"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."
"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.