Mr. Hawkins' Humorous Adventures Part 21

"That's what I said," pursued the gentleman. "Possibly--now--it may not be past your understanding to grasp why I feel so secure about that flimsy little silver-safe."

"I think I see. The burglar, presumably, comes in at the window, is knocked senseless by your trap, and next morning you find and capture him as you go down to breakfast?"

"Nothing of the sort. Look here." Hawkins picked up the affair.

As he grasped the end, the thing hung downward and showed itself to be a long canvas bag, fully large enough to contain the upper half of the average man. It was distended, too, by ribs, and appeared to be of considerable weight.

"There she is--just a bag, telescoped and hung on a frame above the window. The burglar steps in, the bag is released, drops over him, these circular steel ribs contract and clutch his arms like a vise--and there you are! How's that for an idea, Griggs?"

"Looks good," I a.s.sented.

"Moreover, the same spring which releases the ribs breaks a bottle of chloroform," continued the inventor enthusiastically. "It runs into a hood, is pressed against the burglar's nose, and two minutes later the man is stark and stiff on the floor!

"Meanwhile the annunciator bell tells me what window has been opened.

I ring up the police--and it's all over with the man who tried to break in."

"It sounds all right," I admitted. "Why didn't it do all that just now?"

"Just now? Oh--you mean--just now?" stammered the inventor. "Well, it did do practically all of that, didn't it? The window wasn't opened, anyway--it was the breeze that knocked down the thing. Furthermore, the ones on this floor aren't adjusted yet--I only got them from the fellow who made them to-day.

"But up-stairs they're all fixed--chloroform and all, ready for the burglar. I tell you, Griggs, when this crook-trap of mine is on every window in New York City, there'll be a sensation in criminal circles!"

"Very likely. How much does it cost?"

"Um--well--er--well it cost me about--er--one hundred dollars a window, Griggs, but----"

"About twenty windows to the average house," I murmured. "Two thousand dollars for----"

"Well, it won't cost a tenth of that when I'm having the parts turned out in quant.i.ties," cried Hawkins, with considerable heat. "Why under the sun do you always try to throw a wet blanket over everything?

Suppose it does cost two thousand dollars to equip a house with my crook-trap? If a man has ten thousand dollars' worth of silverware, he'll be willing enough to spend----"

I laughed. It wasn't meant for a nasty laugh at all--it was simply amus.e.m.e.nt at the inventor's emotionalism. But it riled Hawkins.

"Where the devil does the joke come in?" he thundered. "If I----"

"Hus.h.!.+" I cried.

"I won't hus.h.!.+ I----"

"Two!" I counted. "Be quiet."

Hawkins calmed down on the instant.

"Was--was it the bell?" he whispered.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

The gong up-stairs had chimed six times and stopped.

I stared at Hawkins, and Hawkins at me, and the inventor's countenance went white.

Far above, the evening calm was disturbed by a stamping and thres.h.i.+ng noise, punctuated now and then by a m.u.f.fled shout.

"There!" cried the inventor. There was a wealth of satisfaction in that one word.

"Well, somebody's caught," I said.

"You bet he is!" replied Hawkins, with a nervous chuckle. "Six bells--that's the top story back--one of the servants' rooms. Somebody must have thought the house deserted and come in from the roof."

Bang! Bang! Bang! The intruder wasn't submitting to the caresses of the crook-trap without a struggle. Also, from the volume and vigor of the racket, it was painfully clear that the intruder was a robust individual.

"Well?" said Hawkins, still staring at me with a rigid smile.

"Well?"

"Well, we've got to go up there and capture him," announced the inventor, gathering himself for the task. "Come on."

"Not just yet, thank you. We'll let the chloroform get in its work first."

"But don't you want to see the thing in actual operation?"

"Hawkins, if any one could have less curiosity about anything than I have about seeing your crook-trap in operation----"

"All right, stay down here if you like. I'm going up."

"Suppose your burglar gets loose?" I argued. "Suppose he has a big, wicked revolver, and learns that you're responsible for the way he's been handled?"

Hawkins walked resolutely and silently toward the stairs. As for me, curiosity as to his fate bested my judgment. I followed.

As we neared the top of the house, the thumping and hammering grew louder and more vicious; and when we finally stood outside the door, the din was actually deafening.

"That's--that's either William's room or the cook's," said Hawkins, with a slight quaver in his tones. "He's going it, isn't he?"

"He certainly is. Let's stay here, Hawkins."

"No, sir. I'm going in to watch it. He's not loose, that's sure."

Hawkins opened the door very gently.

Inside, the room was dark--not pitch dark, but that semi-gloom of a city room whose only light comes from an arc lamp half a block away.

The air was heavy and sickening with the fumes of chloroform. They fairly sent my head a-reeling, but their effect upon the burglar seemed to have been nil.

Over by the window a huge form was hurling itself to and fro, from wall to wall and back again, in the frantic endeavor to gain freedom. The bag enveloped his head and shoulders, but a mighty pair of arms within the bag were straining and tearing at the fabric, and a couple of long, muscular legs kicked madly at everything within reach.

Every few seconds, too, a puffed oath added spice to the excitement, as the captive wrenched and strained.

On the whole, the scene was a bit too gruesome to be humorous. As a rule I can see the funny side of Hawkins' doings; but the fun departed from this particular mess at the thought of what would happen when the colossus finally emerged from the bag and commenced operations upon Hawkins and myself--neither of us athletes.