Never again! Never again, Mr. Yollop. I'm off women from now on. Here's the gun. If the police try to hang it on you, I'll swear it's mine. Listen! there's the elevator stoppin' at this floor. It's them. Before we let 'em in, I'd like to tell you I've never had a more interestin' evenin' in my whole life. What's more I never saw a man like you. You got me guessin'. You're either the goshdarndest fool livin' or else you're the slickest confidence man outside of captivity. Which are you? That's what's eatin' me."

"I'm both," said Mr. Yollop, picking up the revolver.

"That ain't possible," said Mr. Smilk.

"Oh, yes, it is. I'm a milliner, Cassius."

"I know you're a millionaire, but that don't,—"

"I said milliner."

"Run a mill of some kind?"

"No, I make hats for women."

As the incredulous burglar opened his mouth to say something the buzzer on the door sounded.

"They got here just in time," he substituted.