Yollop Part 5

"I hate women," growled Mr. Smilk. "Ever since that pie-faced dame got me chucked out of Sing Sing,--say, let me tell you something else she done to me. She gave me an address somewhere up on the East Side and told me to come and see her as soon as I got out. Well, I hadn't been out a week when I went up to see her one night,--or, more strictly speakin', one morning about two o'clock. What do you think? It was an empty house, with a 'for rent' sign on it. I found out the next day she'd moved a couple of weeks before and had gone to some hotel for the winter because it was impossible to keep any servants while this crime wave is goin' on. The janitor told me she'd had three full sets of servants stole right out from under her nose by female bandits over on Park Avenue. I don't suppose I'll ever have another chance to get even with her. Everything all set to bind and gag her, and maybe rap her over the bean a couple of times and--say, can you beat it for rotten luck? She--she double-crossed me, that's what she--"

A light, hesitating rap on the library door interrupted Mr. Smilk's bitter reflection.

CHAPTER THREE

"Some one at the door," the burglar announced, after a moment. Mr.

Yollop had failed to hear the tapping.

"You can't fool me, Ca.s.sius. 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 b.o.o.b like you take it away from me, they'd send me to Matteawan, and G.o.d 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 s.h.i.+eld.

"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--"

"Ca.s.sius," 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 d.a.m.n'

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,--Ca.s.sius 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, Ca.s.sius," 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 a.s.sured 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.