Yollop Part 7

"Have you a hanky, Ca.s.sius?" 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, Ca.s.sius," said Mr. Yollop.

"Not on your life," said Ca.s.sius, 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 a.s.sortment 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 cla.s.sify 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 Ca.s.sius.

"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, Ca.s.sius. 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, m.u.f.fled, 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, Ca.s.sius," 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--h.e.l.lo 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 d.a.m.ned 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, Ca.s.sius?"

Ca.s.sius 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? h.e.l.lo!"

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 d.a.m.n 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 d.a.m.ned if I'll allow you to commit suicide here. That's a little too thick, Smilk. Why the d.i.c.kens 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 Ca.s.sius, 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 m.u.f.f, 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.