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."