"I've got a fur coat hanging in that closet over there, Ca.s.sius. We will get it out."

Carefully following Mr. Yollop's directions, the obliging rascal produced the coat and laid it upon the table in the center of the room.

"Turn your back," commanded the owner of the coat, "and hold up your hands." Then, after he had slipped into the coat: "Now if I only had my slippers--but never mind. We won't bother about 'em. They're in my bed room, and probably lost under the bed. They always are, even when I take 'em off out in the middle of the room. Ah! Nothing like a fur coat, Ca.s.sius. Do you know what c.o.c.kles are?"

"No, I don't."

"Well, never mind. Now, let's try Central again. Please remember that no matter how distant she is, she still expects you to look upon her as a lady. No lady likes to be sworn at at two o'clock in the morning. Speak gently to her. Call her Madamoiselle. That always gets them. Makes 'em think if they keep their ears open they'll hear something spicy."

"They general fall for dearie," said Mr. Smilk, taking down the receiver.

"Be good enough to remember that you are calling from my apartment,"

said Mr. Yollop severely. "Jiggle it."

Mr. Smilk jiggled it. "I guess she's still mad."

"Jiggle it slowly, tenderly, caressingly. Sort of seductively. Don't be so savage about it."

"h.e.l.lo! Central? What number do I have to call to get Spring 3100?

... I'm not trying to be fresh: ... Yes, that's what I want ... I know the book says to tell you 'I want to call a policeman' but-- ... Yes, there's a burglar in my apartment and I want you to--What's that? ... I don't want to go to bed. ... Say, now YOU'RE gettin'

fresh. You give me police--"

"Tell her I've got you surrounded," whispered Mr. Yollop.

"h.e.l.lo! h.e.l.l--lo! Central!"

"Jiggle it."

"Ah, Mademoiselle! Pardon my--"

Voice at the other end of the wire: "Ring off! You've got wrong number. This is police headquarters." Audible sound of distant receiver being slapped upon its hook.

"Gee whiz! Now, we're up against it, Mister. We'll be all night gettin' Central again."

"Be patient, Ca.s.sius. Start all over again. Ask for the morgue this time. That will make her realize the grave danger you are in."

"Say, I wish you'd put that gun in your pocket. It makes the goose flesh creep out all over me. I'm not going to try to get away. Give you my word of honor I ain't. You seem to have some sort of idea that I don't want to be arrested."

"I confess I had some such idea, Ca.s.sius."

"Well, I don't mind it a bit. Fact is, I've been doin' my best to get nabbed for the last three months."

"You have?"

"Sure. The trouble is with the police. They somehow seem to overlook me, no matter how open I am about it. I suppose I've committed twenty burglaries in the past three months and I'll be cussed if I can make 'em understand. Take to-night, for instance. I clumb up that fire escape,--this is the third floor, ain't it?--I clumb up here with a big electric street light shinin' square on my back,--why, darn the luck, I had to turn my back on it 'cause the light hurt my eyes,--and there were two cops standin' right down below here talkin' about the crime wave bein' all bunk, both of 'em arguin' that the best proof that there ain't no crime wave is the fact that the jails are only half full, showin' that the city is gettin' more and more honest all the time. I could hear 'em plain as anything. They were talkin' loud, so as to make everybody in this buildin' rest easy, I guess. I stopped at the second floor and monkeyed with the window, hopin' to attract their attention. Didn't work. So I had to climb up another flight. This window of yours was up about six inches, so there wasn't anything for me to do but to raise it and come in. What I had in mind was to stick my head out after a minute or two and yell 'thieves', 'police', and so on. Then before I knowed what was happenin', you walks in, switches on the light, and comes straight over and biffs me in the jaw. Does that look as if I was tryin' to avoid arrest?"

"That's a very pretty story, Ca.s.sius, and no doubt will make a tremendous. .h.i.t with the jury, but what were you doing with a loaded revolver in your hand, and why were you so full of vituperation,--I mean, what made you swear so when I--"

"You let somebody hit you a wallop on the jaw and bang your head against the wall and dance on your ribs, and you'll cuss worse than I did."

"But,--about the revolver?"

"Well, to be honest with you, I probably would have shot you if I hadn't been so low in my mind. I won't deny that. It's a sort of principle with us, you see. No self-respecting burglar wants to be captured by the party he's tryin' to rob. Its so d.a.m.n' mortifyin'.

Besides, if that sort of thing happens to you, the police lose all kinds of respect for you and try to use you as a stool-pigeon, if you know what that means."

"This is most interesting, I must say. I should like to hear more about it, Mr. Smilk. I dare say we can have quite a long and edifying chat while we are waiting for the police to respond to our call for help. In the meantime, you might see if you can get them now. Spring, three one hundred."

"As I was sayin' awhile ago, would you mind puttin' that gun in your pocket?"

"While you've been chinning, Ca.s.sius, I have been making a most thrilling and amazing experiment. Do you call this thing under here a trigger?"

"Yes. Don't monkey with it, you--you--"

"I've been pressing it,--very gently and cautiously, of course,--to see just how near I can come to making it go off without actually--"

"For G.o.d's sake! Cut that--Hey, Central! Give me police headquarters again. ... Lively, please. ... Yes, it's life or death. ... Come on, Mademoiselle,--please!"

"That's the way," complimented Mr. Yollop.

"By gosh, n.o.body ever wanted the police more than I do at this minute," gulped Mr. Smilk. He was perspiring freely. "h.e.l.lo! Police headquarters? ... Hustle someone to--to--(over his shoulder to Mr.

Yollop, in a whisper,)--quick! What's the number of this,--"

"418 Sagamore Terrace."

Into the transmitter: "To 418 Sagamore Terrace, third floor front.

Burglar. Hurry up!"

Telephone: "What's yer name?"

Smilk, to Yollop: "What is my name?"

Mr. Yollop: "Crittenden Yollop."

Smilk, to telephone: "Crittelyum Yop."

Telephone, languidly: "Spell it."

Smilk: "Aw, go to--"

Mr. Yollop: "After me now,--Y-o-l-l-o-p."

Telephone: "First name."

Smilk, prompted. "C-r-i-t-t-e-n-d-e-n."

Telephone, after interval: "What floor?"

Smilk: "Third."