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.
CHAPTER FOUR
The case of the State vs. Cassius Smilk, charged with burglary, was
finally set for trial the second week in February, just one year,
one month and eleven days after his arrest in the apartment of
Crittenden Yollop. There had been, it appears, a slight delay in
getting 'round to his case. The dockets in all Parts of General
Sessions were more or less clogged by the efforts of ex-convicts to
get back into the penitentiary. Also, there were a great many murder
cases that kept bobbing up every now and then for continuance on one
plea or another to the disgust of the harassed judges; to say
nothing of the re-trials made necessary by the jurors who listened
more attentively to the lawyers who "summed up" than they did to the
witnesses who were under oath to tell nothing but the truth.
Cassius, on arraignment, had pleaded not guilty, according to the
ancient ritual of his profession. Notwithstanding his evident and
expressed desire to return to a haven of peace and luxury, he was
far too conscientious a criminal to violate the soundest--it may
well be said, the elemental--law of his craft, by pleading guilty to
anything.
It was a matter of principle with him. Circumstances had nothing to
do with it. The instant he found himself in court, he reverted to
type, somewhat gleefully setting about to make as much trouble as
possible. He adhered to the principle that no criminal is adequately
punished unless the people are made to pay for the privilege of
suppressing him. The only way to make the people respect the law, he
contended, is to let 'em understand that it costs money to enforce
it. Besides, crime has a certain, clearly established dignity that
must be reckoned with. The world thinks a great deal less of you if
after you have violated the law, you also refuse to fight it.
Take the judge, for instance. (I quote Smilk.) What sort of an
opinion does he have of you if you slide up to the little "gate,"
with your tail between your legs and plead guilty? Why, he hardly
notices you. He has to put on his spectacles in order to see you at
all and he doesn't even have to look in the statute book to refresh
his memory as to the minimum penalty for larceny or whatever it is.
And the way the Assistant District Attorney looks at you! And the
bailiffs too. But put up a fight and see what happens. The whole
blamed works sits up and takes notice. The judge looks over his
spectacles and says to himself, "by gosh, he's a tough lookin' bird,
that guy is;" the District Attorney goes around tellin' everybody in
a whisper that you're a desperate character; the clerk of the court,
the stenographer and all the bailiffs sort of wake up and act busy;
the men waiting to be examined for jobs on the jury begin to fidget
and wonder whether the judge is a "crab" or a nice, decent feller
what'll let 'em off when they tell him they got sickness in the
family, and all of 'em ha tin' you worse than poison because you
didn't plead guilty.
He was remanded for trial within two weeks after his arrest. The
court, finding him penniless, announced he would appoint counsel to
defend him. Whereupon Smilk sauntered back to the Tombs with a light
heart, confident that his sojourn there would be brief and that
March at the very latest would see him snugly settled in his
rent-free, food-free, landlordless home on the Hudson, entertainment
for man and beast provided without discrimination, crime no object.
First of all, his lawyer unexpectedly got a job to represent a shady
lady in a sensational breach of promise suit that drew weekly
postponements over a period of five months and finally died a
natural death out of court sometime in June.
This resulted in his lawyer becoming so affluent that it wasn't
necessary for him to bother with Cassius, so he withdrew from the
case. After some delay, another lawyer was appointed to defend him
and things began to look up. But by this time the dockets had become
so jammed with unrelated dilemmas, and the summer heat was so
intense, that the new lawyer informed him he couldn't possibly
sandwich him in unless he would consent to change his plea to
"guilty", contending that the combination of humility and humidity
would go a long ways towards softening the judge. But Cassius
sturdily refused to cheapen himself.
In the meantime, new crimes had been committed by countless
gentlemen of leisure; the Tombs was full of men clamoring for
attention, and there was an undetected waiting list outside that
stretched all the way from the Battery to the lower extremities of
Yonkers.
The principal witness, Mr. Crittenden Yollop, did his best to behave
nobly. He thrice postponed a business trip to Paris in order to be
within reach when Cassius needed him. Then, in the fall, when things
looked most propitious for a speedy termination of Smilk's suspense,
the millinery business took a sudden and alarming turn for the worse
and Mr. Yollop fell into the hands of the specialists. He had his
teeth ex-rayed, his sinuses probed, his eyes examined, his stomach
sounded, his intestines visited, his nerves tampered with, his blood
tested, his kidneys explored, his heart observed, his ears
inspected, his gall stones (if he had any) shifted, his last will
and testament drawn up, his funeral practically arranged for,--all
by different scientists,--and then was ordered to go off somewhere
in the country and play golf for his health. He went to Hot Springs,
Virginia, and inside of two weeks contracted the golf disease in its
most virulent form. He got it so bad that other players looked upon
him as a scourge and avoided him even to the point of
self-sacrifice. It was said of him that when he once got on a green
it was next to impossible to get him off of it.
But all this is neither here nor there. Suffice to say that shortly
after his return to New York, Mr. Yollop paid a more or less
clandestine visit to the Tombs, where he saw Cassius. This was the
week before the trial was to open. He found the crook in a
disconsolate frame of mind.
"Don't call me Yollop," he managed to convey to the prisoner. "I
gave another name to the jailer or whatever he is. Is it jail bird?
It wouldn't look right for the prosecuting witness to come down here
to see you. They think I'm your brother-in-law."
Smilk glowered. "Has your hearin' improved any?" he inquired, after
locating the disc.
"No, of course not."
"Then," said the prisoner, "I can't tell you what I think of you
without the whole damn' jail hearin' me, so I guess you'd better
beat it."
"Splendid! That's just the way I might have expected you to talk to
your brother-in-law."
"Well, what do you want anyhow?"
"I don't think that's a very nice way to speak to a--"