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