The White Moll...................................................................................................................................................1

Frank L. Packard ......................................................................................................................................1

It was like some shadowy pantomime: The dark mouth of an alleyway thrown into murky relief by the rays of

a distant street lamp...the swift, forward leap of a skulking figure...a girl's form swaying and struggling in the

man's embrace. Then, a pantomime no longer, there came a half threatening, half triumphant oath; and then

"Now, give me back that purse, please. Instantly!" The man, already retreating into the alleyway, paused to

The girl turned her head so that the rays of the street lamp, faint as they were, fell full upon her, disclosing a

And suddenly the man leaned forward, staring for an instant, and then his hand went awkwardly to touch his

"De White Moll!" he mumbled deferentially. He pulled the peak of his cap down over his eyes in a sort of

shamefaced way, as though to avoid recognition, and, stepping nearer, returned the purse.

"'Scuse me, miss," he said uneasily. "I didn't know it was youse honest to Gawd, I didn't! 'Scuse me, miss.

For a moment the girl stood there motionless, looking down the alleyway after the retreating figure. From

somewhere in the distance came the rumble of an elevated train. It drowned out the pound of the man's

speeding footsteps; it died away itself and now there was no other sound. A pucker, strangely wistful,

curiously perturbed, came and furrowed her forehead into little wrinkles, and then she turned and walked

The White Moll! She shook her head a little. The attack had not unnerved her. Why should it? It was simply

that the man had not recognized her at first in the darkness. The White Moll here at night in one of the

loneliest, as well as one of the most vicious and abandoned, quarters of New York, was as safe and inviolate

as as She shook her head again. Her mind did not instantly suggest a comparison that seemed wholly

adequate. The pucker deepened, but the sensitive, delicately chiseled lips parted now in a smile. Well, she

It was the first time that anything like this had happened, and, for the very reason that it was unprecedented, it

seemed to stir her memory now, and awaken a dormant train of thought. The White Moll! She remembered

the first time she had ever been called by that name. It took her back almost three years, and since that time,

here in this sordid realm of crime and misery, the name of Rhoda Gray, her own name, her actual identity,

seemed to have become lost, obliterated in that of the White Moll. A "dip" had given it to her, and the

underworld, quick and trenchant in its "monikers," had instantly ratified it. There was not a crook or denizen

of crimeland, probably, who did not know the White Moll; there was, probably, not one today who knew, or

She went on, traversing block after block, entering a less deserted, though no less unsavory, neighborhood.

Here, a saloon flung a sudden glow of yellow light athwart the sidewalk as its swinging doors jerked apart;

and a form lurched out into the night; there, from a dancehall came the rattle of a tinny piano, the squeak of

a raspy violin, a highpitched, hectic burst of laughter; while, flanking the street on each side, like interjected

inanimate blotches, rows of squalid tenements and cheap, tumbledown frame houses silhouetted themselves

in broken, jagged points against the skyline. And now and then a man spoke to her his untrained fingers

How strange a thing memory was! How strange, too, the coincidences that sometimes roused it into activity!

It was a man, a thief, just like the man tonight, who had first brought her here into this shadowland of crime.

That was just before her father had died. Her father had been a mining engineer, and, though an American,

had been for many years resident in South America as the representative of a large English concern. He had

been in ill health for a year down there, when, acting on his physician's advice, he had come to New York for

consultation, and she had accompanied him. They had taken a little flat, the engineer had placed himself in

the hands of a famous specialist, and an operation had been decided upon. And then, a few days prior to the

date set for the operation and before her father, who was still able to be about, had entered the hospital, the

flat had been broken into during the early morning hours. The thief, obviously not counting on the engineer's

wakefulness, had been caught redhanded. At first defiant, the man had finally broken down, and had told a

miserable story. It was hackneyed possibly, the same story told by a thousand others as a last defense in the

hope of inducing leniency through an appeal to pity, but somehow to her that night the story had rung true.

Pete McGee, alias the Bussard, the man had said his name was. He couldn't get any work; there was the

shadow of a long abode in Sing Sing that lay upon him as a curse a job here today, his record discovered

tomorrow, and the next day out on the street again. It was very old, very threadbare, that story; there were

even the sick wife, the hungry, unclothed children; but to her it had rung true. Her father had not placed the

slightest faith in it, and but for her intervention the Bussard would have been incontinently consigned to the

Her face softened suddenly now as she walked along. She remembered well that scene, when, at the end, she

"Father is going to let you go, McGee, because I ask him to," she had said. "And tomorrow morning I will

go to this address, and if I find your story is true, as I believe it is, I will see what I can do for you."

"It's true, miss, so help me God!" the man had answered brokenly. "Youse come an' see. I'll be

And so they had let the man go free, and her father, with a whimsical, tolerant smile, had shaken his head at

But she had found both the Bussard and the address, and destitution and a squalor unspeakable. Pathetic still,

but the vernacular of the underworld where men called their women by no more gracious names than "molls"

and "skirts" no longer strange to her ears, there came to her again now the Bussard's words in which he had

paid her tribute on that morning long ago, and with which he had introduced her to a shrunken form that lay

"Meet de moll I was tellin' youse about, Mag. She's white all de way up. She's white, Mag; she's a white

The firm little chin came suddenly upward; but into the dark eyes unbidden came a sudden film and mist. Her

father's health had been too far undermined, and he bad been unable to withstand the shock of the operation,

and he had died in the hospital. There weren't any relatives, except distant ones on her mother's side,

somewhere out in California, whom she had never seen. She and her father had been all in all to each other,

chums, pals, comrades, since her mother's death many years ago. She had gone everywhere with him save

when the demands of her education had necessarily kept them apart; she had hunted with him in South

America, ridden with him in sections where civilization was still in the making, shared the crude, rough life

of mining camps with him and it had seemed as though her life, too, had gone out with his.

She brushed her hand hastily across her eyes. There hadn't been any friends either, apart from a few of her

father's casual business acquaintances; no one else except the Bussard. It was very strange! Her reward for

that one friendly act had come in a manner little expected, and it had come very quickly. She had sought and

found a genuine relief from her own sorrow in doing what she could to alleviate the misery in that squalid,

oneroom home. And then the sphere of her activities had broadened, slowly at first, not through any

preconceived intention on her part, but naturally, and as almost an inevitable corollary consequent upon her

The Bussard's circle of intimates was amongst those who lay outside the law, those who gambled for their

livelihood by staking their wits, to win against the toils of the police; and so, more and more, she had come

into close and intimate contact with the criminal element of New York, until today, throughout its length

and breadth, she was known, and, she had reason to believe, was loved and trusted by every crook in the

underworld. It was a strange eulogy, selfpronounced! But it was none the less true. Then, she had been

Rhoda Gray; now, even the Bussard, doubtless, had forgotten her name in the one with which he himself, at

that queer baptismal font of crimeland, had christened her the White Moll. It even went further than that. It

embraced what might be called the entourage of the underworld, the police and the social workers with whom

she inevitably came in contact. These, too, had long known her as the White Moll, and had come, since she

had volunteered no further information, tacitly to accept her as such, and nothing more.

Again she shook her head. It wasn't altogether a normal life. She was only a woman, with all the aspirations

of a woman, with all the yearning of youth for its measure of gayety and pleasure. True, she had not made a

recluse of herself outside her work; but, equally, on the other hand, she had not made any intimate friends in

her own station in life. She had never purposed continuing indefinitely the work she was doing, nor did she

now; but, little by little, it had forced its claims upon her until those claims were not easy to ignore. Even

though the circumstances in which her father had left her were barely more than sufficient for a modest little

flat uptown, there was still always a little surplus, and that surplus counted in certain quarters for very much

indeed. But it wasn't only that. The small amount of money that she was able to spend in that way had little to

do with it. The bonds which linked her to the sordid surroundings that she had come to know so well were

stronger far than that. There wasn't any money involved in this visit, for instance, that she was going now to

Rhoda Gray had halted before the doorway of a small, hovellike, twostory building that was jammed in

between two tenements, which, relatively, in their own class, were even more disreputable than was the little

frame house itself. A secondhandclothes store occupied a portion of the ground floor, and housed the

proprietor and his family as well, permitting the rooms on the second floor to be "rented out"; the garret

There was a separate entrance, apart from that into the secondhandclothes store, and she pushed this door

open and stepped forward into an absolutely black and mustysmelling hallway. By feeling with her hands

along the wall she reached the stairs and began to make her way upward. She had found Gypsy Nan last night

huddled in the lower doorway, and apparently in a condition that was very much the worse for wear. She had

stopped and helped the woman upstairs to her garret, whereupon Gypsy Nan, in language far more fervent

Rhoda Gray smiled a little wearily, as, on the second floor now, she groped her way to the rear, and began to

mount a short, ladderlike flight of steps to the attic. Gypsy Nan's lack of cordiality did not absolve her,

Rhoda Gray, from coming back tonight to see how the woman was to crowd one more visit on her already

overexpanded list. She had never had any personal knowledge of Gypsy Nan before, but, in a sense, the

woman was no stranger to her. Gypsy Nan was a character known far and wide in the underworld as one

possessing an insatiable and unquenchable thirst. As to who she was, or what she was, or where she got her

money for the gin she bought, it was not in the ethics of the Bad Lands to inquire. She was just Gypsy Nan.

So that she did not obtrude herself too obviously upon their notice, the police suffered her; so that she gave

the underworld no reason for complaint, the underworld accepted her at face value as one of its own!

There was no hallway here at the head of the ladderlike stairs, just a sort of narrow platform in front of the

attic door. Rhoda Gray, groping out with her hands again, felt for the door, and knocked softly upon it. There

was no answer. She knocked again. Still receiving no reply, she tried the door, found it unlocked, and,

opening it, stood for an instant on the threshold. A lamp, almost empty, illtrimmed and smoking badly,

stood on a chair beside a cheap iron bed; it threw a dull, yellow glow about its immediate vicinity, and threw

the remainder of the garret into deep, impenetrable shadows; but also it disclosed the motionless form of a

Rhoda Gray's eyes darkened, as she closed the door behind her, and stepped quickly forward to the bedside.

For a moment she stood looking down at the recumbent figure; at the matted tangle of graystreaked brown

hair that straggled across a pillow which was none too clean; at the heavylensed, oldfashioned,

steelbowed spectacles, awry now, that were still grotesquely perched on the woman's nose; at the sallow

face, streaked with grime and dirt, as though it had not been washed for months; at a hand, as illcared for,

which lay exposed on the torn blanket that did duty for a counterpane; at the dirty shawl that enveloped the

woman's shoulders, and which was tightly fastened around Gypsy Nan's neckand from the woman her eyes

"Nan!" she called sharply; and, stooping over, shook the woman's shoulder. "Nan!" she repeated. There was

something about the woman's breathing that she did not like, something in the queer, pinched condition of the

Gypsy Nan opened her eyes, stared for a moment dully, then, in a curiously quick, desperate way, jerked

"I am going to," said Rhoda Gray evenly. "And I'm going at once." She turned abruptly and walked toward

"No, youse don't!" Gypsy Nan s voice rose in a sudden scream. She sat bolt upright in bed, and pulled a

revolver out from under the coverings. "Youse don't bring no doctor here! See! Youse put a finger on dat

"Nan, put that revolver down!" she ordered quietly. "You don't know what you are doing."

"Don't!?" leered Gypsy Nan. The revolver held, swaying a little unsteadily, on Rhoda Gray. There was

silence for a moment; then Gypsy Nan spoke again, evidently through dry lips, for she wet them again and

"Well den, come back here an' sit down on de foot of de bed," she commanded finally.

Rhoda Gray obeyed without hesitation. There was nothing to do but humor the woman in her present state, a

"De White Moll!" mumbled Gypsy Nan. "I wonder if de dope dey hands out about youse is all on de level?

Gypsy Nan lay back on her pillow as though her strength, overtaxed, had failed her; her hand, though it still

clutched the revolver, seemed to have been dragged down by the weapon's weight, and now rested upon the

"Dey say," said Gypsy Nan slowly, "dat youse knows more on de inside here dan anybody else t'ings youse

got from de spacers' molls, an' from de dips demselves when youse was lendin' dem a hand; dey say dere ain't

many youse couldn't send up de river just by liftin' yer finger, but dat youse're straight, an' dat youse've kept

Rhoda Gray's dark eyes softened, as she leaned forward and laid a hand gently over the one of Gypsy Nan

"Wot yer after?" demanded Gypsy Nan, with sudden mockery. "De gun? Well, take it!" She let go her hold of

the weapon. "But don't kid yerself dat youse're kiddin' me into givin' it to youse because youse have got a

pretty smile an' a sweet voice! Savvy? I" she choked suddenly, and caught at her throat "I guess youse're

"That's better," said Rhoda Gray encouragingly. "And now you'll let me go and get a doctor, won't you,

"Wait!" said Gypsy Nan hoarsely. "Youse're de only chance I got. Will youse swear youse won't t'row me

down if I tells youse somet'ing? I ain't got no other way. Will youse swear youse'll see me through?"

"Of course, Nan," said Rhoda Gray soothingly. "Of course, I will, Nan. I promise.

"Dat ain't good enough!" she cried out. "A promise ain't good enough! For Gawd's sake, come across all de

"Yes, Nan" Rhoda Gray's eyes smiled reassurance "I swear it. But you will be all right again in the

Rhoda Gray leaned sharply forward, staring in amazement at the figure on the bed. The woman's voice was

the same, it was still hoarse, still heavy, and the words came with painful effort; but the English was suddenly

"You think you know what's the matter with me." There was a curious mockery in the weak voice. "You

think I've drunk myself into this state. You think I'm on the verge of the D.T.'s now. That empty bottle under

the bed proves it, doesn't it? And anybody around here will tell you that Gypsy Nan has thrown enough

empties out of the window there to stock a bottle factory for years, some of them on the flat roof just outside

the window, some of them on the roof of the shed below, and some of them down into the yard, just

depending on how drunk she was and how far she could throw. And that proves it, too, doesn't it? Well,

maybe it does, that's what I did it for; but I never touched the stuff, not a drop of it, from the day I came here.

I didn't dare touch it. I had to keep my wits. Last night you thought I was drunk when you found me in the

doorway downstairs. I wasn't. I was too sick and weak to get up here. I almost told you then, only I was

"Oh, I didn't know!" Rhoda Gray was on her knees beside the bed. There was no room to question the truth of

the woman's words, it was in Gypsy Nan's eyes, in the struggling, labored voice.

"Yes." Gypsy Nan clutched at the shawl around her neck, and shivered. "I thought I might be all right today,

and that I'd get better. But I didn't. And now I've got about a chance in a hundred. I know. It's my heart."

"You mean you've been alone here, sick, since last night?" There was anxiety, perplexity, in Rhoda Gray's

face. "Why didn't you call some one? Why did you even hold me back a few minutes ago, when you admit

"Because," said Gypsy Nan, "if I've got a chance at all, I'd finish it for keeps if a doctor came here. I I'd

rather go out this way than in that horrible thing they call the 'chair.' Oh, my God, don't you understand that!

"Nan" Rhoda Gray steadied her voice you re delirious. You do not know what you are saying. There isn't

any horrible thing to frighten you. Now you just lie quietly here. I'll only be a few minutes, and " She

"You swore it!" Gypsy Nan was whispering feverishly. "You swore it! They say the White Moll never

snitched. That's the one chance I've got, and I'm going to take it. I'm not delirious not yet. I wish to God it

With a low, startled cry, Rhoda Gray was on her feet. Gypsy Nan was gone. A sweep of the woman's hand,

and the spectacles were off, the graystreaked hair a tangled wig upon the pillow and Rhoda Gray found

herself staring in a numbed sort of way at a darkhaired woman who could not have been more than thirty,

but whose face, with its streaks of grime and dirt, looked grotesquely and incongruously old.

For a moment neither spoke, then Gypsy Nan broke the silence with a bitter laugh. She threw back the

"The White Moll! The words rattled in her throat. A fleck of blood showed on her lips. "Well, you know

now! You're going to help me, aren't you? I I've got to get out of here get to a hospital."

"Get back into bed," she said steadily. "Do you want to make yourself worse? You'll kill yourself!"

"Don't make me use up what little strength I've got left in talking," she cried out piteously, and suddenly

wrung her hands together. "I'm wanted by the police. If I'm caught, it's it's that 'chair.' I couldn't have a

doctor brought here, could I? How long would it be before he saw that Gypsy Nan was a fake? I can't let you

go and have an ambulance, say, come and get me, can I, even with the disguise hidden away? They'd say this

is where Gypsy Nan lives. There's something queer here. Where is Gypsy Nan? I've got to get away from

here away from Gypsy Nan don't you understand? It's death one way; maybe it is the other, maybe it'll

finish me to get out of here, but it's the only thing left to do. I thought some one, some one that I could trust,

never mind who, would have come today, butbut no one came, and and maybe now it s too late, but

there's just the one chance, and I've got to take it." Gypsy Nan tore at the shawl around her throat as though it

choked her, and flung it from her shoulders. Her eyes were gleaming with an unhealthy, feverish light. "Don't

you see? We get out on the street. I collapse there. You find me. I tell you my name is Charlotte Green. That's

all you know. There isn't much chance that anybody at the hospital would recognize me. I've got money. I

Rhoda Gray's face had gone a little white. There was no doubt about the woman's serious condition, and yet

and yet She stood there hesitant. There must be some other way! It was not likely even that the woman had

strength enough to walk down the stairs to begin with. Strange things had come to her in this world of

shadow, but none before like this. If the law got the woman it would cost the woman her life; if the woman

did not receive immediate and adequate medical assistance it would cost the woman her life. Over and over in

her brain, like a jangling refrain, that thought repeated itself. It was not like her to stand hesitant before any

emergency, no matter what that emergency might be. She had never done it before, but now...

"For God's sake," Gypsy Nan implored, "don't stand there looking at me! Can't you understand? If I'm caught,

I go out. Do you think I'd have lived in this filthy hole if there had been any other way to save my life? Are

you going to let me die here like a dog? Get me my clothes; oh, for God's sake, get them, and give me the one

A queer little smile came to Rhoda Gray's lips, and her shoulders straightened back.

"God bless you!" The tears were suddenly streaming down the grimy face. "God bless the White Moll! It's

true! It's true all they said about her!" The woman had lost control of herself.

"Nan, keep your nerve!" ordered Rhoda Gray almost brutally. It was the White Moll in another light now,

cool, calm, collected, efficient. Her eyes swept Gypsy Nan. The woman, who had obviously flung herself

down on the bed fully dressed the night before, was garbed in coarse, heavy boots, the cheapest of stockings

which were also sadly in need of repair, a tattered and crumpled skirt of some rough material, and, previously

hidden by the shawl, a soiled, greasy and spotted black blouse. Rhoda Gray's forehead puckered into a frown.

"It'll wash off," whispered Gypsy Nan. "It's just some stuff I keep in a boxover there the ceiling" Her

voice trailed off weakly, then with a desperate effort strengthened again. "The door! I forgot the door! It isn't

locked! Lock the door first! Lock the door! Then you take the candle over there on the washstand, and and

I'll show you. You you get the things while I'm undressing. I I can help myself that much."

Rhoda Gray crossed quickly to the door, turned the key in the lock, and retraced her steps to the washstand

that stood in the shadows against the wall on the opposite side from the bed, and near the far end of the

garret. Here she found the short stub of a candle that was stuck in the mouth of a gin bottle, and matches

The woman pointed to the end of the garret where the roof sloped sharply down until, at the wall itself, it was

"Go down there. Right to the wall in the center," instructed Gypsy Nan weakly. And then, as Rhoda Gray

Rhoda Gray. already in a stooped position, reached up, and pushed at a rough, unplaned board. It swung back

without a sound, like a narrow trapdoor, until it rested in an upright position against the outer frame of the

house, disclosing an aperture through which, by standing erect, Rhoda Gray easily thrust her head and

She raised the candle then through the opening and suddenly her dark eyes widened in amazement. It was a

hiding place, not only ingenious, but exceedingly generous in expanse. As far as one could reach the ceiling

metamorphosed itself into a most convenient shelf. And it had been well utilized! It held a most astounding

collection of things. There was a cashbox, but the cashbox was apparently wholly inadequate there must

have been thousands of dollars in those piles of banknotes that were stacked beside it! There was a large tin

box, the cover off, containing some black, pastelike substance the "stuff," presumably, that Gypsy Nan used

on her face and hands. There was a bunch of curiously formed keys, several boxes of revolver cartridges, an

electric flashlight, and a great quantity of the choicest brands of tinned and bottled fruits and provisions and

a little to one side, evidently kept ready for instant use, a suit of excellent material, underclothing, silk

Rhoda Gray took the clothing, and went back to the bedside. Gypsy Nan had made little progress in

disrobing. It seemed about all the woman could do to cling to the edge of the cot and sit upright.

"What does all this mean, Nan," she asked tensely; "all those things up there that money?"

"It means I know how bad I am, or I wouldn't have let you see what you have," she answered heavily. "It

means that there isn't any other way. Hurry! Get these things off! Get me dressed!"

But it took a long time. Gypsy Nan seemed with every moment to grow weaker. The lamp on the chair went

out for want of oil. There was only the guttering candle in the gin bottle to give light. It threw weird,

flickering shadows around the garret; it seemed to enhance the already deathlike pallor of the woman, as,

using the pitcher of water and the basin from the washstand now, Rhoda Gray removed the grime from Gypsy

It was done at last and where there had once been Gypsy Nan, haglike and repulsive, there was now a

stylishly, even elegantly, dressed woman of well under middle age. The transformation seemed to have acted

as a stimulant upon Gypsy Nan. She laughed with nervous hilarity she even tried valiantly to put on a pair of

new black kid gloves, but, failing in this, pushed them unsteadily into the pocket of her coat.

"I'm I'm all right," she asserted fiercely, as Rhoda Gray, pausing in the act of gathering up the discarded

garments, regarded her anxiously. "Bring me a package of that money after you've put those things away

Rhoda Gray made no answer. There was no hesitation now in her actions, as, to the pile of clothing in her

arms, she added the revolver that lay on the blanket, and, returning to the little trapdoor in the ceiling, hid

them away; but her brain was whirling again in a turmoil of doubt. This was madness, utter, stark, blind

madness, this thing that she was doing! It was suicide, literally that, nothing less than suicide for one in

Gypsy Nan's condition to attempt this thing. But the woman would certainly die here, too, with out medical

assistance only there was the police! Rhoda Gray's face, as she stood upright in the little aperture again,

throwing the wavering candlerays around her, seemed suddenly to have grown pinched and wan. The

police! The police! It was her conscience, then, that was gnawing at her because of the police! Was that it?

Well, there was also, then, another side. Could she turn informer, traitor, become a female Judas to a dying

woman, who had sobbed and thanked her Maker because she had found some one whom she believed she

could trust? That was a hideous and an abominable thing to do! "You swore it! You swore you'd see me

through!" the words came and rang insistently in her ears. The sweet, piquant little face set in hard,

determined lines. Mechanically she picked up the flashlight and a package of the banknotes, lowered the

"I'm ready, if there is no other way," she said soberly, as she watched the other tuck the money away inside

her waist. "I said I would see you through, and I will. But I doubt if you are strong enough, even with what

help I can give you, to get down the stairs, and even if you can, I am afraid with all my soul of the

"There isn't any other way." She leaned heavily on Rhoda Gray's arm. "Can't you see that? Don't you think I

know? Haven't you seen enough here to convince you of that? I I'm just spilling the dice for for perhaps

the last time but it's the only chance the only chance. Go on!" she urged tremulously. "Shoot the glim,

and get me to the door. And and for the love of God, don't make a sound! It's all up if we're seen going

The flashlight's ray danced in crazy gyrations as the two figures swayed and crept across the garret. Rhoda

Gray unlocked the door, and, as they passed out, locked it again on the outside.

"Hide the key!" whispered Gypsy Nan. "See that crack in the floor under the partition! Slip it in there!"

The flashlight guiding her, Rhoda Gray stooped down to where, between the rough attic flooring and the

equally rough boarding of the garret partition, there was a narrow space. She pushed the key in out of sight;

and then, with her arm around Gypsy Nan's waist, and with the flashlight at cautious intervals winking ahead

It was slow work, desperately slow, both because they dared not make the slightest noise, and because, too, as

far as strength was concerned, Gypsy Nan was close to the end of her endurance. Down one flight, and then

the other, they went, resting at every few steps, leaning back against the wall, black shadows that merged

with the blackness around them, the flashlight used only when necessity compelled it, lest its gleam might

attract the attention of some other occupant of the house. And at times Gypsy Nan's head lay cheek to Rhoda

Gray's, and the other's body grew limp and became a great weight, so heavy that it seemed she could no

They gained the street door, hung there tensely for a moment to make sure they were not observed by any

"I I can't go much farther," she faltered. "But but it doesn't matter now we're out of the house it doesn't

"Yes," she said. Her breath was coming heavily. "It's all right, Nan. I understand."

They walked on a little way up the block, and then Gypsy Nan's grasp suddenly tightened on Rhoda Gray's

"Play the game!" Gypsy Nan's voice was scarcely audible. "You'll play the game, won't you? You'll you'll

see me through. That's a good name as good as any Charlotte Green that's all you know but but

don't leave me alone with them you you'll come to the hospital with me, won't you I "

Rhoda Gray glanced swiftly around her. In the squalid tenement before which she stood there would be no

help of the kind that was needed. There would be no telephone in there by means of which she could summon

an ambulance. And then her glance rested on a figure far up the block under a street lamp a policeman. She

bent hurriedly over the prostrate woman, whispered a word of encouragement, and ran in the officer's

As she drew closer to the policeman, she called out to him. He turned and came running toward, and, as he

reached her, after a sharp glance into her face, touched his helmet respectfully.

"There's there's a woman down there" Rhoda Gray was breathless from her run "on the sidewalk. She

"No, I'm sure it's anything but that," Rhoda Gray answered quickly. "She appears to be very sick. I think you

"All right!" agreed the officer. "There's a patrol box down there in the direction you came from. We'll have a

look at her on the way." He started briskly forward with Rhoda Gray beside him. "Who is she d'ye know?" he

"She said her name was Charlotte Green," Rhoda Gray replied. "That's all she could, or would, say about

"Then she ain't a regular around here, or I guess you'd know her!" grunted the policeman.

They reached Gypsy Nan. The officer bent over her, then picked her up and carried her to the tenement

"I guess you're right, all right! She's bad! I'll send in a call," he said, and started on the run down the street.

Gypsy Nan had lost consciousness. Rhoda Gray settled herself on the doorstep, supporting the woman's head

in her lap. Her face had set again in grim, hard, perplexed lines. There seemed something unnatural,

something menacingly weird, something even uncanny about it all. Perhaps it was because it seemed as

though she could so surely foresee the end. Gypsy Nan would not live through the night. Something told her

that. The woman's masquerade, for whatever purpose it had been assumed, was over. "You'll play the game,

won't you? You'll see me through?" There seemed something pitifully futile in those words now!

A passerby stopped, asked what was the matter and lingered curiously. Another, and another, did the

same. A little crowd collected. The officer kept them back. Came then the strident clang of a gong and the

rapid beat of horses' hoofs. A whitecoated figure jumped from the ambulance, pushed his way forward, and

bent over the form in Rhoda Gray's lap. A moment more, and they were carrying Gypsy Nan to the

Found her here in the street...Charlotte Green...nothing else...the White Moll, straight as God makes

'em...she'll see the woman through." He turned to Rhoda Gray. "You can get in there with them, miss."

It took possibly ten minutes to reach the hospital, but, before that time, Gypsy Nan, responding in a measure

to stimulants, had regained consciousness. She insisted on clinging to Rhoda Gray's hand as they carried in

"Don't leave me!" she pleaded. And then, for the first time, Gypsy Nan's nerve seemed to fail her. "I oh, my

But a moment later, inside the hospital, as the admitting officer began to ask questions of Rhoda Gray, Gypsy

"Ah, let her alone!" she broke in. "She doesn't know me any more than you do. She found me on the street.

"Wherever I like!" Gypsy Nan was snarling truculently now. "What's it matter where I live? Don't you ever

have any one come here without a letter from the pastor of her church!" She pulled out the package of

banknotes. "You aren't going to get stuck. This'll see you through whatever happens. Give me a a private

room, and" her voice was weakening rapidly "and" there came a bitter, facetious laugh " the best

"Don't leave me!" she pleaded again, as they reached the door of a private room, and Rhoda Gray disengaged

"I'll stay outside here," Rhoda Gray promised. "I won't go away without seeing you again.

Rhoda Gray sat down on a settee in the hall. She glanced at her wrist watch. It was five minutes of eleven.

Doctors and nurses came and went from the room. Then a great quiet seemed to settle down around her. A

half hour passed. A doctor went into the room, and presently came out again. She intercepted him as he came

She did not understand his technical explanation. There was something about a clot and blood stoppage. But

as she resumed her seat, she understood very fully that the end was near. The woman was resting quietly

now, the doctor had said, but if she, Rhoda Gray, cared to wait, she could see the other before leaving the

The minutes dragged along. A quarter of an hour passed. Still another. Midnight came. Fifteen minutes more

went by, and then a nurse came out of the room, and, standing by the door, beckoned to Rhoda Gray.

"She is asking for you," the nurse said. "Please do not stay more than a few minutes. I shall be outside here,

The door closed softly behind her. She was smiling cheerily as she crossed the room and bent over Gypsy

"The White Moll!" she whispered. "He told the truth, that bull did straight as they make 'em, and

"Don't try to talk," Rhoda Gray interrupted gently. "Wait until you are a little stronger."

"Stronger!" Gypsy Nan shook her head. "Don't try to kid me! I know. They told me. I'd have known it

Rhoda Gray found no answer for a moment. A great lump had risen in her throat. Neither would she have

needed to be told; she, too, would have known it anyway it was stamped in the gray pallor of the woman's

"Do do you think there is a chance even at the last if if, without throwing down one's pals, one tries to

"Is the door closed?" Gypsy Nan attempted to raise herself on her elbow, as though to see for herself.

"There's time yet, then," whispered Gypsy Nan. "There's time yet." She lay silent for a moment, then her hand

closed tightly around Rhoda Gray's. "Listen!" she said. "There's more about about why I lived like that than

I told you. And and I can't tell you now I can't go out like a yellow cur I'm not going to snitch on

anybody else just because I'm through myself. But but there's something on tonight that I'd I'd like to

stop. Only the police, or anybody else, aren't to know anything about it, because then they'd nip my friends.

See? But you can do it easy. You can do it alone without anybody knowing. There's time yet. They weren't

going to pull it until halfpast one and there won't be any danger for you. All you've got to do is get the

money before they do, and then see that it goes back where it belongs tomorrow. Will you? You don't want

"It's the only way to stop it!" Gypsy Nan whispered feverishly. "I won't split on my pals I won't I won't!

But I trust you. Will you promise not to snitch if I tell you how to stop it, even if you don't go there yourself?

I'm offering you a chance to stop a twentythousanddollar haul. If you don't promise it's got to go through,

because I've got to stand by the ones that were in it with me. I I'd like to make good just once. But I

"Yes," said Rhoda Gray in a low voice; "but the promise you ask for is the same as though I promised to try

to get the money you speak of. If I knew what was going on, and did nothing, I would be an accomplice to

"But I can't do anything else!" Gypsy Nan was speaking with great difficulty. "I won't get those that were

with me in wrong I won't! You can prevent a crime tonight, if you will you you can help me to to

Rhoda Gray's lips tightened, "Will you give me your word that I can do what you suggest that it is feasible,

"Yes," said Gypsy Nan. "You can do it easily, and and it's safe. It it only wants a little nerve, and and

"Thank God!" Gypsy Nan pulled fiercely at Rhoda Gray's wrist. "Come nearernearer! You know Skarbolov,

old Skarbolov, who keeps the antique store on the street around the corner from my place?" Rhoda Gray

"He's rich!" whispered Gypsy Nan. "Think of it! Him rich! But he gets the best of the Fifth Avenue crowd

just because he keeps his joint in that rotten hole. They think they're getting the real thing in antiques! He's a

queer old fool. Afraid people would know he had money if he kept it in the bank afraid of a bank, too.

Understand? We found out that every once in a while he'd change a lot of small bills for a big one

fivehundreddollar bills thousanddollar bills. That put us wise. We began to watch him. It took months

to find where he hid it. We've spent night after night searching through his shop. You can get in easily.

There's no one there upstairs is just a storage place for his extra stock. There's a big padlock on the back

door, but there's a false link in the chain count three links to the right from the padlock we put it there,

Gypsy Nan's voice had become almost inaudible. She pulled at Rhoda Gray's wrist again, urging her closer.

"Listen quick! I my strength! she panted. "An antique he never sells old escritoire against rear wall

secret drawer take out wide middle drawer reach in and rub your hand along the top you'll feel the

spring. We waited to to get get counterfeits put counterfeits there understand? Then he'd never know

he'd been robbed not for a long time anyway discovered perhaps when he was dead old wife suffer

then I got to make good make good I " She came up suddenly on both her elbows, the dark eyes

staring wildly. "Yes, yes!" she whispered. "Seventhreenine! Look out!" Her voice rang with sudden terror,

rising almost to a scream. "Look out! Can't you understand, you fool! I've told you! Seventhreenine!

Rhoda Gray's arms had gone around the other's shoulders. She heard the door openand then a quick, light

step. There wasn't any other sound now. She made way mechanically for the nurse. And then, after a

Rhoda Gray went slowly from the room. In a curiously stunned sort of way she reached the street, and for a

few blocks walked along scarcely conscious of the direction she was taking. Her mind was in turmoil. The

night seemed to have been one of harrowing hallucination; it seemed as though it were utterly unreal, like one

dreaming that one is dreaming. And then, suddenly, she looked at her watch, and the straight little shoulders

squared resolutely back. The hallucination, if she chose to call it that, was not yet over! It was twenty minutes

She quickened her pace. She did not like this promise that she had made; but, on the other hand, she had not

made it either lightly or impulsively. She had no regrets on that score. She would make it again under the

same conditions. How could she have done otherwise? It would have been to stand aside and permit a crime

to be committed which she was assured was easily within her power to prevent. What excuse could she have

had for that? Fear wasn't an excuse. She did not like the thought of entering the back door of a store in the

middle of the night like a thief, and, like a thief, taking away that hidden money. She knew she was going to

be afraid, horribly afraid it frightened her now but she could not let that fear make a moral coward of her.

Her hands clenched at her sides. She would not allow herself to dwell upon that phase of it! She was going to

Skarbolov's, and that was all there was to it. The only thing she really had to fear was that she should lose

even a single unnecessary moment in getting there. Halfpast one, Gypsy Nan had said. That should give her

Her thoughts reverted to Gypsy Nan. What had the woman meant by her last few wandering words? They had

nothing to do with Skarbolov's, that was certain; but the words came back now insistently.

"Seventhreenine." What did "seventhreenine" mean? She shook her head helplessly. Well, what did it

matter? She dismissed further consideration of it. She repeated to herself Gypsy Nan's directions for finding

the spring of the secret drawer. She forced herself to think of anything that would bar the entry of that fear

It was five minutes past one when, stealing silently along a black lane, and counting against the skyline the

same number of buildings she had previously counted on the street from the corner, she entered an equally

black yard, and reached the back door of Skarbolov's little store. She felt out with her hands and found the

padlock, and her fingers pressed on the link in the chain that Gypsy Nan had described. It gave readily. She

slipped it free, and opened the door. There was faint, almost inaudible, protesting creak from the hinges. She

caught her breath quickly. Had anybody heard it? It it had seemed like a cannon shot. And then her lips

She stepped forward, closed the door silently behind her, and drew out her flashlight. The ray cut through the

blackness. She was in what seemed like a small, outer storeroom, that was littered with an untidy collection

of boxes, broken furniture, and odds and ends of all sorts. Ahead of her was an open door, and, through this,

the flashlight disclosed the shop itself. She switched off the light now as she moved forwardthere were the

front windows, and, used too freely, the light might by some unlucky chance be noticed from the street.

And now, in the darkness again, she reached the doorway of the shop. She had not made any noise. She

assured herself of that. She had never known that she could move so silently before and and Yes, she

would fight down this panic that was seizing her! She would! It would only take a minute now just another

minute if if she would only keep her head and her nerve. That was what Gypsy Nan had said. She only

needed to keep her nerve. She had never lost it in the face of many a really serious danger when with her

father why should she now, when there was nothing but the silence and the darkness to be afraid of!

The flashlight went on again, its ray creeping inquisitively now along the rear wall of the shop. It held finally

Once more the light went out. She moved swiftly across the floor, and in a moment more was bending over

the escritoire. And now, with her body hiding the flashlight's rays from the front windows, she examined the

desk. It was an oldfashioned, spindlelegged affair, with a nest of pigeonholes and multifarious little

drawers. One of the drawers, wider than any of the others, and in the center, was obviously the one to which

Gypsy Nan referred. She pulled out the drawer, and in the act of reaching inside, suddenly drew back her

hand. What was that? Instinctively she switched off the flashlight, and stood tense and rigid in the darkness.

A minute passedanother. Still she listened. There was no sound unless unless she could actually hear the

beating of her heart. Fancy! Imagination! The darkness played strange tricks! It it wasn't so easy to keep

one' s nerve. She could have sworn that she had heard some sort of movement back there down the shop.

Angry with herself, she thrust her hand into the opening now and felt hurriedly around. Yes, there it was! Her

fingers touched what was evidently a little knob or button. She pressed upon it. There was a faint, answering

click. She turned on the flashlight again. What had before appeared to be nothing but one of the wide, pearl

inlaid partitions between two of the smaller drawers, was protruding invitingly outward now by the matter of

an inch or so. Rhoda Gray pulled it open. It was very shallow, scarcely threequarters of an inch in depth, but

it was quite long enough, and quite wide enough for its purpose! Inside, there lay a little pile of banknotes,

She reached in and took out the moneyand then from Rhoda Gray's lips there came a little cry, the flashlight

dropped from her hand and smashed to the floor, and she was clinging desperately to the edge of the

escritoire for support. The shop was flooded with light. Over by the side wall, one hand still on the

She did not speak, or stir. It seemed as though not fear, but horror now, held her powerless to move her limbs.

Her first swift brainflash had been that it was one of Gypsy Nan's accomplices here ahead of the appointed

time. That would have given her cause, all too much of cause, for fear; but it was not one of Gypsy Nan's

accomplices, and, far worse than the fear of any physical attack upon her, was the sense of ruin and disaster

that the realization of a quite different and more desperate situation brought her now. She knew the man. She

had seen those square, heavy, clamped jaws scores of times. Those sharp, restless black eyes under

overhanging, shaggy eyebrows were familiar to the whole East Side. It was Rorke "Rough" Rorke, of

He came toward her, and halfway across the room another exclamation burst from his lips; but this time it

He was close beside her now, and now he snatched from her hand the banknotes that, all unconsciously, she

"So this is what all the sweet charity's been about, eh?" he snapped. "The White Moll, the Little Saint of the

East Side, that lends a helping hand to the crooks to get 'em back on the straight and narrow again! The White

Again she did not answer. Her mind was clear now, brutally clear, brutally keen, brutally virile. What was

there for her to say? She was caught here at one o'clock in the morning after breaking into the place, caught

redhanded in the very act of taking the money. What story could she tell that would clear her of that! That

she had taken it so that it wouldn't be stolen, and that she was going to give it back in the morning? Was there

anybody in the world credulous enough to believe anything like that! Tell Gypsy Nan's story, all that had

happened tonight? Yes, she might have told that tomorrow, after she had returned the money, and been

believed. But nowno! It would even make her appear in a still worse light. They would credit her with being

a member of this very gang to which Gypsy Nan belonged, one in the secrets of an organized band of

criminals, who was trying to clear her own skirts at the expense of her confederates. Everything, every act of

hers tonight, pointed to that construction being placed upon her story, pointed to duplicity. Why had she

hidden the identity of Gypsy Nan? Why had she not told the police that a crime was to be committed, and left

it to the police to frustrate it? It would fit in with the story, of course but the story was the result of having

been caught in the act of stealing twenty thousand dollars in cash! What was there to say and, above all, to

this man, whose reputation for callous brutality in the handling of those who fell into his hands had earned

him the sobriquet of "Rough" Rorke? Sick at heart, desperate, but with her hands clenched now, she stood

there, while the man felt unceremoniously over her clothing for a concealed weapon.

Finding none, he stooped, picked up the flashlight, tested it, and found it broken from its fall.

"Too bad you bust this, we'll have to go out in the dark after I switch off the light," he said with unpleasant

facetiousness. "I didn't have one with me, or time to get one, when I got tipped off there was something doing

here tonight." He caught her ungently by the arm. "Well, come along, my pretty lady! This'll make a stir,

this will! The White Moll!" He led her to the electriclight switch, turned off the light, and, with his grasp

tight upon her, made for the front door. He chuckled in a sinister manner. "Say, you're a prize, you are! And

pretty clever, too, aren't you? I wasn't looking for a woman to pull this. The White Moll! Some saint!"

Rhoda Gray shivered. Disgrace, ruin, stared her in the face. A sea of faces in a courtroom, morbid faces,

hideous faces, leered at her. Gray walls rose before her, walls that shut out sunshine and hope, pitiless, cold

things that seemed to freeze the blood in her veins. And tonight, in just a few minutes more a cell!

From the street outside came the sound of some one making a cheery, but evidently a somewhat inebriated,

attempt to whistle some ragtime air. It seemed to enhance her misery, to enhance by contrast in its carefree

cheeriness the despair and misery that were eating into her soul. Her hands clenched and unclenched. If there

were only a chance somewhere somehow! If only she were not a woman! If she could only fight this

Rough Rorke opened the door, and pulled her out to the street. She shrank back instinctively. It was quite

light here from a nearby street lamp, and the owner of the whistle, a young man, fashionably dressed,

decidedly unsteady on his legs, and just opposite the door as they came out, had stopped both his whistle and

"'Ullo!" said the young man thickly. "What'sh all this about eh? What'sh you two doing in that place this

"That'sh all right." The young man came nearer. He balanced himself with difficulty, but upon him there

appeared to have descended suddenly a vast dignity. "I'm hic law 'biding citizen. Gotta know. Gotta

show me. Damn funny coming out of there this time of night! Eh what'sh the idea?"

"Mind your own business, or you'll get into trouble!" he rasped out. "I'm an officer, and this woman is under

"Is that'sh so!" The young man's tones expressed a fuddled defiance. He rocked on his feet and stared from

one to the other. "Shay, is that'sh so! You will eh? Gotta show me. How do I know you're hic officer?

The young man lurched suddenly and violently forward, breaking Rough Rorke's grip on Rhoda Gray and,

as his arms swept out to grasp at the detective in an apparently wild effort to preserve his balance, Rhoda

For the space of time it takes a watch to tick she stood startled and amazed, and then, like a flash, she was

speeding down the street. A roar of rage, a burst of unbridled profanity went up from Rough Rorke behind

her; it was mingled with equally angry vituperation in the young man's voice. She looked behind her. The two

men were swaying around crazily in each other's arms. She ran on faster than she had ever run in her life.

The corner was not far ahead. Her brain was working with lightning speed. Gypsy Nan's house was just

She glanced behind her again, as her ears caught the pound of racing feet. The young man was sitting in the

middle of the sidewalk, shaking his fist; Rough Rorke, perhaps a bare fifty yards away, was chasing her at top

Her face set hard. She could not outrun a man! There was only one hope for her just one to gain Gypsy

A yard another still another! She swerved around the corner. And, as she turned, she caught a glimpse of

the detective. The man was nearer much nearer. But it was only a little way, just a little way, to Gypsy

Nan's not so far as the distance between her and Rorke and and if the man didn't gain too fast, then

then A little cry of dismay came with a new and terrifying thought. Quite apart from Rorke, some one else

might see her enter Gypsy Nan's! She strained her eyes in all directions as she ran. There wasn't any one

she didn't see any one only Rorke, around the corner there, was bawling out at the top of his voice, and

She flung herself against Gypsy Nan's door, stumbled in, and, closing it, heard Rorke just swinging around

the corner. Had he seen her? She didn't know. She was panting, gasping for her breath. It seemed as though

her lungs would burst. She held her hand tightly to her bosom as she made for the stairs she mustn't make

any noise they mustn't hear her breathing like that they they mustn't hear her going up the stairs.

How dark it was! If she could only see so that she would be sure not to stumble! She couldn't go fast now

she would make a noise if she did. Stair after stair she climbed stealthily. Perhaps she was safe now it had

taken her a long time to get up here to the second floor, and there wasn't any sound yet from the street below.

And now she mounted the short, ladderlike steps to the attic, and, feeling with her hand for the crack in the

flooring under the partition, reached in for the key. As her fingers closed upon it, she choked back a cry.

Some one had been here! A piece of paper was wrapped around the key. What did it mean? What did all

these strange, yes, sinister, things that had happened tonight mean? How had Rorke known that a robbery

was to be committed at Skarbolov's? Who was that man who had effected her escape, and who, she knew

now, was no more drunk than she was? Fast, quick, piling one upon the other, the questions raced through her

She fought them back. There was no time for speculation now! There was only one question that mattered:

She stood up, thrust the paper for safekeeping into her bosom, and unlocked the door. If if Rorke did not

know that she had entered this house here, she could remain hidden for a few hours; it would give her time to

It came this time, no strength of will would hold it back, a little moan. The front door below had opened, a

heavy footstep sounded in the lower hall. She couldn't see, of course. But she knew. It was Rorke! She heard

And then, in a flash, it seemed, her brain responded to her despairing cry. There was still a way a desperate

one but still a way if there was time! She darted inside the garret, locked the door, found the matches and

candle, and, running silently to the rear wall, pushed up the board in the ceiling. In frantic haste she tore off

her outer garments, her stockings and shoes, pulled on the rough stockings and coarse boots that Gypsy Nan

had worn, slipped the other's greasy, threadbare skirt over her head, and pinned the shawl tight about her

shoulders. There was a big, voluminous pocket in the skirt, and into this she dropped Gypsy Nan's revolver,

She could hear a commotion from below now. It was the one thing she had counted upon. Rough Rorke

might know she had entered the house, but he could not know whereabouts in the house she was, and he

would naturally search each room as he came to it on the way up. She fitted the graystreaked wig of tangled,

matted hair upon her head, plunged her hand into the box that Gypsy Nan used for her makeup and daubed

some of the grime upon both hands and face, adjusted the spectacles upon her nose, hid her own clothing,

closed the narrow trapdoor in the ceiling, and ran back, carrying the candle, to the washstand.

Here, there was a small and battered mirror, and more coolly, more leisurely now, for the commotion still

continued from the floor below, she spread and rubbed in, as craftily as she could, the grime streaks on her

face and hands. It was neither artistic nor perfect, but in the meager, flickering light now the face of Gypsy

Nan seemed to stare reassuringly back at her. It might not deceive any one in daylight she did not know,

and it did not matter now but with only this candle to light the garret, since the lamp was empty, she could

She blew out the candle, left it on the washstand, because, if she could help it, she did not want to risk having

it lighted near the bed or door, and, tiptoeing now, went to the door, unlocked it, then threw herself down

Possibly a minute went by, possibly two, and then there was a quick step on the ladderlike stairs, the door

handle was rattled violently, and the door was flung open and slammed shut again.

Rhoda Gray sat upright on the bed. It was her wits now, her wits against Rough Rorke's; nothing else could

save her. She could not even make out the man's form, it was so dark; but, as he had not moved, she was

quite well aware that he was standing with his back to the door, evidently trying to place his surroundings.

"Who d'youse t'ink it isme gran'mother?" demanded Rhoda Gray caustically. "Who are youse?"

"Is dat so?" snorted Rhoda Gray. "Well den, youse can beat it hop it on de jump! Wot t'hell right have

"Cut it out!" he snarled. "I ain't the only visitor you've got! It's not you I want; it's the White Moll."

"Wot's dat got to do wid me?" Rhoda Gray flung back hotly. "She ain't here, is she?"

"Yes, she's here!" Rough Rorke's voice held an ugly menace. "I lost her around the corner, but a woman from

a window across the street, who heard the row, saw her run into this house. She ain't downstairs so you can

"De woman was kiddin' youse!" Rhoda Gray, alias Gypsy Nan, cackled derisively. "Dere ain't nobody here

"Aw, strike it yerself!" retorted Rhoda Gray. "I ain't yer servant! Dere's a candle over dere on de washstand

A match crackled and spurted into flame; its light fell upon the lamp standing on the chair beside the bed.

"Dere ain't any oil in dat," croaked Rhoda Gray. "Didn't I tell youse de candle was over dere on de washstand,

The words seemed to freeze in her throat, the chair, the lamp, the shadowy figure of the man in the match

flame to swirl before her eyes, and a sick nausea to come upon her soul itself. With a short, triumphant oath,

Rough Rorke had stopped suddenly and reached in under the chair. And now he was dangling a new, black

kid glove in front of her. Caught! Yes, she was caught! She remembered Gypsy Nan's attempt to put on her

gloves one must have fallen to the floor unnoticed by either of them when Gypsy Nan had thought to put

"So, she ain't here ain't she! I'll teach you to lie to me! I'll " The match was dying out. Rorke raised it

higher, and with the last flicker located the washstand, and made toward it, obviously for the candle.

Her wits against Rough Rorke's! Nothing else could save her! Failing to find any one here but herself, certain

now that the White Moll was here, only a fool could have failed in his deduction and Rough Rorke was not

a fool. Her wits against Rough Rorke's! There was the time left her while the garret was still in darkness, just

With a quick spring she leaped from the bed, seized the chair, sending the lamp to the floor, and, dragging the

chair after her to make as much noise and confusion as she could, she rushed for the door, screeching at the

"Run, dearie, run! Run!" She was scuffling with her feet, clattering the chair, as she wrenched the door open.

Then as Gypsy Nan again: "Run, dearie! Don't youse mind old Nan!" She banged the door shut, locked it, and

whipped out the key. It had taken scarcely a second. She was still screeching at the top of her voice to cover

And then, in the darkness, the candle still unlighted, Rough Rorke was on her like a madman. With a sweep

of his arm he sent her crashing to the floor, and wrenched at the door. The next instant he was on her again.

For answer she flung it from her. It fell with a tinkle on the floor at the far end of the garret. The man was

"Damn you, if I had time, I'd wring your neck for this, you shedevil!" he bawledand raced back, evidently

Rhoda Gray, sprawled on the floor where he had thrown her, did not moveexcept to take the revolver from

the pocket of her dress. She was crooning queerly to herself, as she watched Rough Rorke light the candle

"She was good to me, de White Moll was. Jellies an' t'ings she brought me, she did. An' Gypsy Nan don't

She sat up suddenly, snarling. Rorke had found the key, left the bottle with the short stub of guttering candle

"By God!" he gritted through his teeth, as he jabbed the key with frantic haste into the lock. "I'll fix you for

"Youse keep yer dirty paws off me!" she screamed. "Yah, wot can youse do! Wot do I care! She was good to

Rough Rorke was gonetaking the stairs three and four at a time. Then she heard the street door slam.

She rose slowly to her feet and suddenly reached out, grasping at the door to steady herself. It seemed as

though every muscle had gone limp, as though her limbs had not strength to support her. And for a moment

she hung there, then she locked the door, staggered back, sank down on the edge of the bed, and, with her

chin in her hands, stared at the guttering stub of candle. And presently, in an almost aimless, mechanical way,

she felt in her pocket for the piece of paper that she had found wrapped around the key, and drew it out.

She dropped her chin in her hands again, and stared again at the candle. And after a while the candle went

TwentyFour hours had passed. Twenty four hours! Was it no more than that since Rhoda Gray, in the

guise of Gypsy Nan, as she sat on the edge of the disreputable, povertystricken cot, grew suddenly tense,

holding her breath as she listened. The sound reached the attic so faintly that it might be but the product

solely of the imagination. No it came again! And it even defined itself now a stealthy footstep on the

A small, leatherbound notebook, in which she had been engrossed, was tucked instantly away under the

soiled blanket, and she glanced sharply around the garret. A new candle, which she had bought in the single

excursion she had ventured to make from the house during the day, was stuck in the neck of the gin bottle,

and burned now on the chair beside her. She had not bought a new lamp it gave too much light! The old

one, the pieces of it, lay over there, brushed into a heap in the corner on the floor.

The footstep became more audible. Her lips tightened a little. The hour was late. It must be already after

eleven o'clock. Her eyes grew perturbed. Perhaps it was only one of the unknown tenants of the floor below

going to his or her room; but, on the other hand, no one had come near the garret since last night, when that

strange and, yes, sinister trick of fate had thrust upon her the personality of Gypsy Nan, and it was hoping for

too much to expect such seclusion to obtain much longer. There were too many who must be interested,

vitally interested, in Gypsy Nan! There was Rough Rorke, of headquarters; he had given no sign, but that did

not mean he had lost interest in Gypsy Nan. There was the death of the real Gypsy Nan, which was pregnant

with possibilities; and though the newspapers, that she, Rhoda Gray, had bought and scanned with such tragic

eagerness, had said nothing about the death of one Charlotte Green in the hospital, much less had given any

hint that the identity Gypsy Nan had risked so much to hide had been discovered, it did not mean that the

police, with their own ends in view, might not be fully informed, and were but keeping their own counsel

Also, and even more to be feared, there were those of this criminal organization to which Gypsy Nan had

belonged, and to which she, Rhoda Gray, through a sort of hideous proxy, now belonged herself! Sooner or

later, they must show their hands, and the test of her identity would come. And here her danger was the

greater because she did not know who any of them were, unless the man who had stepped in between Rough

Rorke and herself last night was one of them which was a question that had harassed her all day. The man

had been no more drunk than she had been, and he had obviously only played the part to get her out of the

clutches of Rough Rorke; but, against this, he had seen her simply as herself then, the White Moll, and what

could the criminal associates of Gypsy Nan have cared as to what became of the White Moll?

A newspaper, to procure which had been the prime motive that had lured her out of her retreat that afternoon,

caught her eye now, and she shivered a little as, from where it lay on the floor, the headlines seemed to leer

up at her, and mock, and menace her. "The White Moll....The Saint of the East Side Exposed....Vicious

Hypocrisy....Lowly Charity for Years Cloaks a Consummate Thief..." They had not spared her!

Her lips firmed suddenly, as she listened. The stealthy footfall had not paused in the hall below. It was on the

short, ladderlike steps now, leading up here to the garret and now it had halted outside her door, and there

"Who's dere?" demanded Rhoda Gray, alias Gypsy Nan, in a grumbling tone, as, getting up from the bed, she

moved the chair noiselessly a few feet farther away, so that the bed would be beyond the immediate radius of

the candle light. Then she shuffled across the floor to the door. "Who's dere?" she demanded again, and her

hand, deep in the voluminous pocket of Gypsy Nan's greasy skirt, closed tightly around the stock of Gypsy

"My dear lady! And after all the trouble I have taken to reach here without being either seen or heard!"

For an instant Rhoda Gray hesitated there seemed something familiar about the voice then she unlocked

The door opened and closed softly. Rhoda Gray, reaching the edge of the bed, sat down. It was the

fashionablyattired, immaculate young man, who had saved her from Rough Rorke last night. She stared at

him in the faint light without a word. Her mind was racing in a mad turmoil of doubt, uncertainty, fear. Was

he one of the gang, or not? Was she, in the role of Gypsy Nan, supposed to know him, or not? Did he know

that the real Gypsy Nan, too, had but played a part, and, therefore, when she spoke must it be in the

vernacular of the East Side or not? And then sudden enlightenment, with its incident relief, came to her.

"My dear lady" the young man's soft felt hat was under his arm, and he was plucking daintily at the fingers

of his yellow gloves as he removed them "I beg you to pardon the intrusion of a perfect stranger. I offer you

my very genuine apologies. My excuse is that I come from a I hope I am not overstepping the bounds in

"Aw, cut out de boudoir talk, an' get down to cases!" she croaked. "Who are youse, anyway?"

"Boudoir? Ah yes! Of course! Awfully neat!" His eyes, from the chair that held the candle, strayed around

the scantily furnished, murky garret as though in search of a seat, and finally rested inquiringly on Rhoda

"Youse can put de candle on de floor, if youse like," she said grudgingly. "Dat's de only chair dere is."

Rhoda Gray watched him with puckered brow, as he placed the gin bottle with its candle on the floor, and

appropriated the chair. He might, from his tone, have been thanking her for some priceless boon. He wore a

boutonniere. His clothes fitted him like gloves. He exuded a certain studied, almost languid fastidiousness

that was wholly out of keeping with the quick, daring, agile wit that he had exhibited the night before. She

found her hand toying unconsciously with the weapon in her pocket. She was aware that she was fencing with

"Who am I?" He lifted the lapel of his coat, carrying the boutonniere to his nose. "My dear lady, I am an

"Youse don't say!" observed Rhoda Gray, alias Gypsy Nan. "An' wot's dat w' en it's at home?"

"In my case, first of all a gentleman, I trust," he said pleasantly; "after that, I do not quarrel with the accepted

Rhoda Gray scowled. As Rhoda Gray, she might have answered him; as Gypsy Nan, it was too subtle, and

"I will admit," he said, "that I have at times, perhaps, taken liberties with the law."

"Well, den," she snapped, "cut out de highbrow stuff, an' come across wid wot brought youse here. I ain't

"I take back wot I said about youse bein' a slick crook," she announced coolly. "I guess youse're a dick from

headquarters. Well, youse have got de wrong number see? Me fingers are crossed. Try next door!"

The Adventurer's eyes were fixed on the newspaper headlines on the floor. He raised them now significantly

"You helped her to get away from Rough Rorke last night," he said gently. "Well, so did I. I am very anxious

to find the White Moll, and, as I know of no other way except through you, I have got to make you believe in

me, if I can. Listen, my dear lady and don't look at me so suspiciously. I have already admitted that I have

taken liberties with the law. Let me add now that last night there was a little fortune of quite a few thousand

dollars that I had already made up my mind was as good as in my pocket. I was on my way to get it the

newspaper will already have given you the details when I found that I had been forestalled by the young

lady, who, the papers say, is known as the White Moll." He smiled whimsically. "Even though one might be a

slick crook as you suggest, it is no reason why he should fail in his duty to himself as a gentleman. What

other course was open to me? I discovered a very charming young lady in the grip of a hulking police brute.

She also, apparently, took liberties with the law. There was a bond between us. I er took it upon myself to

do what I could. And, besides, I was not insensible to the fact that I was under a certain obligation to her,

quixotic as it may sound, in view of the fact that we were evidently competitors after the same game. You

see, if she had not forestalled me and been caught herself, I should most certainly have walked into the trap

that our friend of headquarters had prepared. I er as I say, did what I could. She got away; but somehow

Rough Rorke later discovered her here in this room, I understand that he was not happy over the result; that,

Rhoda Gray dropped her chin in her grimesmeared hand, staring speculatively at the other. The man sat

there, apparently a selfconfessed crook and criminal, but, also, he sat there as the man to whom she owed

the fact that at the present moment she was not behind prison bars. He proclaimed himself in the same breath

both a thief and a gentleman, as far as she could make out. They were characteristics which, until now, she

had never associated together; but now, curiously enough, they did not seem so utterly at variance. Of course

they were at variance, must of necessity be so; but in the personality of this man the incongruity seemed

somehow lost. Perhaps it was a sense of gratitude toward him that modified her views. He looked a

gentleman. There was something about him that appealed. The gray eyes seemed full of cool, confident,

selfpossession; and, quiet as his manner was, she sensed a latent dynamic something lurking near the

surface all the time that she was conscious she would much prefer to have enlisted on her behalf than

against her. The strong, firm chin bore this out. He was not handsome, but with a sort of mental jerk, she

forced her mind back to the stark realities of her surroundings. She could not thank him for what he had done

last night. She could not tell him that she was the White Moll. She could only play out the role of Gypsy Nan

until until Her hand tightened with a fierce, involuntary pressure upon her chin until it brought a physical

hurt. Until what? God alone knew what the end of this miserable, impossible horror, in which she found

Her eyes sought his face again. The Adventurer was tactfully engaged in carefully smoothing out the fingers

of his yellow gloves. Thief and gentleman, whatever he might be, whatever he might choose to call himself,

what, exactly, was it that had brought him here tonight? The White Moll, he had said; but what did he want

He answered her unspoken question now, almost as though he had read her thoughts.

"She is very clever," he said quietly. "She must be exceedingly clever to have beaten the police the way she

has for the last few years; and er I worship at the shrine of cleverness especially if it be a woman's. The

idea struck me last night that if she and I should er pool our resources, we should not have to complain of

"Oh, so youse wants to work wid her, eh?" sniffed Rhoda Gray. "So dat's it, is it?"

"Partially," he said. "But, quite apart from that, the reason I want to find her is because she is in very great

danger. Clever as she is, it is a very different matter today now that the police have found her out. She has

been forced into hiding, and, if alone and without any friend to help her, her situation, to put it mildly, must

be desperate in the extreme. You befriended her last night, and I honor you for the unselfishness with which

you laid yourself open to the future attentions of that animal Rorke, but that very fact has deprived her of

what might otherwise have been a refuge and a quite secure retreat here with you. I do not wish to intrude, or

force myself upon her, but I believe I could be of very material help, and so I have come to you, as I have

said, because you are the only source through which I can hope to find her, and because, through your act of

last night, I know you to be a trustworthy, and, perhaps, even an intimate, friend of hers."

"Aw, go on!" said Rhoda Gray, alias Gypsy Nan, deprecatingly. "Dat don't prove nothin'! I'd have done as

much for a stray cat if de bulls was chasm' her. See? I told youse once youse had de wrong number. She

"I'm sorry," said the Adventurer gravely. "Perhaps I haven't made out a good enough case. Or perhaps, even

believing me, you consider that the White Moll, and not yourself, should be the judge as to whether my

"Youse can dope it out any way youse likes," said Rhoda Gray indifferently. "Me t'roat's gettin' hoarse tellin'

"I'm sorry," said the Adventurer again. He smiled suddenly, and tucking his gloves into his pocket, leaned

forward and tore off a small piece from the margin of the newspaper on the floor but his head the while was

now cocked in a curious listening attitude in the direction of the door. "You will pardon me, my dear lady, if I

confess that, in spite of what you say, I still harbor the belief that you know where to reach the White Moll;

and so " He stopped abruptly, and she found his glance, sharp and critical, upon her. "You are expecting a

"I have," returned the Adventurer coolly. "My hearing is one of the resources that I wanted to pool with the

"Well, den, mabbe it's Rough Rorke." Her tone still held its scoffing note; but her words voiced the genuine

enough, that had come flashing upon her. "An' if it is, after last night, an' he finds youse an' me together,

"My dear lady," interposed the Adventurer calmly, "if there were the remotest possibility that it could be

The Adventurer shrugged his shoulders whimsically. He had laid the piece of paper on his knee, and, with a

small gold pencil which he had taken from his pocket, was writing something upon it.

"The fact that I can assure you that, whoever else it may be, the person outside there cannot be Rough Rorke,

is simply a proof that, if I had the opportunity, I could be of real assistance to the White Moll," he said

imperturbably. "Well" a grim little smile flickered suddenly across his lips "do you hear any one now?"

Quite low, but quite unmistakably, the short, ladderlike steps just outside the door were voicing a creaky

protest now as some one mounted them. Rhoda Gray did not move. It seemed as though she could hear the

sudden thumping of her own heart. Who was it this time? How was she to act? What was she to say? It was

so easy to make the single little slip of word or manner that would spell ruin and disaster.

"Rubber heels and rubber soles," murmured the Adventurer. "But, at that, it is extremely well done." He held

"If" he smiled significantly "if, by any good fortune, you see the White Moll again, please give her this

and let her decide for herself. It is a telephone number. She can always reach me there by asking for the

Adventurer." He was still extending the piece of paper. "Quick!" he whispered, as the door knob rattled.

Mechanically Rhoda Gray thrust the paper into the pocket of her skirt. The door swung open. A tall man, well

dressed, as far as could be seen in the uncertain light, a slouch hat pulled far down over his eyes, stood on the

The Adventurer rose composedly to his feet and moved slightly back out of the direct radius of the

There was silence for a moment, and then the man in the doorway laughed unpleasantly.

Rhoda Gray, on the edge of the bed, shrugged her shoulders. The Adventurer was standing quite at his ease,

his soft hat tucked under his right arm, his hand thrust into the side pocket of his coat. She could no longer

"Well?" There was a snarl in the man's voice as he advanced from the doorway. "You heard me, didn't you?

"You don't, eh?" The man had halted close to where the candle stood on the floor between himself and the

Adventurer. "Well, then, I guess we'll find out!" He was peering in the Adventurer's direction, and now there

came a sudden savage scowl to his face. "It seems to me I've seen those clothes somewhere before, and I

guess now we'll take a look at your face so that there won't be any question about recognition the next time

"There will be none on my part," he said calmly. "It's Danglar, isn't it? I am surely not mistaken. Parson

It seemed to Rhoda Gray that it happened in the space of time it might take a watch to tick: The newcomer

stooping to the floor, and lifting the candle with the obvious intention of thrusting it into the Adventurer's

face a glint of metal, as the Adventurer whipped a revolver from the side pocket of his coat and then, how

they got there she could not tell, it was done so adroitly and swiftly, the thumb and forefinger of the

Adventurer's left hand had closed on the candle wick and snuffed it out, and the garret was in darkness.

There was a savage oath, a snarl of rage from the man whom the Adventurer had addressed as Danglar; then

"I beg of you not to vent your disappointment on the lady Danglar. I assure you that she is in no way

responsible for my visit here, and, as far as that goes, never saw me before in her life. Also, it is only fair to

tell you, in case you should consider leaving here too hurriedly, that I am really not at all a bad shot even in

Danglar's voice rose again in a flood of profane rage. He stumbled and moved around in the dark.

"Damn it!" he shouted. "Where are the matches? Where's the lamp? This cursed candle's put enough to the

"It's over dere on de floor, bust to pieces," mumbled Rhoda Gray. "Youse'll find the matches on de

"What's the idea?" There was a sudden, steellike note dominating the angry tones. "What are you handing

me that hogwash language for? Eh? It's damned queer! There's been damned queer doings around here ever

Rhoda Gray felt her face whiten in the darkness. It was the slip she had feared; the slip that she had had to

take the chance of making, and which, if it were not retrieved, and instantly retrieved, now that it was made,

"You needn't lose your head, just because you've lost your temper!" she said tartly, in a guarded whisper.

"Oh, all right!" he said, his tones a sort of sullen admission that her retort was justified. "But even now your

"Does it?" she snapped at him. "I've got a cold. Maybe you'd get one too, and maybe your voice would be off

"Oh, all right, all right!" he broke in hurriedly. "For Heaven's sake don't start a row! Forget it! See? Forget

it!" He walked over to the door, peered out, swore savagely to himself, shut the door, held the candle up to

circle the garret, and scowled as its rays fell upon the shattered pieces of the lamp in the corner then,

returning, he set the candle down upon the chair and began to pace restlessly, three or four steps each way, up

Rhoda Gray, from the edge of the bed, shifted back until her shoulders rested against the wall. Danglar, too,

was dressed like a gentleman but Danglar's face was not appealing. The little round black eyes were shifty,

they seemed to possess no pupils whatever, and they roved constantly; there was a hard, unyielding thinness

about the lips, and the face itself was thin, almost gaunt, as though the skin had had to accommodate itself to

more than was expected of it, and was elastically stretched over the cheekbones.

"Well, I'm listening!" jerked out the man abruptly. "You knew our game at Skarbolov's was queered. You got

"For two weeks now, yes, more than two weeks" the man's voice rasped angrily "things have been going

wrong, and some one has been butting in and getting away with the goods under our noses. We know now,

from last night, that it must have been the White Moll, for one, though it's not likely she worked all alone.

Skeeny dropped to the fact that the police were wise about Skarbolov's, and that's why we called it off, and

the 'seventhreenine' went out. They must have got wise through shadowing the White Moll. See? Then

they pinch her, but she makes her getaway, and comes here, and, if the dope I've got is right, you hand

Rough Rorke one, and help her to beat it again. It looks blamed funny doesn't it? when you come to

"Is that so!" Rhoda Gray flashed back. "And did you know before last night that it was the White Moll who

"Well, then, how did you expect me to know it?" demanded Rhoda Gray heatedly. "And if the White Moll

happens to know Gypsy Nan, as she knows everybody else through her jellies and custards and fake charity,

and happens to be near here when she gets into trouble, and beats it for here with the police on her heels, and

asks for help, what do you expect Gypsy Nan's going to do if she wants to stand any chance of sticking

The man paused in his walk, and, jerking back his hat, drew his hand nervously across his forehead.

"You make me tired!" said Rhoda Gray wearily. "Do you think you could find the door without too much

"Oh, I know! I know, Bertha!" he burst out heavily. "I'm talking through my hat. You've got the roughest job

of any of us, old girl. Don't mind what I'm saying. Something's badly wrong, and I'm half crazy. It's certain

now that the White Moll's the one that's been doing us, and what I really came down here for tonight was to

tell you that your job from now on was to get the White Moll. You helped her last night. She doesn't know

you are anybody but Gypsy Nan, and so you're the one person in New York she'll dare try to communicate

with sooner or later. Understand? That's what I came for, not to talk like a fool but that fellow I found here

"Oh, he did, eh!" Danglar's lips twisted into a sudden, merciless smile. "Well, go on! Who is he?"

"I don't know who he is," Rhoda Gray answered a little impatiently. "He said he was an adventurer if you

can make anything out of that. He said he got the White Moll away from Rough Rorke last night, after Rorke

had arrested her; and then he doped the rest out the same as you have that he could find the White Moll

"That's better!" snarled Danglar, the merciless smile still on his lips. "I thought she must have had a pal, and

we know now who her pal is. It's open and shut that she's sitting so tight she hasn't been able to get into touch

Danglar laughed suddenly, as though in relief; then, coming closer to the bed, plunged his hand into his coat

"I feel better than I did!" he said, and laughed again. "It's a cinch now that we'll get them both through you,

and it s a cinch that the White Moll won't cut in tonight. Put those sparklers away with the rest until we get

Rhoda Gray did not speak. Mechanically, as though she were living through some hideous nightmare, she

began to scoop up the gems from her lap and allow them to trickle back through her fingers. They flashed and

scintillated brilliantly, even in the meager light. They seemed alive with some premonitory, baleful fire.

"Yes, there's some pretty slick stuff there," said Danglar, with an appraising chuckle; "but there'll be

something tonight that'll make all that bunch look like chickenfeed. The boys are at work now, and we'll

have old HaydenBond's necklace in another hour. Skeeny's got the Sparrow tied up in the old room behind

Shluker's place, and once we're sure there's no backfire anywhere, the Sparrow will chirp his last chirp." He

laughed out suddenly, and, leaning forward, clapped Rhoda Gray exultantly on the shoulder. "It was like

taking candy from a kid! The Sparrow and the old man fell for the sickmotherneedinghersonallnight

stuff without batting a lid; but the Sparrow hasn't been holding the old lady's hand at the bedside yet. We took

Again Rhoda Gray made no comment. She wondered, as she gripped at the rings and brooches in hand, so

fiercely that the settings pricked into the flesh, if her face mirrored in any way the cold, sick misery that had

suddenly taken possession of her soul. The Sparrow! She knew the Sparrow; she knew the Sparrow's sick

mother. That part of it was true. The Sparrow did have an old mother who was sick. A fine old lady finer

than the son Finch, her name was. Indirectly, she knew old HaydenBond, the millionaire, and Almost

"I guess luck's breaking our way again," he grinned. "The old boy paid a hundred thousand cold for that

necklace. You know how long we've been waiting to get our hooks on it, and we've never had our eyes off his

house for two months. Well, it pays to wait, and it pays to do things right. It broke our way at last tonight,

all right, all right! Today's Saturday and the safety deposit vaults aren't open on Sunday. Mrs.

HaydenBond's been away all week visiting, but she comes back tomorrow, and there's some swell society

fuss fixed for tomorrow night, and she wants her necklace to make a splurge, so she writes Mr.

HhyphenB, and out it comes from the safety deposit vault, and into the library safe. The old man isn't long

on social stunts, and he's got pretty well set in his habits; one of those musthaveninehours'sleep bugs,

and he's always in bed by ten when his wife'll let him. She being away tonight, the boys were able to get

to work early. They ought to be able to crack that box without making any noise about it in an hour and a half

at the outside." He pulled out his watchand whistled low under his breath. "It's a quarter after eleven now,"

he said hurriedly, and moved abruptly toward the door. "I can't stick around here any longer. I've got to be on

deck where they can slip me the 'white ones,' and then there's Skeeny waiting for the word to bump off the

Sparrow." He jerked his hand suddenly toward the jewels in her lap. "Salt those away before any more

adventurers blow in!" he said, half sharply, half jocularly. "And don't let the White Moll slip you at any

cost. Remember! She's bound to come to you again. Play her and send out the call. You understand, don't

you? There's never been a yip out of the police. Our methods are too good for that. Look at the Sparrow

tonight. Where there's no chance taken of suspicion going anywhere except where we lead it, there's no

chance of any trouble for us! But this cursed shefiend's another story. We're not planting plum trees for

"All right, then; that end of it is up to you," he said significantly. "You're clever, clever as the devil, Bertha.

The door closed. The short, ladderlike steps to the hallway below creaked once, and then all was still.

Danglar did have on rubbersoled shoes. She sat upright, her hands, clenched now, pressed hard against her

throbbing temples. It wasn't true! None of this was true this hovel of a place, those jewels glinting like evil

eyes in her lap; her existence itself wasn't true; it was only her brain now, sick like her soul, that conjured up

these ugly phantoms with horrible, plausible ingenuity. And then an inner voice seemed to answer her with a

calmness that was hideous in its finality. It was true. All of it was true. Those words of Danglar, and their

bald meaning, were true. Men did such things; men made in the image of their Maker did such things. They

She swept the jewels from her lap to the blanket, and rising, seized the candle, went to the door, looked out,

and, holding the candle high above her head, peered down the stairs. Yes, he was gone. There was no one

She locked the door again, returned to the bed, set the candle down upon the chair, and stood there, her face

white and drawn, staring with wide, tormented eyes about her. Murder. Danglar had spoken of it with

inhuman callousness and had laughed at it. They were going to take a man's life. And there was only

herself, already driven to extremity, already with her own back against the wall in an effort to save herself,

only herself to carry the burden of the responsibility of doing somethingto save a man's life.

It seemed to plumb the depths of irony and mockery. She could not make a move as Gypsy Nan. It would

only result in their turning upon her, of the discovery that she was not Gypsy Nan at all, of the almost

certainty that it would cost her her own life without saving the Sparrow's. That way was closed to her from

the start. As the White Moll, then? Outside there in the great city, every plainclothes man, every policeman

on every beat, was staring into every woman's face he met searching for the White Moll.

She wrung her hands in cruel desperation. Even to her own problem she had found no solution, though she

had wrestled with it all last night, and all through the day; no solution save the negative one of clinging to this

one refuge that remained to her, such as it was, temporarily. She had found no solution to that; what solution

was there to this! She had thought of leaving the city as Gypsy Nan, and then somewhere far away, of

sloughing off the character of Gypsy Nan, and of resuming her own personality again under an assumed

name. But that would have meant the loss of everything she had in life, her little patrimony, the irredeemable

stamp of shame upon the name she once had owned; and also the constant fear and dread that at any moment

the police net, wide as the continent was wide, would close around her, as, sooner or later, it was almost

inevitable that it would close around her. It had seemed that her only chance was to keep on striving to play

the role of Gypsy Nan, because it was these associates of Gypsy Nan who were at the bottom of the crime of

which she, Rhoda Gray, was held guilty, and because there was always the hope that in this way, through

confidences to a supposed confederate, she could find the evidence that would convict those actually guilty,

and so prove her own innocence. But in holding to the role of Gypsy Nan for the purpose of receiving those

criminal confidences, she had not thought of this that upon her would rest the moral responsibility of other

crimes of which she would have knowledge, and, least of all, that she should be faced with what lay before

her now, tonight, at the first contact with those who had been Gypsy Nan's confederates.

What was she to do? Upon her, and upon her alone, depended a man's life, and, adding to her distraction, she

knew the man the Sparrow, who had already done time; that was the vile ingenuity of it all. And there

would le corroborative evidence, of course; they would have seen to that. If the Sparrow disappeared and was

never heard of again, even a child would deduce the assumption that the proceeds of the robbery had

Her brain seemed to grow panicky. She was standing here helplessly. And time, the one precious ally that she

possessed, was slipping away from her. She could not go to the police as Gypsy Nan and, much less, as the

White Moll! She could not go to the police in any case, for the "corroborative" evidence, that obviously must

exist, unless Danglar and those with him were fools, would indubitably damn the Sparrow to another prison

term, even supposing that through the intervention of the police his life were saved. What was she to do?

And then, for a moment, her eyes lighted in relief. The Adventurer! She thrust her hand into the pocket of her

skirt, and drew out the torn piece of paper, and studied the telephone number upon it and slowly the hurt

and misery came back into her eyes again. Who was he? He had told her. An adventurer. He had given her to

understand that he, if she had not been just a few minutes ahead of him, would have taken that money from

Skarbolov's escritoire last night. Therefore he was a crook. Danglar had said that some one had been getting

in ahead of them lately and snatching the plunder from under their noses; and Danglar now believed that it

had been the White Moll. A wan smile came to her lips. Instead of the White Moll, it appeared to be quite

obvious that it was the Adventurer. It therefore appeared to be quite as obvious that the man was a

professional thief, and an extremely clever one, at that. She dared not trust him. To enlist his aid she would

have to explain the gang's plot; and while the Adventurer might go to the Sparrow's assistance, he might also

be very much more interested in the diamond necklace that was involved, and not be entirely averse to

Danglar's plan of using the Sparrow as a pawn, who, in that case, would make a very convenient scapegoat

for the Adventurer instead of Danglar! She dared not trust the man. She could not absolve her conscience

by staking another's life on a hazard, on the supposition that the Adventurer might do this or that. It was not

She was quick in her movements now. Subconsciously her decision had been made. There was only one way

only one. She gathered up the jewels from the bed and thrust them, with the Adventurer's torn piece of

paper, into her pocket. And now she reached for the little notebook that she had hidden under the blanket. It

contained the gang's secret code, and she had found it in the cash box in Gypsy Nan's strange hiding place

that evening. Half running now, carrying the candle, she started toward the lower end of the attic, where the

roof sloped down to little more than shoulder high. "SevenThreeNine!" Danglar had almost decoded the

message word for word in the course of his conversation. In the little notebook, set against the figures, were

the words: "Danger. The game is off. Make no further move." It was only one of many, that arbitrary

arrangement of figures, each combination having its own special significance; but, besides these, there was

the key to a complete cipher into which any message might be coded, and But why was her brain swerving

off at inconsequential tangents? What did a coder or code book, matter at the present moment?

She was standing under the narrow trapdoor in the low ceiling now, and now she pushed it up, and lifting

the candle through the opening, set it down on the inner surface of the ceiling, which, like some vast shelf,

Gypsy Nan had metamorphosed into that exhaustive storehouse of edibles, of plunder a curious and sinister

collection that was eloquent of a gauntlet long flung down against the law. She emptied the pocket of her

skirt, retaining only the revolver, and substituted the articles she had removed with the tin box that contained

the dark compound Gypsy Nan, and she herself, as Gypsy Nan, had used to rob her face of youthfulness, and

give it the grimy, dissolute and haggard aspect which was so simple and yet so efficient a disguise.

She worked rapidly now, changing her clothes. She could not go, or act, as Gypsy Nan; and so she must go in

her own character, go as the White Moll because that was the lesser danger, the one that held the only

promise of success. There wasn't any other way. She could not very well refuse to risk her capture by the

police, could she, when by so doing she might save another's life? She could not balance in cowardly

selfishness the possibility of a prison term for herself, hideous as that might be, against the penalty of death

that the Sparrow would pay if she remained inactive. But she could not leave here as the White Moll.

Somewhere, somewhere out in the night, somewhere away from this garret where all connection with it was

severed, she must complete the transformation from Gypsy Nan to the White Moll. She could only prepare

And there was not a moment to lose. The thought made her frantic. Over her own clothes she put on again

Gypsy Nan's greasy skirt, and drew on again, over her own silk ones, Gypsy Nan's coarse stockings. She put

on Gypsy Nan's heavy and disreputable boots, and threw the old shawl again over her head and shoulders.

And then, with her hat for the small shape of which she breathed a prayer of thankfulness! and her own

shoes under her arm and covered by the shawl, she took the candle again, closed the trapdoor, and stepped

over to the washstand. Here, she dampened a rag, that did duty as a facecloth, and thrust it into her pocket;

then, blowing out the candle, she groped her way to the door, locked it behind her, and without any attempt at

Rhoda Gray's movements were a little unsteady as she stepped out on the sidewalk. Gypsy Nan's accepted

inebriety was not without its compensation. It enabled her, as she swayed for a moment, to scrutinize the

street in all directions. Were any of Rough Rorke's men watching the house? She did not know; she only

knew that as far as she had been able to discover, she had not been followed when she had gone out that

afternoon. Up the street, to her right, there were a few pedestrians; to her left, as far as the corner, the block

was clear. She turned in the latter direction. She had noticed that afternoon that there was a lane between

Gypsy Nan's house and the corner; she gained this and slipped into it unobserved.

And now, in the comparative darkness, she hurried her steps. Somewhere here in the lane she would make the

transformation from Gypsy Nan to the White Moll complete; it required only some place in which she could

with safety leave the garments that she discarded, and Yes, this would do! A tumbledown old shed, its

battered door half open, ample proof that the place was in disuse, intersected the line of high board fence on

She stole inside. It was utterly dark, but she had no need for light. It was a matter of perhaps three minutes;

and then, the revolver transferred to the pocket of her jacket, the stains removed from her face by the aid of

the damp cloth, her hands neatly gloved in black kid, the skirt, boots, stockings, shawl, spectacles and wig of

Gypsy Nan carefully piled together and hidden in a hole under the rotting boards of the floor, behind the

But at the end of the lane, where it met a cross street, and the street lamp flung out an ominous challenge,

and, dim though it was, seemed to glare with the brightness of daylight, she faltered for a moment and drew

back. She knew where Shluker's place was, because she knew, as few knew it, every nook and cranny in the

East Side, and it was a long way to that old junk shop, almost over to the East River, and and there would

be lights like this one here that barred her exit from the lane, thousands of them, lights all the way, and and

And then, with her lips tightened, the straight little shoulders thrown resolutely back, she slipped from the

lane to the sidewalk, and, hugging the shadows of the buildings, started forward.

She was alert now in mind and body, every faculty strained and in tension. It was a long way, and it would

take a great while by wide detours, by lanes and alleyways, for only on those streets that were relatively

deserted and poorly lighted would she dare trust herself to the open. And as she went along, now skirting the

side of a street, now through some black courtyard, now forced to take a fence, and taking it with the agility

born of the open, athletic life she had led with her father in the mining camps of South America, now hiding

at the mouth of a lane waiting her chance to cross an intersecting street when some receding footstep should

have died away, the terror of delay came gripping at her heart with an icy clutch, submerging the fear of

personal peril in the agony of dread that, with her progress so slow, she would, after all, be too late. And at

times she almost cried out in her vexation and despair, as once, when crouched behind a doorstoop, a

policeman, not two yards from her, stood and twirled his night stick under the street lamp while the minutes

When she could run, she ran until it seemed her lungs must burst, but it was slow progress at best, and always

the terror grew upon her. Had Danglar met the men yet who had looted the millionaire's safe? Had he already

joined Skeeny in that old room behind Shluker's place? Had the Sparrow She would not let her mind frame

that question in concrete words. The Sparrow! His real name was Martin, Martin Finch Marty, for short.

Times without number she had visited the sick and widowed mother while the Sparrow had served a

twoyears' sentence for his first conviction in safebreaking. The Sparrow, from a firstclass chauffeur

mechanic, had showed signs of becoming a firstclass cracksman, it was true; but the Sparrow was young,

and she had never believed that he was inherently bad. Her opinion had been confirmed when, some six

months ago, on his release, listening both to her own pleadings and to those of his mother, the Sparrow had

sworn that he would stick to the "straight and narrow." And HaydenBond, the millionaire, referred to by a

good many people as eccentric, had further proved his claims to eccentricity in the eyes of a good many

people by giving a prison bird a chance to make an honest living, and had engaged the Sparrow as his

chauffeur. It was a vile and an abominable thing that they were doing, even if they had not planned to

It had taken a long time. She did not know how long, as, at last, she stole unnoticed into a black and narrow

driveway that led in, between two blocks of downattheheels tenements, to a courtyard in the rear. Shluker

had his junk shop here. Her lips pursed up as though defiant of a tinge of perplexity that had suddenly taken

possession of her. She did not know Shluker, or anything about Shluker's place except its locality; but surely

"the old room behind Shluker's" was direction enough, and She had just emerged from the end of the

driveway now, and now, startled, she turned her head quickly, as she heard a brisk step turning in from the

street behind her. But in the darkness she could see no one, and satisfied, therefore, that she in turn had not

been seen, she moved swiftly to one side, and crouched down against the rear wall of one of the tenements. A

long moment, that seemed an eternity, passed, and then a man's form came out from the driveway, and started

She drew in her breath sharply, a curious mingling of relief and a sudden panic fear upon her. It was not so

dark in the courtyard as it had been in the driveway, and, unless she were strangely mistaken that form out

there was Danglar's. She watched him as he headed toward a small building that loomed up like a black,

irregular shadow across the courtyard, and which was Shluker's shop watched him in a tense, fascinated

way. She was in time, then only only somehow now her limbs seemed to have become weak and

powerless. It seemed suddenly as though she craved with all her soul the protecting shadows of the tenement,

and that every impulse bade her cling there, flattened against the wall, until she could make her escape. She

was afraid now; she shrank from the next step. It wasn't illogical. She had set out with a purpose in view, and

she had not been blind to the danger that she ran, but the prospective and mental encounter with danger did

not hold the terror that the tangible, concrete and actual presence of that peril did and that was Danglar

She felt her face whiten, and she felt the tremor of her lips, tightly as they were drawn together. Yes, she was

afraid, afraid in every fiber of her being, but there was a difference, wasn't there, between being afraid and

being a coward? Her small, gloved hands clenched, her lips parted slightly. She laughed a little now, low,

without mirth. Upon what she did or did not do, upon the margin between fear and cowardice as applied to

herself, there hung a man's life. Danglar was disappearing around the side of Shluker's shop. She moved out

from the wall, and swiftly, silently, crossed the courtyard, gained the side of the junk shop in turn, skirted it,

and halted, listening, peering around her, as she reached the rear corner of the building. A door closed

somewhere ahead of her; from above, upstairs, faint streaks of light showed through the interstices of a

She crept forward now, hugging the rear wall, reached a doorthe one, obviously, through which Danglar had

disappeared, and which she had heard as it was closed tried the door, found it unlocked, and, noiselessly,

inch by inch, pushed it open; and a moment later, stepping over the threshold, she closed it softly behind her.

A dull glow of light, emanating evidently from an open door above, disclosed the upper portion of a stairway

over on her left, but apart from that the place was in blackness, and save that she knew, of course, she was in

the rear of Shluker's junk shop, she could form no idea of her surroundings. But she could, at last, hear.

Voices, one of which she recognized as Danglar's, though she could not distinguish the words, reached her

Slowly, with infinite care, she crossed to the stairs, and on hands and knees now, lest she should make a

sound, began to crawl upward. And a little way up, panic fear seized upon her again, and her heart stood still,

and she turned a miserable face in the darkness back toward the door below, and fought against the impulse

And then she heard Danglar speak, and from her new vantage point his words came to her distinctly this time:

"Good work, Skeeny! You've got the Sparrow nicely trussed up, I see. Well, he'll do as he is for a while there.

I told the boys to hold off a bit. It's safer to wait an hour or two yet, before moving him away from here and

"Two jobs instead of one!" a surly voice answered. "We might just as well have finished him and slipped him

"Got a little sick of your woodcarving, while you stuck around by your lonesome and watched him eh?"

Danglar's tones were jocularly facetious. "Don't grouch, Skeeny! We're not killing for fun it doesn't pay.

Supposing anything had broken wrong up the Avenue eh? We wouldn't have had our friend the Sparrow

There was something abhorrently callous in the laugh that followed. It seemed to fan into flame a smoldering

fire of passionate anger in Rhoda Gray's soul. And before it panic fled. Her hand felt upward for the next

stairtread, and she crept on again, as a face seemed to rise before her not the Sparrow's face a woman's

face. It was a face that was crowned with very thin white hair, and its eyes were the saddest she had ever

seen, and yet they were brave, steady old eyes that had not lost their faith; nor had the old, carelined face

itself, in spite of suffering, lost its gentleness and sweetness. And then suddenly it seemed to change, that

face, and become wreathed in smiles, and happy tears to run coursing down the wrinkled cheeks. Yes, she

remembered! It had brought the tears to her own eyes. It was the night that the wayward Sparrow, home from

the penitentiary, on his knees, his head buried in his mother's lap, had sworn that he would go straight.

Fear! It seemed as though she never had known, never could know fear that only a merciless, tigerish,

unbridled fury had her in its thrall. And she went on up, step after step, as Danglar spoke again:

"There's nothing to it! The Sparrow there fell for the telephone when Stevie played the doctor. And old

HaydenBond of course grants his prisonbird chauffeur's request to spend the night with his mother, who

the doctor says is taken worse, because the old guy knows there is a mother who really is sick. Only Mr.

HaydenBond, and the police with him, will maybe figure it a little differently in the morning when they find

the safe looted, and that the Sparrow, instead of ever going near the poor old dame, has flown the coop and

can't be found. And in case there's any lingering doubt in their minds, that piece of paper with the

greasesmudges and the Sparrow's greasy fingerprints on it, that you remember we copped a few days ago

in the garage, will set them straight. The Cricket slipped it in among the papers he pulled out of the safe and

tossed around on the floor. It looks as though a tool had been wiped with it while the safe was being cracked,

and that it got covered over by the stuff that was emptied out, and had been forgotten. I guess they won't be

long in comparing the fingerprints with the ones the Sparrow kindly left with them when they measured him

Rhoda Gray could see now. Her eyes were on a level with the landing, and diagonally across from the head of

the stairs was the open doorway of a lighted room. She could not see all of the interior, but she could see

quite enough. Two men sat, side face to her, one at each end of a rough, deal table Danglar, and an ugly,

pockmarked, unshaven man, in a peaked cap that was drawn down over his eyes, who whittled at a stick

with a huge jackknife. The latter was Skeeny, obviously; and the jackknife and the stick, quite as

obviously, explained Danglar's facetious reference to woodcarving. And then her eyes shifted, and widened

as they rested on a huddled form that she could see by looking under and beyond the table, and that lay

"What's the haul size up at?" he demanded. "Anything in the safe besides the shiners?"

"A few hundred dollars," Danglar replied. "I don't know exactly how much. I told the Cricket to divide it up

among the boys who did the rough work. That's good enough, isn't it, Skeeny? It gives you a little extra.

Rhoda Gray was standing upright in the little hallway now, and now, pressed close against the wall, she

edged toward the doorjamb. And a queer, grim little smile came and twisted the sensitive lips, as she drew

her revolver from her pocket. The merciless, pitiless way in which the newspapers had flayed the White Moll

was not, after all, to be wholly regretted! The cool, clever resourcefulness, the years of reckless daring

attributed to the White Moll, would stand her in good stead now. Everybody on the East Side knew her by

sight. These men knew her. It was not merely a woman ambitiously attempting to beard two men who,

perhaps, holding her sex in contempt in an adventure of this kind, might throw discretion to the winds and

give scant respect to her revolver, for behind the muzzle of that revolver was the reputation of the White

Moll. They would take her at face value as one who not only knew how to use that revolver, but as one who

From the room she heard Skeeny whistle low under his breath, as though in sudden and amazed delight and

then she was standing full in the open doorway, and her revolver in her outflung, gloved hand covered the

There was a startled cry from Skeeny, a scintillating flash of light as a magnificent string of diamonds fell

from his hand to the table. But Danglar did not move or speak; only his lips twitched, and a queer whiteness

It was Skeeny who spoke, as both men obeyed her. "The White Moll, so help me!" he mumbled, and

Danglar's eyes never seemed to leave her face, and they narrowed now, full of hatred and a fury that lie made

no attempt to conceal. She smiled at him coldly. She quite understood! He had already complained that

evening that the White Moll for the last few weeks had been robbing them of the fruits of their laboriously

planned schemes. And nowagain! Well, she would not dispel his illusion! He had given the White Moll that

She stepped forward now, and with her free hand suddenly pulled the table toward her out of their reach; and

then, as she picked up the necklace, she appeared for the first time to become aware of the presence of the

huddled form on the floor near the wall. She could see that the Sparrow was bound and gagged, and as he

"Why, it's the Sparrow, isn't it?" she exclaimed sharply; then, evenly, to the two men: "I had no idea you were

so hospitable! Push your chairs closer together with your feet, not your hands! You are easier to watch if

Dangler complied sullenly. Skeeny, over the scraping of his chair legs, cursed in a sort of unnerved abandon,

"Thank you!" said Rhoda Gray pleasantly and calmly tucked the necklace into her bodice.

The act seemed to rouse Danglar to the last pitch of fury. The blood rushed in an angry tide to his face, and,

"This isn't the first crack you've made!" he flung out hoarsely. "You've been getting wise to a whole lot lately

somehow, you and that dude pal of yours, but you'll pay for it, you female devil! Understand? By God, you'll

pay for it! I promise you that you'll pray yet on your bended knees for the chance to take your own life! Do

She picked up the jackknife from the table, and keeping both men covered, stepped backward to the wall.

Here, kneeling, she reached behind her with her left hand, and felt for, and cut the heavy cord that bound the

Sparrow's arms; then, pushing the knife into the Sparrow's hands that he might free himself from the rest of

A moment more, and the Sparrow, rubbing the circulation back into his wrists, stood beside her. There was a

look on the young, white face that was not good to see. He circled dry lips with the tip of his tongue and then

his thumb began to feel over the blade of the big jackknife in a sort of horribly supercritical appraisal of its

"You dirty skates!" he whispered. "You were going to bump me off, were you? You planted me cold, did

you? Oh, hell!" His laugh, like the laugh of one insane, jangling, discordant, rang through the room. "Well,

it's my turn now, and" his body was coiling itself in a slow, curious, almost snakelike fashion "and

"Not that way, Marty," she said quietly. She smiled thinly at Danglar, who, with genuinely frightened eyes

now, seemed fascinated by the Sparrow's movements. "I wouldn't care to have anything happen to Mr.

The Sparrow brushed his hands across his eyes, and stared at her. He licked his lips again. He appeared to be

"There's enough cord there for both of them," said Rhoda Gray crisply. "Tie them in their chairs, Marty."

For a moment the Sparrow hesitated; and then, with a sort of queer reluctancy, he dropped the knife on the

No one spoke. The Sparrow, with twitching lips as he worked, and worked not gently, bound first Danglar

and then Skeeny to their respective chairs. Skeeny for the most part kept his eyes on the floor, casting only

furtive glances at Rhoda Gray's revolver muzzle. But Danglar was smiling now. He had very white teeth.

There was something of primal, insensate fury in the harddrawn, parted lips. Somehow he seemed to remind

Rhoda Gray of a beast, stung to madness, but impotent behind the bars of its cage, as it showed its fangs.

She motioned the Sparrow with an imperious little nod of her head to the door. And then, following the other,

"It has been a very profitable evening, Mr. Danglar," she said coolly. "I have you to thank for it. When your

friends come, which I think I heard you say would be in another hour or so, I hope you will not fail to convey

"You shefiend!" Danglar had found his voice again. You'll crawl for this! Do you understand? and I'll show

you inside of twentyfour hours what you're up against, you you " His voice broke in its fury. The veins

were standing out on the side of his neck like whipcords. He could just move his forearms a little, and his

But Rhoda Gray had closed the door behind her, and, with the Sparrow, was retreating down the stairs.

Reaching the courtyard, Rhoda Gray led the way without a word through the driveway, and finding the street

clear, hurried on rapidly. Her mind, strangely stimulated, was working in quick, incisive flashes. Her work

was not yet done. The Sparrow was safe, as far as his life was concerned; but her possession of even the

necklace would not save the Sparrow from the law. There was the money that was gone from the safe. She

could not recover that, but yes, dimly, she began to see a way. She swerved suddenly from the sidewalk as

she came to an alleyway which had been her objective and drew the Sparrow in with her out of sight of

"The White Moll!" he whispered brokenly. "God bless the White Moll! I ain't had a chance to say it before.

In the semidarkness she leaned forward and laid her fingers gently over the Sparrow's lips.

"And there's no time to say it now, Marty," she said quickly. "You are not out of this yet."

"I know it," he said. "I got to get those shiners back up there somehow, and I got to get that paper they

"Even that wouldn't clear you," she said. "The safe has been looted of money, as well; and you can't replace

that. Even with only the money gone, who would they first naturally suspect? You are known as a

safebreaker; you have served a term for it. You asked for a night off to stay with your mother who is sick.

You left Mr. HaydenBond's, we'll say, at seven or eight o'clock. It's after midnight now. How long would it

take them to find out that between eight and midnight you had not only never been near your mother, but

could not prove an alibi of any sort? If you told the truth it would sound absurd. No one in their sober senses

"Marty," she said quietly, "did you read in the papers that I had been arrested last night for theft, caught with

"It was true, though, Marty all except that I wasn't a thief," she said as quietly as before. "What I want to

know is, in spite of that, would you trust me with what is left to be done tonight, if I tell you that I believe I

"Sure, I would!" he said simply. "I don't know how you got wise about all this, or how you got to know about

that necklace, but any of our crowd would trust you to the limit. Sure, I'd trust you! You bet your life!"

"Thank you, Marty," she said. "Well, then, how do you get into Mr. HaydenBond's house when, for

"I've got a key to the garage," he answered. "The garage is attached to the house, though it opens on the side

"Sure! There's plenty of 'em! Each car's got one with its tools under the back seat."

"And now, the library," she said. "What part of the house is it in? How is it situated?"

"It's on the ground floor at the back," he told her. "The little short passage from the garage opens on the

kitchen, then the pantry, and then there's a little cross hallway, and the diningroom is on the left, and the

"You're going home, Marty after you've sent me a taxicab. If you were seen in that neighborhood now, let

alone by any chance seen in the house, nothing could save you. You understand that, don't you? Now, listen!

Find a taxi, and send it here. Tell the chauffeur to pick me up, and drive me to the corner of the cross street,

one block in the rear of Mr. HaydenBond's residence. Don't mention HaydenBond's name. Give the

chauffeur simply street directions. Be careful that he is some one who doesn't know you. Tell him he will be

well paid and give him this to begin with." She thrust a banknote into the Sparrow's hand. "You're sure to

find one at some allnight cabaret around here. And remember, when you go home afterward, not a word to

your mother! And not a word tomorrow, or everto any one! You've simply done as you told your employer

"But you," he burst out, and his words choked a little. "I I can't let you go, and "

"You said you would trust me, Marty," she said. "And if you want to help me, as well, don't waste another

She drew back into the shadows. She was alone now. The Sparrow's racing footsteps died away on the

pavement. Her mind reverted to the plan that she had dimly conceived. It became detailed, concrete now, as

the minutes passed. And then she heard a car coming along the previously deserted street, and she stepped out

"You know where to go, don't you?" she said to the chauffeur, as the cab drew up at the curb, and the man

The taxi shot out from the curb, and rattled forward at a rapid pace. Rhoda Gray settled back on the cushions.

A half whimsical, half weary little smile touched her lips. It was much easier, and infinitely safer, this mode

of travel, than that of her earlier experience that evening; but, earlier that evening, she had had no one to go to

a cab rank for her, and she had not dared to appear in the open and hail one for herself. The smile vanished,

and the lips became, pursed and grim. Her mind was back on that daring, and perhaps a little dangerous, plan,

that she meant to put into execution. Block after block was traversed. It was a long way uptown, but the

chauffeur's initial and generous tip was bearing fruit. The man was losing no time.

Rhoda Gray calculated that they had been a little under half an hour in making the trip, when the taxi finally

drew up and stopped at a corner, and the chauffeur, again leaning out, opened the door.

"Wait for me," she instructed, and handed the man another tip and, with a glance about her to get her

She had only a block now to go to reach the HaydenBond mansion on the corner of Fifth Avenue ahead

less than that to reach the garage, which opened on the cross street here. She had little fear of personal

identification now. Here in this residential section and at this hour of night, it was like a silent and deserted

city; even Fifth Avenue, just ahead, for all its lights, was one of the loneliest places at this hour in all New

York. True, now and then, a car might race up or down the great thoroughfare, or a belated pedestrian's

footsteps ring and echo hollow on the pavement, where but a few hours before the trafficsquad struggled

She could make out the HaydenBond mansion on the corner ahead of her now, and now she was abreast of

the rather ornate and attached little building, that was obviously the garage. She drew the key from her

pocket, and glanced around her. There was no one in sight. She stepped swiftly to the small door that flanked

the big double ones where the cars went in and out, opened it, closed it behind her, and locked it.

For a moment, her eyes unaccustomed to the darkness, she could see nothing; and then a car, taking the form

of a grotesque, looming shadow, showed in front of her. She moved toward it, felt her way into the tonneau,

lifted up the back seat, and, groping around, found a flashlight. She meant to hurry now. She did not mean to

let that nervous dread, that fear, that was quickening her pulse now, have time to get the better of her. She

located the door that led to the house, and in another moment, the short passage behind her, she was in the

kitchen, the flashlight winking cautiously around her. She paused to listen here. There was not a sound.

She went on again through a swinging pantry door with extreme care, and into a small hall. "On the right,"

the Sparrow had said. Yes, here it was; a door that opened on the rear of the library, evidently. She listened

again. There was no sound save the silence, that seemed to grow loud now, and palpitate, and make great

noises. And now, in spite of herself, her breath was coming in quick, hard little catches, and the flashlight's

ray, that she sent around her, wavered and was not steady. She bit her lips, as she switched off the light. Why

should she be afraid of this, when in another five minutes she meant to invite attention!

She pushed the door in front of her open, found it hung with a heavy portiere inside, brushed the portiere

aside, stepped through into the room, stood still and motionless to listen once more, and then the flashlight

It was the library. Her eyes widened a little. At her left, over against the wall, the mangled door of a safe

stood wide open, and the floor for a radius of yards around was littered with papers and documents. The

flashlight's ray lifted, and she followed it with her eyes as it made the circuit of the walls. Opposite the safe,

and quite near the doorway in which she stood, was a window recess, portiered; diagonally across from her

was another door that led, presumably, into the main hall of the house; the walls were tapestried, and hung

here and there with clusters of ancient trophies, great metal shields, and swords, and curious arms, that gave a

She worked quickly now. In a moment she was at the window portieres, and, drawing these aside, she quietly

raised the window, and looked out. The window was on the side of the house away from the cross street, and

she nodded her head reassuringly to herself as she noted that it gave on a narrow strip of grass, it could not be

called lawn, that separated the HaydenBond mansion from the house next door; that the window was little

more than shoulderhigh from the ground; and that the Avenue was within easy and inviting reach along that

She left the window open, and retraced her steps across the room, going now to the littered mass of papers on

the floor near the safe. She began to search carefully amongst them. She smiled a little curiously as she came

across the plushlined jeweler's case that had contained the necklace, and which had evidently been

contemptuously discarded by the Cricket and his confederates; but it took her longer to find the paper for

which she was searching. And then she came upon it a greasesmeared advertisement for some automobile

appliances, a welldefined greasy fingerprint at one edge and thrust the paper into her pocket.

And now suddenly her heartbeat began to quicken again until its thumping became tumultuous. She was

ready now. She looked around her, using the flashlight, and her eyes rested appraisingly on one of the great

clusters of shields and arms that hung low down on the wall between the window and the door by which she

had entered. Yes, that would do. Her lips tightened. It would have been so easy if there had not been that cash

to account for! She could replace the necklace, but she could not replace the cash and one, as far as the

Sparrow was concerned, was as bad as the other. But there was a way, and it was simple enough. She

whispered to herself that it was not, after all, very dangerous, that the cards were all in her own hands. She

had only to pull down those shields with a clatter to the floor, which would arouse some one of the

household, and as that some one reached the library door and opened it, she would be disappearing through

the window, and the necklace, as though it had slipped from her pocket or grasp in her wild effort to escape,

would be lying behind her on the floor. They would see that it was not the Sparrow; and there would be no

question as to where the money was gone, since the money had not been dropped. There was the interval, of

course, that must elapse between the accident that knocked the shields from the wall and the time it would

take any of the inmates to reach the library, an interval in which a thief might reasonably be expected to have

had time enough to get away without being seen; but the possibility that she had not fully accomplished her

ends when the accident occurred, and that she had stayed to make frantic and desperate efforts to do so right

She moved now to an electriclight switch, and turned on the light. They must be able to see beyond any

question of doubt that the person escaping through the window was not the Sparrow. What was she afraid of

now, just at the last! There was an actual physical discomfort in the furious thumping of that cowardly little

heart of hers. It was the only way. And it was worth it. And it was not so very dangerous. People, aroused out

of bed, could not follow her in their night clothes; and in a matter of but a few minutes, before the police

notified by telephone could become a factor in the affair, she would have run the block down the Avenue, and

then the other block down the cross street, then back to the taxi, and be whirling safely downtown.

Yes, she was ready! She nodded her head sharply, as though in imperative selfcommand, and running back,

her footfalls soundless on the rich, heavy rug, she picked up the plushlined necklace case. She dropped this

again, open, on the floor, halfway between the safe and the window. With the case apparently burst open as it

fell, and the necklace also on the floor, the stage would be set! She felt inside her bodice, drew out the

necklace and as she stood there holding it, and as it caught the light and flashed back its fire and life from a

thousand facets, a numbness seemed to come stealing over her, and a horror, and a great fear, and a dismay

that robbed her of power of movement until it seemed that she was rooted to the spot, and a low, gasping cry

came from her lips. Her eyes, wide with their alarm, were fixed on the window. There was a man's face there,

just above the sill and now a man's form swung through the window, and dropped lightly to the floor inside

the room. And she stared in horrified fascination, and could not move. It was the Adventurer.

"It's Miss Gray, isn't it? The White Moll?" he murmured amiably. "I've been trying to find you all night.

She did not answer. His eyes had shifted from her face to the glittering river of gems in her hand.

"I see," he smiled, "that you are ahead of me again. Well, it is the fortune of war, Miss Gray. I do not

She found her voice at last; and, quick as a flash, as he advanced a step, she dropped the necklace into her

"In the same boat?" she echoed dully. She remembered his conversation with her a few hours ago, when he

had believed he was talking to Gypsy Nan. And now he stood before her for the second time a selfconfessed

thief. In the same boatfellowthieves! A certain cold composure came to her. "You mean you came to steal

this necklace? Well, you shall not have it! And, furthermore, you have no right to class me with yourself as a

"No, I do not forget last night," she said slowly, "And I do not forget that I owe you very much for what you

did. And that is one reason why I warn you at once that, as far as the necklace is concerned, it will do you no

good to build any hopes on the supposition that we are fellowthieves, and that I am likely either to part with

it, or, through gratitude, share it. In spite of appearances last night, I was not a thief."

He was regarding her with eyes that, while they appraised shrewdly, held a lurking hint of irony in their

depths. And somehow, suddenly, selfproclaimed crook though she held him to be, she found herself seized

with an absurd, unreasonable, but nevertheless passionate, desire to make good her words.

"Yes, and tonight, too!" she asserted. "I did not steal this necklace. I never mind how I I got it. It was

planned to put the theft on an innocent man's shoulders. I was trying to thwart that plan. Whether you believe

me or not, I did not come here to steal the necklace; I came here to return it."

"Quite so! Of course!" acknowledged the Adventurer softly. "I am afraid I interrupted you, then, in the act of

returning it. Might I suggest, therefore, Miss Gray, that as it's a bit dangerous to linger around here

unnecessarily, you carry out your intentions with all possible haste, and get away."

"Myself, of course, as well." He shrugged his shoulders philosophically. "Under the circumstances, as a

gentleman will you let me say I prefer that word to the one I know you are substituting for it what else

"Then please do not let me detain you!" she said sharply. "And in my turn, let me advise you to go at once. I

intend to knock one of those shields down from the wall before I go, in order to arouse the household. I will,

however, in part payment for last night, allow you three full minutes from the time you climb out of that

"No, I am not," she replied coolly. "Far from it! There was money stolen that I cannot replace, and the theft of

the money would be put upon the same innocent shoulders. I see no other way than the one I have mentioned.

If whoever runs into this room is permitted to get a glimpse of me, and is given the impression that the

necklace, which I shall leave on the floor, was dropped in my haste, the supposition remains that, at least, I

got away with the money. I am certainly not the innocent man who has been used as the pawn; and if I am

He took a step toward her impetuously and stopped quite as impetuously. Her revolver had swung to a level

For the first time, as she watched him warily, the Adventurer appeared to lose some of his selfassurance. He

shifted a little uneasily on his feet, and the corners of his eyes puckered into a nest of perturbed wrinkles.

"I have told you that I am," she answered steadily. "Those three minutes that I gave you are going fast."

"Then look here!" he exclaimed earnestly. "I'll tell you something. I said I had been trying to find you

tonight. It was the truth. I went to Gypsy Nan's and might have been spared my pains. I told her about last

night, and that I knew you were in danger, and that I wanted to help you. I mention this so that you will

understand that I am not just speaking on the spur of the moment, now that I have an opportunity of repeating

She looked at him impassively for a moment. He had neglected to state that he had also told Gypsy Nan he

"It is very kind of you," she said sweetly. "I presume, then, that you have some suggestion to make?"

"Only what any may I say it? gentleman would suggest under the circumstances. It is far too dangerous a

thing for a woman to attempt; it would be much less dangerous for me. I realize that you are in earnest now,

and I will agree to carry out your plan in every detail once I am satisfied that you are safely away."

"The idea being," she observed monotonously, "that, being safely away, and the necklace being left safely on

the floor, you are left safely in possession of the necklace. Well, my answer is no!"

"I'm sorry, then," he said. "For in that case, in so far as your project is concerned, I, too, must say no!"

It was an impasse. She studied his face, the strong jaw set a little now, the lips molded in sterner lines, and for

all her outward show of composure, she knew a sick dismay. And for a moment she neither moved nor spoke.

What he would do next, she did not know; but she knew quite well that he had not the slightest intention of

leaving her here undisturbed to carry out her plan, unless unless, somehow, she could outwit him. She bit

her lips again. And then inspiration came. She turned, and with a sudden leap gained the wall, and the next

instant, holding him back with her revolver as she reached up with her left hand, she caught at the great metal

shield with its encircling cluster of small arms, and wrenched it from its fastenings. It crashed to the floor

with a din infernal that, in the night silence, went racketing through the house like the reverberations of an

"What I said I'd do!" she answered. She was whitefaced, frightened at her own act, fighting to maintain her

nerve. "You'll go now, I imagine!" she flung at him passionately. "You haven't much time."

"No!" he said. His composure was instantly at command again. "No," he repeated steadily; "not until after

you have gone. I refuse positively to let you run any such risk as that. It is far too dangerous."

"Yes, you will!" she burst out wildly. "You will! You must! You shall! I I " The house itself seemed

suddenly to have awakened. From above doors opened and closed. Indistinctly there came the sound of a

voice. She clenched her hand in anguished desperation. "Go, you you coward!" she whispered frantically.

"Miss Gray, for God's sake, do as I tell you!" he said between his teeth. "You don't realize the danger. It's not

the pursuit. They are not coming down here unarmed after that racket. I know that you came in by that door

"Quick!" he urged. "Are we both to be caught? See!" He backed suddenly toward the window.

"See! I am too far away now to touch that necklace before they get here. Throw it down, and get behind the

Mechanically she was retreating. They were almost at the other door now, those footsteps outside in the main

hall. With a backward spring she reached the portiere. The door handle across the room rattled. She glanced

at the Adventurer. He was close to the window. It was true, he could not get the necklace and at the same

time hope to escape. She whipped it from her pocket, tossed it from her to the floor near the plushlined case

The door opposite to her was wrenched violently open. She could see through the corner of the portiere.

There was a sharp, excited exclamation, as a grayhaired man, in pajamas, evidently Mr. HaydenBond

himself, sprang into the room. He was followed by another man in equal dishabille.

There was a blinding flash, the roar of a report, as the millionaire flung up a revolver and fired; it was echoed

by the splatter and tinkle of falling glass. The Adventurer was astride the window sill now, his face

"A foot too high, and a bit to the right!" said the Adventurer debonairly and the window sill was empty.

Rhoda Gray stole silently through the doorway behind her. She could hear the millionaire and his companion,

the butler, probably, rush across the library to the window. As she gained the pantry, she heard another shot.

Tightlipped, using her flashlight, she ran through the kitchen. In a moment more, she was standing at the

garage door, listening, peering furtively outside. The street itself was empty; there were shouts, though, from

the direction of the Avenue. She stepped out on the side street, and walking composedly that she might not

attract attention, though very impulse urged her to run with frantic haste, she reached the corner and the

waiting taxicab. She gave the chauffeur an address that would bring her to the street in the rear of Gypsy

Nan's and within reach of the lane where she had left her clothes, and, with an injunction to hurry, sprang into

And then for a long time she sat there with her hands tightly clasped in her lap. Her mind, her brain, her very

soul itself seemed in chaos and turmoil. There was the Sparrow, who was safe; and Danglar, who would

move heaven and hell to get her now; and the Adventurer, who Her mind seemed to grope around in cycles;

it seemed to moil on and on and arrive at nothing. The Adventurer had played the game perhaps because he

had had to; but he had not risked that revolver shot in her stead because he had had to. Who was he? How had

he come there? How had he found her there? How had he known that she had entered by that rear door

behind the portiere? She remembered how that he had offered not a single explanation.

Almost mechanically she dismissed the taxi when at last it stopped; and almost mechanically, as Gypsy Nan,

some ten minutes later, she let herself into the garret, and lighted the candle. She was conscious, as she hid

the White Moll's clothes away, that she was thankful she had regained in safety even the questionable

sanctuary of this wretched place; but, strangely, thoughts of her own peril seemed somehow to be temporarily

She flung herself down on the bed it was not Gypsy Nan's habit to undress and blew out the light. But she

could not sleep. And hour after hour in the darkness she tossed unrestfully. It was very strange! It was not as

it had been last night. It was not the impotent, frantic rebellion against the horrors of her own situation, nor

the fear and terror of it, that obsessed her tonight. It was the Adventurer who plagued her.

It was strange! Most strange! Three days had passed, and to Gypsy Nan's lodging no one had come. The

small crack under the partition that had been impressed into service as a letterbox had remained empty.

There had been no messages nothing only a sinister, brooding isolation. Since the night Rhoda Gray had

left Danglar, balked, almost a madman in his fury, in the little room over Shluker's junk shop, Danglar had

not been seen nor the Adventurer nor even Rough Rorke. Her only visitant since then had been an ugly

premonition of impending peril, which came and stalked like a hideous ghost about the bare and miserable

garret, and which woke her at night with its whispering voice which was the voice of intuition.

Rhoda Gray drew her shawl closer around her shoulders and shivered, as now, from shuffling down the block

in the guise of Gypsy Nan, she halted before the street door of what fate, for the moment, had thrust upon her

as a home; and shivered again, as, with abhorrence, she pushed the door open and stepped forward into the

black, unlighted hallway. Soul, mind and body were in revolt tonight. Even faith, the simple faith in God

that she had known since childhood, was wavering. There seemed nothing but horror around her, a mental

horror, a physical horror; and the sole means of even momentary relief and surcease from it had been a pitiful

prowling around the streets, where even the fresh air seemed to be denied to her, for it was tainted with the

And tonight, stronger than ever, intuition and premonition of approaching danger lay heavy upon her, and

oppressed her with a sense of nearness. She was not a coward; but she was afraid. Danglar would leave no

stone unturned to get the White Moll. He had said so. She remembered the threat he had made it had lived

in her woman's soul ever since that night. Better anything than to fall into Danglar's hands! She caught her

breath a little, and shivered again as she groped her way up the dark stairs. But, then, she never would fall

into Danglar's power. There was always an alternative. Yes, it was quite as bad as that death at her own

hands was preferable. Balked, outwitted, the plans of the criminal coterie, of which Danglar appeared to be

the head, rendered again and again abortive, and believing it all due to the White Moll, all of Danglar's

shrewd, unscrupulous cunning would be centered on the task of running her down; and if, added to this, he

discovered that she was masquerading as Gypsy Nan, one of their own inner circle, it mean that She closed

her lips in a hard, tight line. She did not want to think of it. She had fought all day, and the days before,

against thinking about it, but premonition had crept upon her stronger and stronger, until tonight, now, it

On the landing, she paused suddenly and listened. The street door had opened and closed, and now a footstep

sounded on the stairs behind her. She went on again along the hall, feeling her way; and reaching the short,

ladderlike steps to the garret, she began to mount them. Who was it there behind her? One of the unknown

lodgers on the lower floor, or ? She could not see, of course. It was pitch black. But she could hear. And as

she knelt now on the narrow landing, and felt with her fingers along the floor for the aperture, where,

imitating the custom of Gypsy Nan, she had left her key when she went out, she heard the footsteps coming

steadily on, passing the doors below her, and making toward the garret ladder. And then, stifling a startled

little cry, her hand closed on the key, and closed, as it had closed on that first night when she had returned

here in the role of Gypsy Nan, on a piece of paper wrapped around the key. The days of isolation were ended

with climacteric effect; the pendulum had swung full the other way tonight there was both a visitor and a

The paper detached from the key and thrust into her bodice, she stood up quickly. A form, looming up even

"It's all right," a voice answered in low tones. "You were just ahead of me on the street. I saw you come in.

Pierre! So that was his name! It was only the voice she recognized. Pierre Danglar! She fumbled for the

There seemed to be a strange exhilaration in the man's voice. He was standing beside her now, close beside

her, and now his hand played with a curiously caressing motion on her shoulder. The touch seemed to scorch

and burn her. Who was this Danglar, who was Pierre to her, and to whom she was Bertha? Her breath came

quickly in spite of herself; there came, too, a frenzy of aversion, and impulsively she flung his hand away,

"Feeling a bit off color, eh?" he said with a short laugh, as he followed her, and shut the door behind him.

"Well, I don't know as I blame you. But, look here, old girl, have a heart! It's not my fault. I know what

you're grouching about it's because I haven't been around much lately. But you ought to know well enough

that I couldn't help it. Our game has been crimped lately at every turn by that shedevil, the White Moll, and

that dude pal of hers." He laughed out again in savage menace now. "I've been busy. Understand, Bertha? It

was either ourselves, or them. We've got to go under or they have. And we won't! I promise you that!

She could not see him in the blackness of the garret. She breathed a prayer of gratitude that he could not see

her. Her face, in spite of Gipsy Nan's disguising grime, must be white, white as death itself. It seemed to

plumb some infamous depth from which her soul recoiled, this apology of his for his neglect of her. And then

her hands at her sides curled into tightclenched little fists as she strove to control herself. His words, at least,

"Of course!" she said tartly, but in perfect English the vernacular of Gypsy Nan was not for Danglar, for

she remembered only too well how once before it had nearly tripped her up. "But you didn't come here to

"Ah, I say, Bertha!" he said appeasingly. "Cut that out! I couldn't help being away, I tell you. Of course, I

didn't come here to apologize I thought you'd understand well enough without that. The gang's out of cash,

and I came to tap the reserves. Let me have a package of the long green, Bertha."

It was a moment before she spoke. Her woman's instinct prompted her to let down the bars between them in

no single degree, that her protection lay in playing up to the full what Danglar, jumping at conclusions, had

assumed was a grouch at his neglect. Also, her mind worked quickly. Her own clothes were no longer in the

secret hiding place here in the garret; they were out there in that old shed in the lane. It was perfectly safe,

then, to let Danglar go to the hiding place himself, assuming that he knew where it was which, almost of

"Oh!" she said ungraciously. "Well, you know where it is, don't you? Suppose you go and get it yourself!"

"All right!" returned Danglar, a sullenness creeping into his voice. "Have it your own way, Bertha! I haven't

got time tonight to coax you out of your tantrums. That's what you want, but I haven't got time tonight."

A match crackled in Danglar's hand; the flames spurted up through the darkness. Danglar made his way over

to the rickety washstand, found the candle that was stuck in the neck of the gin bottle, lighted it, held the

"Why the devil don't you get another lamp?" he grumbled and started toward the rear of the garret.

Rhoda Gray watched him silently. She did not care to explain that she had not replaced the lamp for the very

simple reason that it gave far too much light here in the garret to be safe for her! She watched him, with her

hand in the pocket of her greasy skirt clutched around another legacy of Gypsy Nan her revolver. And now

she became conscious that from the moment she had entered the garret, her fingers, hidden in that pocket, had

sought and clung to the weapon. The man filled her with detestation and fear; and somehow she feared him

more now in what he was trying to make an ingratiating mood, than she had feared him in the full flood of his

She drew back a little toward the cot bed against the wall, drew back to give him free passage to the door

when he should return again, her eyes still holding on the far end of the garret, where, with the slope of the

roof, the ceiling was no more than shoulder high. There seemed something horribly weird and grotesque in

the scene before her. He had pushed the narrow trapdoor in the ceiling upward, and had thrust candle and

head through the opening, and the faint yellow light, seeping back and downward in flickering, uncertain

rays, suggested the impression of a gruesome, headless figure standing there hazily outlined in the

surrounding murk. It chilled her; she clutched at her shawl, drew it more closely about her, and edged still

And then Danglar closed the trapdoor again, and came back with the candle in one hand, and one of the

bulky packages of banknotes from the hiding place in the other. He set the candle down on the washstand,

"It was your job to play the spider to the White Moll if she ever showed up again here in your parlor," he

said. "Maybe somebody tipped her off to keep away, maybe she was too wily; but, anyway, since you have

not sent out any word, it is evident that our little plans along that line didn't work, since she has failed to

come back to pay a call of gratitude to you. I don't suppose there's anything to add to that, eh, Bertha? No

"Well, no matter!" said Danglar. He laughed out shortly. "There are other ways! She's had her fling at our

expense; it's her turn to pay now." He laughed again and in the laugh now there was something both brutal

"Get her!" said Danglar. The man's passion flamed up suddenly; he spoke through his closed teeth. "Get her!

"You've been saying that for quite a long time," retorted Rhoda Gray coolly. "But the 'getting' has been all the

Danglar's little black eyes narrowed, and he thrust his head forward and out from his shoulders savagely. In

the flickering candle light, with contorted face and snarling lips, he looked again the beast to which she had

"Never mind how I'm going to get her!" he flung out, with an oath. "I told you I'd been busy. That's enough!

Rhoda Gray, in the semidarkness, shrugged her shoulders. Was the man, prompted by rage and fury, simply

making wild threats, or had he at last some definite and perhaps infallible plan that he purposed putting into

operation? She did not know; and, much as it meant to her, she did not dare take the risk of arousing

suspicion by pressing the question. Failing, then, to obtain any intimation of what he meant to do, the next

"You've got the money. That's what you came for, wasn't it?" she suggested coldly.

"You're a rare one, Bertha!" he exclaimed admiringly. "Yes; I've got the money and I'm going. In fact, I'm

in a hurry, so don't worry! You got the dope, like everybody else, for tonight, didn't you? It was sent out two

The dope! It puzzled her for the fraction of a second and then she remembered the paper she had thrust into

"All right!" he saidand moved toward the door. "That explains why I'm in a hurry and why I can't stop to

oil that grouch out of you. But I'll keep my promise to you, too, old girl. I'll make up the last few days to you.

She did not answer him. It seemed as though an unutterable dread had suddenly been lifted from her, as he

passed out of the door and began to descend the steps to the hall below. Her "grouch," he had called it. Well,

it had served its purpose! It was just as well that he should think so! She followed to the door, and

deliberately slammed it with a bang. And from below, his laugh, more an amused chuckle, echoed back and

And then, for a long time she stood there by the door, a little weak with the revulsion of relief upon her, her

hands pressed hard against her temples, staring unseeingly about the garret. He was gone. He filled her with

terror. Every instinct she possessed, every fiber of her being revolted against him. He was gone. Yes, he was

She shook her head after a moment, shook it helplessly and wearily, as, finally, she walked over to the

washstand, took the piece of paper from the bodice of her dress, and spread it out under the candle light. A

glance showed her that it was in cipher. There was the stub of a pencil, she remembered, in the washstand

drawer, and, armed with this, and a piece of wrapping paper that had once enveloped one of Gypsy Nan's gin

bottles, she took up the candle, crossed the garret, and sat down on the edge of the cot, placing the candle on

If the last three days had been productive of nothing else, they had at least furnished her with the opportunity

of studying the notebook she had found in the secret hiding place, and of making herself conversant with the

gang's cipher; and she now set to work upon it. It was a numerical cipher. Each letter of the alphabet in

regular rotation was represented by its corresponding numeral; a zero was employed to set off one letter from

another, and the addition of the numerals between the zeros indicated the number of the letter involved. Also,

there being but twentysix letters in the alphabet, it was obvious that the addition of three nines, which was

twentyseven, could not represent any letter, and the combination of 999 was therefore used to precede any

of the arbitrary groups of numerals which were employed to express phrases and sentences, such as the 739

that she had found scrawled on the piece of paper around her key on the first night she had come here, and

which, had it been embodied in a message and not preceded by the 999, would have meant simply the

addition of seven, three and nine, that is, nineteen and therefore would indicate the nineteenth letter of the

Adding the numerals between the zeros, and giving to each its corresponding letter, she set down the result:

It was then but a matter of grouping the letters into words; and, decoded, the first line read:

She worked steadily on. It was a lengthy message, and it took her a long time. It was an hour, perhaps more,

after Danglar had gone, before she had completed her task; and then, after that, she sat for still a long time

staring, not at the paper on the chair before her, but at the flickering shadows thrown by the candle on the

Queer and strange were the undercurrents and the crosssections of life that were to be found, amazingly

contradictory, amazingly incomprehensible, once one scratched beneath the surface of the poverty and the

squalor, and, yes, the crime, amongst the hiving thousands of New York's East Side! In the days not so very

long ago when, as the White Moll, she had worked amongst these classes, she had on one occasion, when

he was sick, even kept old Viner in food. She had not, at the time, failed to realize that the man was grasping,

rapacious, even unthankful, but she had little dreamed that he was a miser worth fifty thousand dollars!

Her mind swerved off suddenly at a tangent. The tentacles of this crime octopus, of which Danglar seemed to

be the head, reached far and into most curious places to fasten and hold and feed on the progeny of human

foibles! She could not help wondering where the lair was from which emanated the efficiency and system

that, as witness this code message tonight, kept its members, perhaps widely scattered, fully informed of its

She shook her head. That was something she had not yet learned; but it was something she must learn if ever

she hoped to obtain the evidence that would clear her of the crime that circumstances had fastened upon her.

And yet she had made no move in that direction, because well, because, so far, it had seemed all she could

do to protect and safeguard herself in her present miserable existence and surroundings, which, abhorrent as

Her forehead gathered into little furrows; and, reverting to the code message, her thoughts harked back to a

wellknown crime, the authorship of which still remained a mystery, and which had stirred the East Side

some two years ago. A man in the vernacular of the underworld a "stage hand" by the name of Kroner,

credited with having a large amount of cash, the proceeds of some nefarious transaction, in his possession on

the night in question, was found murdered in his room in an old and tumbledown tenement of unsavory

reputation. The police net had gathered in some of the cotenants on suspicion; Nicky Viner, referred to in

the code message, amongst them. But nothing had come of the investigation. There had been no charge of

collusion between the suspects; but Perlmer, a shyster lawyer, had acted for them all collectively, and, one

and all, they had been discharged. In what degree Perlmer's services had been of actual value had never been

ascertained, for the police, through lack of evidence, had been obliged to drop the case; but the underworld

had whispered to itself. There was such a thing as suppressing evidence, and Perlmer was known to have the

cunning of a fox, and a code of morals that never stood in the way, or restricted him in any manner.

The code message threw a new light on all this. Perlmer must have known that old Nicky Viner had money,

for, according to the code message, Perlmer prepared a fake set of affidavits and forged a chain of fake

evidence with which he had blackmailed Nicky Viner ever since; and Nicky Viner, known as a dissolute,

shady character, innocent enough of the crime, but afraid because his possession of money if made public

would tell against him, and frightened because he had already been arrested once on suspicion for that very

crime, had whimpered and paid. And then, somehow, Danglar and the gang had discovered that the old,

seedy, stoopshouldered, bearded, downattheheels Nicky Viner was not all that he seemed; that he was a

miser, and had a hoard of fifty thousand dollars and Danglar and the gang had set out to find that hoard and

appropriate it. Only they had not succeeded. But in their search they had stumbled upon Perlmer's trail, and

that was the key to the plan they had afoot tonight. If Perlmer's fake and manufactured affidavits were

clever enough and convincing enough to wring money out of Viner for Perlmer, they were more than enough

to enable Danglar, employed as Danglar would employ them, to wring from Nicky Viner the secret of where

the old miser hid his wealth; for Viner would understand that Danglar was not hampered by having to

safeguard himself on account of having been originally connected with the case in a legal capacity, or any

capacity, and therefore in demanding all or nothing, would have no cause for hesitation, failing to get what he

wanted, in turning the evidence over to the police. In other words, where Perlmer had to play his man

cautiously and get what he could, Danglar could go the limit and get all. As it stood, then, Danglar and the

gang had not found out the location of that hoard; but they had found out where Perlmer kept his spurious

papers stuffed in at the back of the bottom drawer of his desk in his office, practically forgotten, practically

useless to Perlmer any more, for, having once shown them to Viner, there was no occasion to call them into

service again unless Viner showed signs of getting a little out of hand and it became necessary to apply the

For the rest, it was a very simple matter. Perlmer had an office in a small building on lower Sixth Avenue,

and it was his custom to go to his office in the evenings and remain there until ten o'clock or so. The plan

then, according to the code message, was to loot Perlmer's desk some time after the man had gone home for

the night, and then, at midnight, armed with the false documents, to beard old Nicky Viner in his miserable

quarters over on the East Side, and extort from the old miser the neat little sum that Danglar estimated would

Rhoda Gray's face was troubled and serious. She found herself wishing for a moment that she had never

decoded the message. But she shook her head in sharp selfprotest the next instant. True, she would have

evaded the responsibility that the criminal knowledge now in her possession had brought her; but she would

have done so, in that case, deliberately at the expense of her own selfrespect. It would not have excused her

in her own soul to have sat staring at a cipher message that she was satisfied was some criminal plot, and

have refused to decode it simply because she was afraid a sense of duty would involve her in an effort to

frustrate it. To have sat idly by under those circumstances would have been as reprehensible and even more

cowardly than it would be to sit idly by now that she knew what was to take place. And on that latter score

tonight there was no argument with herself. She found herself accepting the fact that she would act, and act

promptly, as the only natural corollary to the fact that she was in a position to do so. Perhaps it was that way

tonight, not only because she had on a previous occasion already fought this principle of duty out with

herself, but because tonight, unlike that other night, the way and the means seemed to present no

insurmountable difficulties, and because she was now far better prepared, and free from all the perplexing,

though enormously vital, little details that had on the former occasion reared themselves up in mountainous

aspect before her. The purchase of a heavy veil, for instance, the day after the HaydenBond affair, would

enable her now to move about the city in the clothes of the White Moll practically at will and without fear of

detection. And, further, the facilities for making that change, the change from Gypsy Nan to the White Moll,

And as far as any actual danger that she might incur tonight was concerned, it was not great. She was not

interested in the fifty thousand dollars in an intrinsic sense; she was interested only in seeing that old Nicky

Viner, unappealing, yes, and almost repulsive both in personality and habits as the man was, was not

blackmailed out of it; that Danglar, yes, and hereafter, Perlmer too, should not prey like vultures on the man,

and rob him of what was rightfully his. If, therefore, she secured those papers from Perlmer's desk, it

automatically put an end to Danglar's scheme tonight; and if, later, she saw to it that those papers came into

Viner's possession, that, too, automatically ended Perlmer's persecutions. Indeed, there seemed little

likelihood of any danger or risk at all. It could not be quite ten o clock yet; and it was not likely that whoever

was delegated by Danglar to rob Perlmer's office would go there much before eleven anyway, since they

would naturally allow for the possibility that Perlmer might stay later in his office than usual, a contingency

that doubtless accounted for midnight being set as the hour at which they proposed to lay old Nicky Viner by

the heels. Therefore, it seemed almost a certainty that she would reach there, not only first, but with ample

time at her disposal to secure the papers and get away again without interruption. She might even, perhaps,

reach the office before Perlmer himself had left it was still quite early enough for that but in that case she

need only remain on watch until the lawyer had locked up and gone away. Nor need even the fact that the

office would be locked dismay her. In the secret hidingplace here in the garret, among those many other

evidences of criminal activity, was the collection of skeleton keys, and she was moving swiftly around the

It was not like that other night. There were few preparations to make. She had only to secure the keys and a

flashlight, and to take with her the damp cloth that would remove the grime streaks from her face, and the

box of composition that would enable her to replace them when she came back and five minutes later she

was on the street, making her way toward the lane, and, specifically, toward the deserted shed where she had

Another five minutes, and in her own personality now, a slim, trim figure, neatly gloved, the heavy veil

affording ample protection to her features, Rhoda Gray emerged from the shed and the lane, and started

rapidly toward lower Sixth Avenue. And as she walked, her mind, released for the moment from the

consideration of her immediate venture, began again, as it had so many times in the last three days, its

striving and its searching after some loophole of escape from her own desperate situation. But only, as it ever

did, confusion came a chaos of things, contributory things and circumstances, and the personalities of those

with whom this impossible existence had thrown her into contact. Little by little she was becoming

acquainted with the personnel of the gang in an impersonal way, mostly. Apart from Danglar, there was

Shluker, who must of necessity be one of them; and Skeeny, the man who had been with Danglar in Shluker's

room; and the Cricket, whom she had never seen; and besides these, there were those who were mentioned in

the cipher message tonight, and detailed to the performance of the various acts and scenes that were to lead

up to the final climax which, she supposed, was the object and reason for the cipher message, in order that

even those not actually employed might be thoroughly conversant with the entire plan, and ready to act

intelligently if called upon. For there were others, of course, as witness herself, or, rather, Gypsy Nan, whose

It was vital, necessary, that she should know them all, and more than in that impersonal way, if she counted

upon ever freeing herself of the guilt attributed to her. For she could see no other way but one that of

exposing and proving the guilt of this vile clique who now surrounded her, and who had actually instigated

And then there were those outside this unholy circle who kept forcing their existence upon her consciousness,

because they, too, played an intimate part in the sordid drama which revolved around her, and whose end she

could not foresee. There was, for instance the Adventurer. She drew in her breath quickly. She felt the color

creep slowly upward, and tinge her throat and cheeks and then the little chin, strong and firm, was lifted in

a sort of selfdefiant challenge. True, the man had been a great deal in her thoughts, but that was only

because her curiosity was piqued, and because on two occasions now she had had very real cause for

gratitude to him. If it had not been for the Adventurer, she would even now be behind prison bars. Why

shouldn't she think of him? She was not an ingrate! Why shouldn't she be interested? There was something

piquantly mysterious about the man who called himself an adventurer. She would even have given a good

deal to know who he really was, and how he, too, came to be so conversant with Danglar's plans as fast as

they were matured, and why, on those two particular occasions, he had not only gone out of his way to be of

service to her, but had done so at very grave risk to himself. Of course, she was interested in him in that

way. How could she help it? But in any other way the little chin was still tilted defiantly upward even the

suggestion was absurd. The man might be chivalrous, courageous, yes, outwardly, even a gentleman in both

manner and appearance; he might be all those things, and, indeed, was but he was a thief, a professional

thief and crook. It seemed very strange, of course; but she was judging him, not alone from the circumstances

under which they had met and been together, but from what he had given her to understand about himself.

The defiance went suddenly from her face; and, for a moment, her lips quivered a little helplessly. It was all

so very strange, and so forbidding, and and, perhaps she hadn't the stout heart that a man would have but

she did not understand, and she could not see her way through the darkness that was like a pall wrapped about

her and it was hard just to grope out amidst surroundings that revolted her and made her soul sick. It was

She shook her head presently as she went along, shook it reprovingly at herself, and the little shoulders

squared resolutely back. There must be, and there would be, a way out of it all, and meanwhile her position,

bad as it was, was not without, at least, a certain compensation. There had been the Sparrow the other night

whom she had been able to save, and tonight there was Nicky Viner. She could not be blind to that. Who

knew! It might be for just such very purposes that her life had been turned into these new channels!

She looked around her sharply now. She had reached the lower section of Sixth Avenue. Perlmer's office,

according to the address given, was still a little farther on. She walked briskly. It was very different tonight,

thanks to her veil! It had been horrible that other night, when she had ventured out as the White Moll and had

been forced to keep to the dark alleyways and lanes, and the unfrequented streets!

And now, through a jeweler's window, she noted the time, and knew a further sense of relief. It was even

earlier than she had imagined. It was not quite ten o'clock; she would, at least, be close on the heels of

Perlmer's departure from his office, if not actually ahead of time, and therefore she would be first on the

scene, and yes, this was the place; here was Perlmer's name amongst those on the nameplate at the street

She entered the hallway, and found it deserted. It was a rather dirty and unkempt place, and very poorly

lighted a single incandescent alone burned in the hall. Perlmer's room, so the nameplate indicated, was

She mounted the stairs, and paused on the landing to look around her again. Here, too, the hallway was

lighted by but a single lamp; and here, too, an air of desertion was in evidence. The office tenants, it was

fairly obvious, were not habitual night workers, for not a ray of light came from any of the glasspaneled

doors that flanked both sides of the passage. She nodded her head sharply in satisfaction. It was equally

obvious that Perlmer had already gone. It would take her but a moment, then, unless the skeleton keys gave

her trouble. She had never used a key of that sort, but She moved quietly down the hallway, and, looking

quickly about her to assure herself again that she was not observed, stopped before the door of Room Number

A moment she hung there, listening; then she slipped the skeleton keys from her pocket, and, in the act of

inserting one of them tentatively into the keyhole, she tried the door and with a little gasp of surprise

returned the keys hurriedly to her pocket. The door was unlocked; it had even opened an inch already under

Again she looked around her, a little startled now; and instinctively her hand in her pocket exchanged the

keys for her revolver. But she saw nothing, heard nothing; and it was certainly dark inside there, and

Reassured, she pushed the door cautiously and noiselessly open, and stepped inside, and closed the door

behind her. She stood still for an instant, and then the round, white ray of her flashlight went dancing

inquisitively around the office. It was a mediumsized room, far from ornate in its appointments, bare

floored, the furniture of the cheapest Perlmer's clientele did not insist on oriental rugs and mahogany!

Her appraisal of the room, however, was but cursory. She was interested only in the flattopped desk in front

of her. She stepped quickly around it and stoppedand a low cry of dismay came from her as she stared at

the floor. The lower drawer had been completely removed, and now lay upturned beside the swivel chair, its

And for a moment she stared at the scene, nonplused, discomfited. She had been so sure that she would be

first and she had not been first. There was no need to search amongst those papers on the floor. They told

In a numbed way, mechanically, she retreated to the door; and, with the flashlight playing upon it, she noticed

for the first time that the lock had been roughly forced. It was but corroborative of the despoiled drawer; and,

at the same time, the obvious reason why the door had not been relocked when whoever had come here had

Whoever had come here! She could have laughed out hysterically. Was there any doubt as to who it was?

One of Danglar's emissaries; the Cricket, perhapsor perhaps even Danglar himself! They had seen to it that

A little dazed, overwrought, confused at the ground being cut from under her where she had been so

confident of a sure footing, she made her way out of the building, and to the street and for a block walked

almost aimlessly along. And then suddenly she turned hurriedly into a cross street, and headed over toward

the East Side. The experience had not been a pleasant one, and it had upset most thoroughly all her

calculations; but it was very far, after all, from being disastrous. It meant simply that she must now find

Nicky Viner himself and warn the man, and there was ample time in which to do that. The code message

specifically stated midnight as the hour at which they proposed to favor old Viner with their unhallowed

attentions, and as it was but a little after ten now, she had nearly a full two hours in which to accomplish what

Rhoda Gray's lips tightened a little, as she hurried along. Old Nicky Viner still lived in the same disreputable

tenement in which he had lived on the night of that murder two years ago, and she could not ward off the

thought that it had been yes, and was an ideal place for a murder, from the murderer's standpoint! The

neighborhood was one of the toughest in New York, and the tenement itself was frankly nothing more than a

den of crooks. True, she had visited there more than once, had visited Nicky Viner there; but she had gone

there then as the White Moll, to whom even the most abandoned would have touched his cap. Tonight it

was very different she went there as a woman. And yet, after all she amended her own thoughts, smiling a

little seriously surely she could disclose herself as the White Moll there again tonight if the actual

necessity arose, for surely crooks, pokegetters, shillabers and lags though they were, and though the place

teemed with the dregs of the underworld, no one of them, even for the reward that might be offered, would

inform against her to the police! And yet again the mental pendulum swung the other way she was not so

confident of that as she would like to be. In a general way there could be no question but that she could count

on the loyalty of those who lived there; but there were always those upon whom one could never count, those

who were dead to all sense of loyalty, and alive only to selfish gain and interest a human trait that, all too

unfortunately, was not confined to those alone who lived in that shadowland outside the law. Her face,

beneath the thick veil, relaxed a little. Well, she certainly did not intend to make a test case of it and disclose

herself there as the White Moll, if she could help it! She would enter the tenement unnoticed if she could, and

make her way to Nicky Viner's two miserable rooms on the second floor as secretively as she could. And,

knowing the place as she did, she was quite satisfied that, if she were careful enough and cautious enough,

she could both enter and leave without being seen by any one except, of course, Nicky Viner.

She walked on quickly. Five minutes, ten minutes passed; and now, in a narrow street, lighted mostly by the

dull, yellow glow that seeped up from the sidewalk through basement entrances, queer and forbidding portals

to sinister interiors, or filtered through the dirty windows of uninviting little shops that ran the gamut from

Chinese laundries to oyster dens, she halted, drawn back in the shadows of a doorway, and studied a tenement

building that was just ahead of her. That was where old Nicky Viner lived. A smile of grim whimsicality

touched her lips. Not a light showed in the place from top to bottom. From its exterior it might have been

uninhabited, even long deserted. But to one who knew, it was quite the normal condition, quite what one

would expect. Those who lived there confined their activities mostly to the night; and their exodus to their

labors began when the labors of the world at large ended with the fall of darkness.

For a little while she watched the place, and kept glancing up and down the street; and then, seizing her

opportunity when for half a block or more the street was free of pedestrians, she stole forward and reached

the tenement door. It was half open, and she slipped quickly inside into the hall.

She stood here for a moment motionless; listening, striving to accommodate her eyes to the darkness, and

instinctively her hand went to her pocket for the reassuring touch of her revolver. It was black back there in

the hallway of Gypsy Nan's lodging; she had not thought that any greater degree of blackness could exist; but

it was blacker here. Only the sense of touch promised to be of any avail. If one could have moved as

noiselessly as a shadow moves, one could have passed another within arm'slength unseen. And so she

listened, listened intently. And there was very little sound. Once she detected a footstep from the interior of

some room as it moved across a bare floor; once she heard a door creak somewhere upstairs; and once, from

some indeterminate direction, she thought she heard voices whispering together for a moment.

She moved suddenly then, abruptly, almost impulsively, but careful not to make the slightest noise. She dared

not remain another instant inactive. It was what she had expected, what she had counted upon as an ally, this

darkness, but she was not one who laughed, even in daylight, at its psychology. It was beginning to attack her

now; her imagination to magnify even the actual dangers that she knew to be around her. And she must fight

it off before it got a hold upon her, and before panic voices out of the blackness began to shriek and clamor in

her ears, as she knew they would do with pitifully little provocation, urging her to turn and flee incontinently.

The staircase, she remembered, was at her right; and feeling out before her with her hands, she reached the

stairs, and began to mount them. She went slowly, very slowly. They were bare, the stairs, and unless one

were extremely careful they would creak out through the silence with a noise that could be heard from top to

bottom of the tenement. But she was not making any noise; she dared not make any noise.

Halfway up she halted and pressed her body close against the wall. Was that somebody coming? She held her

breath in expectation. There wasn't a sound now, but she could have sworn she had heard a footstep on the

hallway above, or on the upper stairs. She bit her lips in vexation. Panic noises! That's what they were! That,

and the thumping of her heart! Why was it that alarms and exaggerated fancies came and tried to unnerve

her? What, after all, was there really to be afraid of? She had almost a clear two hours before she need even

anticipate any actual danger here, and, if Nicky Viner were in, she would be away from the tenement again in

Rhoda Gray went on again, and gaining the landing, halted once more. And here she smiled at herself with

the tolerant chiding she would have accorded a child that was frightened without warrant. She could account

for those whisperings and that footstep now. The door to the left, the one next to Nicky Viner's squalid,

tworoom apartment, was evidently partially open, and occasionally some one moved within; and the voices

came from there too, and, lowtoned to begin with, were naturally muffled into whispers by the time they

She had only, then, to step the five or six feet across the narrow hall in order to reach Nicky Viner's door, and

unless by some unfortunate chance whoever was in that room happened to come out into the hall at the same

moment, she would Yes, it was all right! She was trying Nicky Viner's door now. It was unlocked, and as

she opened it for the space of a crack, there showed a tiny chink of light, so faint and meager that it seemed to

shrink timorously back again as though put to rout by the massed blackness but it was enough to evidence

the fact that Nicky Viner was at home. It was all simple enough now. Old Viner would undoubtedly make

some exclamation at her sudden and stealthy entrance, but once she was inside without those in the next room

Another inch she pushed the door open, another and then another. And then quickly, silently, she tiptoed

over the threshold and closed the door softly behind her. The light came from the inner room and shone

through the connecting door, which was open, and there was movement from within, and a low, growling

voice, petulant, whining, as though an old man were mumbling complainingly to himself. She smiled coldly.

It was very like Nicky Viner it was a habit of his to talk to himself, she remembered. And, also, she had

But she could not see fully into the other room, only into a corner of it, for the two doors were located

diagonally across from one another, and her hand, in a startled way, went suddenly to her lips, as though

mechanically to help choke back and stifle the almost overpowering impulse to cry out that arose within her.

Nicky Viner was not alone in there! A figure had come into her line of vision in that other room, not Nicky

Viner, not any of the gang and she stared now in incredulous amazement, scarcely able to believe her eyes.

And then, suddenly cool and selfpossessed again, relieved in a curious way because the element of personal

danger was as a consequence eliminated, she began to understand why she had been forestalled in her efforts

at Perlmer's office when she had been so sure that she would be first upon the scene. It was not Danglar, or

the Cricket, or Skeeny, or any of the band who had forestalled her it was the Adventurer. That was the

Adventurer standing in there now, side face to her, in Nicky Viner's inner room!

Rhoda Gray moved quietly, inch by inch, along the side of the wall to gain a point of vantage more nearly

opposite the lighted doorway. And then she stopped again. She could see quite clearly now that is, there

was nothing now to obstruct her view; but the light was miserable and poor, and the single gasjet that

wheezed and flickered did little more than disperse the shadows from its immediate neighborhood in that

inner room. But she could see enough she could see the bent and illclad figure of Nicky Viner, as she

remembered him, an old, graybearded man, wringing his hands in groveling misery, while the mumbling

voice, now whining and pleading, now servile, now plucking up courage to indulge in abuse, kept on without

even, it seemed, a pause for breath. And she could see the Adventurer, quite unmoved, quite debonair, a

curiously patient smile on his face, standing there, much nearer to her, his right hand in the side pocket of his

coat, a somewhat significant habit of his, his left hand holding a sheaf of folded, legallooking documents.

"What a flow of words!" said the Adventurer, in a bored voice. "You will forgive me, my dear Mr. Viner, if I

"You are a thief, a robber!" The old graybearded figure rocked on its feet and kept wringing its hands. "Get

out of here! Get out! Do you hear? Get out! You come to steal from a poor old man, and "

"Must we go all over that again?" interrupted the Adventurer wearily. "I have not come to steal anything; I

have simply come to sell you these papers, which I am quite sure, once you control yourself and give the

matter a little calm consideration, you are really most anxious to buy at any price.

"It's a lie!" the other croaked hoarsely. "Those papers are a lie! I am innocent. And I haven't got any money.

Rhoda Gray felt the blood flush hotly to her cheeks. Somehow she could feel no sympathy for that cringing

figure in there; but she felt a hot resentment toward that dapper, immaculately dressed and selfpossessed

young man, who stood there, silently now, tapping the papers with provoking coolness against the edge of the

plain deal table in front of him. And somehow the resentment seemed to take a most peculiar phase. She

resented the fact that she should feel resentment, no matter what the man did or said. It was as though, instead

of anger, impersonal anger, at this low, miserable act of his, she felt ashamed of him. Her hand clenched

fiercely as she crouched there against the wall. It wasn't true! She felt nothing of the sort! Why should she be

ashamed of him? What was he to her? He was frankly a thief, wasn't he? And he was at his pitiful calling

now down to the lowest dregs of it. What else did she expect? Because he had the appearance of a

gentleman, was it that her sense of gratitude for what she owed him had made her, deep down in her soul,

actually cherish the belief that he really was one made her hope it, and nourish that hope into belief?

Tighter her hand clenched. Her lips parted, and her breath came in short, hard inhalations. Was it true? Was it

all only an added misery, where it had seemed there could be none to add to her life in these last few days?

Was it true that there was no price she would not have paid to have found him in any role but this abased one

"Quite so, my dear Mr. Viner!" he agreed smoothly. "It would appear, then, from what you say that I have

been mistaken even stupidly so, I am afraid. And in that case, I can only apologize for my intrusion, and, as

you so delicately put it, get out." He slipped the papers, with a philosophic shrug of his shoulders, into his

inside coat pocket, and took a backward step toward the door. "I bid you goodnight, then, Mr. Viner. The

papers, as you state, are doubtless of no value to you, so you can, of course, have no objection to my handing

"Yes, I'll I'll buy them. I I've got a little money, only a little, all I've been able to save in years, a a

"That's better!" he said. "Where you keep a thousand, you keep the rest. Where is the thousand, Mr. Viner?"

The bent figure hesitated a moment; and then, with what sounded like a despairing cry, pointed to the table.

Rhoda Gray found her eyes fixed in sudden, strained fascination on the table as, she imagined, the

Adventurer's were too. It was bare of any covering, nor were there any articles on its surface, nor, as far as

she could see, was there any drawer. And now the Adventurer, his right hand still in his coat pocket, and

bulging there where she knew quite well it grasped his revolver, stepped abruptly to the table, facing the other

The bent old figure still hesitated, and then, with the despairing cry again, grasped at the top of the table, and

jerked it toward him. The surface seemed to slide sideways a little way, a matter of two or three inches, and

then stick there; but the Adventurer, in an instant, had thrust the fingers of his left hand into the crevice. He

drew out a number of loose banknotes, and thrust his fingers in again for a further supply.

"I I'm trying to," the other mumbled, and bent down to peer under the table. "It's stuck. The catch is

It seemed to Rhoda Gray, gazing into that dimly lighted room, as though she were suddenly held spellbound

as in some horrible and amazing trance. Like a hideous jackinthebox the gray head popped above the

level of the table again, and quick as a flash, a revolver was thrust into the Adventurer's face; and the

Adventurer, caught at a disadvantage,, since his hand in his coat pocket was below the intervening table top,

stood there as though instantaneously transformed into some motionless, inanimate thing, his fingers still

gripping at another sheaf of banknotes that he had been in the act of scooping out from the narrow aperture.

And then again Rhoda Gray stared, and stared now as though bereft of her senses; and upon her crept, cold

and deadly, a fear and a terror that seemed to engulf her very soul itself. That head that looked like a

jackinthebox was gone; the gray beard seemed suddenly to be shorn away, and the gray hair too, and to

fall and flutter to the table, and the bent shoulders were not bent any more, and it wasn't Nicky Viner at all

only a clever, a wonderfully clever, impersonation that had been helped out by the poor and meager light.

And terror gripped at her again, for it wasn't Nicky Viner. Those narrowed eyes, that leering, gloating face,

And, as from some far distance, dulled because her consciousness was dulled, she heard Danglar speak.

"Perhaps you'll take your hand out of that righthand coat pocket of yours now!" sneered Danglar. "And take

The Adventurer's face, as nearly as Rhoda Gray could see, had not moved a muscle. He obeyed now, coolly,

Danglar appeared to experience no further trouble with the surface of the table now. He suddenly jerked it

almost off, displaying what Rhoda Gray now knew to be the remainder of the large package of banknotes he

"Help yourself to the rest!" he invited caustically. "There isn't fifty thousand there, but you are quite welcome

The Adventurer was apparently obsessed with an inspection of his finger nails; he began to polish those of

"Quite so, Danglar!" he said coolly. "I admit it I am ashamed of myself. I hate to think that I could be

caught by you; but I suppose I can find some selfextenuating circumstances. You seem o have risen to an

amazingly higher order of intelligence. In fact, for you, Danglar, it is not at all bad!" He went on polishing his

nails. "Would you mind taking that thing out of my face? Even you ought to be able to handle it effectively a

"Damn you!" he snarled. "I'll take it away when I get good and ready; and by that time I'll have you talking

out of the other side of your mouth! See? Do you know what you're up against, you slick dude?"

"You have, eh?" mimicked Danglar wickedly. "Well, you don't need to imagine anything! I'll give you the

straight goods so's there won't be any chance of a mistake. And never mind about the higher order of

intelligence! It was high enough, and a little to spare, to make you walk into the trap! I hoped I'd get you

both, you and your shepal, the White Moll; that you'd come here together but I'm not kicking. It's a pretty

"Is it necessary to make a speech?" complained the Adventurer monotonously. "I can't help listening, of

"You can make up your mind for yourself when I'm through whether it's necessary or not!" retorted

Danglar viciously. "I've got a little proposition to put up to you, and maybe it'll help you to add two and two

together if I let you see all the cards. Understand? You've had your run of luck lately, quite a bit of it, haven't

you, you and the White Moll? Well, it's my turn now! You've been queering our game to the limit, curse

you!" Danglar thrust his working face a little farther over the table, and nearer to the Adventurer. "Well, what

was the answer? Where did you get the dope you made your plays with? It was a cinch, wasn't it, that there

was a leak somewhere in our own crowd?" He laughed out suddenly. "You poor fool! Did you think you

could pull that sort of stuff forever? Did you? Well, then, how do you like the 'leak' tonight? You get the

idea, don't you? Everybody, every last soul that is in with us, got the details of what they thought was a

straight play tonight and it leaked to you, as I knew it would; and you walked into the trap, as I knew you

would, because the bait was good and juicy, and looked the easiest thing to annex that ever happened. Fifty

thousand dollars! Fifty thousand nothing! All you had to do was to get a few papers that it wouldn't bother

any crook to get, even a near crook like you, and then come here and screw the money out of a helpless old

man, who was supposed to have been discovered to be a miser. Easy, wasn't it? Only Nicky Viner wasn't a

miser! We chose Nicky because of what happened two years ago. It made things look pretty near right, didn't

it? Looked straight, that part about Perlmer, too, didn't it? That was the comeon. Perlmer never saw those

papers you've got there in your pocket. I doped them out, and we planted them nice and handy where you

"It's got a short ending," said Danglar, with an ugly leer. "We could have bumped you off when you went for

those papers, but if you went that far you'd come farther, and that wasn't the place to do it, and we couldn't

cover ourselves there the way we could here. This is the place. We brought that trick table here a while ago,

as soon as we had got rid of Nicky Viner. That was the only bit of stage setting we had to do to make the

story ring true right up to the curtain, in case it was necessary. It wouldn't have been necessary if you and the

White Moll had both come together, for then you would neither of you have got any further than that other

room. It would have ended there. But we weren't taking any chances. I'll pay you the compliment of

admitting that we weren't counting on getting you off your guard any too easily if, as it happened, you came

alone, for, being alone, or if either of you were alone, there was that little proposition that had to be settled,

instead of just knocking you on the head out there in the dark in that other room; and so, as I say, we weren't

overlooking any bets on account of the little trouble it took to plant that table and the money. We tried to

think of everything!" Danglar paused for a moment to mock the Adventurer with narrowed eyes. "That's the

story; here's the end. I hoped I'd get you both together, you and the White Moll. I didn't. But I've got you. I

didn't get you both and that's what gives you a chance for your life, because she's worth more to us than you

are. If you'd been together, you would have gone outtogether. As it is, I'll see that you don't do any more

harm anyway, but you get one chance. Where is she? If you answer that, you will, of course, answer a minor

question and locate that 'leak', for me, that I was speaking about a moment ago. But we'll take the main thing

first. And you can take your choice between a bullet and a straight answer. Where is the White Moll?"

Rhoda Gray's hand felt Out along the wall for support. Was this a dream, some ghastly, soulterrifying

nightmare! Danglar! Those working lips! That callous viciousness, that leer in the degenerate face. It seemed

to bring a weakness to her limbs, and seek to rob her of the strength to stand. She could not even hope against

hope; she knew that Danglar was in deadly earnest. Danglar would not have the slightest compunction, let

alone hesitation, in carrying out his threat. Terrified now, her eyes sought the Adventurer. Didn't the

Adventurer know Danglar as she knew him, didn't he realize that there was deadly earnestness behind

Danglar's words? Was the man mad, that he stood there utterly unmoved, as though he had no consideration

"Do you notice anything special about this gun I'm holding on you?" he demanded, in low menace.

"Oh, yes," he said indifferently. "I fancy you got it out of a dime novel, didn't you? One of those silencer

"I'll make things even a little plainer to you," he said with brutal coolness. "There are two men in our

organization from whom it is absolutely impossible that that leak could have come. Those two men followed

you from Perlmer's office to this place. They are in the next room now waiting for me to get through with

you, and ready for anything if they are needed. But they won't be needed. That's not the way it works out.

This gun won't make much noise, and it isn't likely to arouse the inmates of this dive, but even if it does, it

doesn't matter very much we aren't going out by the front door. The two of them, the minute they hear the

shot, slip in here, and lock the door you see it's got a good, husky bolt on it and then we beat it by the fire

escape that runs past that window there. Get the idea? And don't kid yourself into thinking that I am taking

any risk with the consequences on account of the coroner having got busy because a man was found here

dead on the floor. Nicky Viner stands for that. It isn't the first time he's been suspected of murder. See? Nicky

was easy. He'd crawl on his hands and knees from the Battery to Harlem any time if you held a little money

in front of his nose. He's been fooled up to the eyes with a fakedup message that he's to deliver secretly to

some fakedup crooks out West. He's just about starting away on the train now. And that's where the police

nab him running away from the murder he's pulled in his room here tonight. Looks kind of bad for Nicky

Viner eh? We should worry! It cost a hundred dollars and his ticket. Cheap, wasn't it? I guess you're worth

A dull horror seized upon Rhoda Gray. It seemed to clog and confuse her mind. She fought it frantically,

striving to think, and to think clearly. Every detail seemed to have been planned with Satanic foresight and

ingenuity, and yet and yet Yes, in one little thing, Danglar had made a mistake. That was why she was

here now; that was why those men in that next room had not been out in the hall on guard, or even out in the

street on watch for her. Danglar had naturally gone upon the supposition that the Adventurer and herself

worked hand in glove; whereas they were as much in the dark concerning each other's movements as Danglar

himself was. Therefore Danglar, and logically enough from his viewpoint, had jumped to the conclusion that,

since they had not come together, only one of them, the Adventurer, was acting in the affair tonight, and

"I'm not going to stay here all night!" he snarled. "You've got one chance. I've told you what it is. You're

lucky to have it. We'd sooner have you out of the way for keeps. I'd rather drop you in your tracks than let

The Adventurer was side face to the doorway again, and Rhoda Gray saw him smile contemptuously at

"You lie!" he flung out hoarsely. "Do you think you can get away with that? Well, think again! Sooner or

later, it will be all the same whether you talk or not. We caught you tonight in a trap; we'll catch her in

another. Our hand doesn't show here. She'll think that Nicky Viner was a little too much for you, that's all.

Come on, now quick! Are you fool enough to misunderstand? The 'don't know' stuff won't get you by!"

"The misunderstanding seems to be on your side." There was a cold, irritating deliberation in the

Adventurer's voice. "I repeat that I do not know where the young lady you refer to could be found; but I did

not make that statement with any idea that you would believe it. To a cur, I suppose it is necessary to add

that, even if I did know, I should take pleasure in seeing you damned before I told you."

Danglar's face was like a devil's. His revolver held a steady bead on the Adventurer's head.

"I'll give you a last chance." He spoke through closed teeth. "I'll fire when I count three. One!"

A horrible fascination held Rhoda Gray. If she cried out, it was more likely than not to cause Danglar to fire

on the instant. It would not save the Adventurer in any case. It would be but the signal, too, for those two men

It seemed as though, not in the hope that it would do any good, but because she was going mad with horror,

that she would scream out until the place rang and rang again with her outcries. Even her soul was in frantic

panic. Quick! Quick! She must act! She must! But how? Was there only one way? She was conscious that she

had drawn her revolver as though by instinct. Danglar's life, or the Adventurer's! But she shrank from taking

life. Her lips were breathing a prayer. They had called her a crack shot back there in South America, when

she had hunted and ridden with her father. It was easy enough to hit Danglar, but that might mean Danglar's

life; it was not so easy to hit Danglar's arm, or Danglar's hand, or the revolver Danglar held, and if she risked

There was the roar of a report that went racketing through the silence like a cannon shot, and the short,

vicious tongueflame from Rhoda Gray's revolver muzzle stabbed through the black. There was a scream of

mingled surprise and fury, and the revolver in Danglar's hand clattered to the floor. She saw the Adventurer

spring, quick as a panther, at the other, and saw him whip blow after blow with terrific force full into

Danglar's face; she heard a rush of feet coming from the corridor behind her; and she flung herself forward

into the inner room, and, panting, snatched at the door and slammed it shut, and groping for the bolt, found it,

And she stood there, weak for the moment, and drew her hand across her eyes and behind her they pounded

on the door, and there came a burst of oaths; and in front of her the Adventurer was smiling gravely as he

covered Danglar with Danglar's own revolver; and Danglar, as though dazed and half stunned from the blows

he had received, rocked unsteadily upon his feet. And then her eyes widened a little. The pounding on the

door, the shouts, the noise, was beginning to arouse what inmates there were in the tenement, and there wasn't

an instant to lose but the Adventurer now was calmly gathering up, to the last one, and pocketing them, the

banknotes with which Danglar had baited his trap. And as he crammed the money into his pockets, he spoke

"I owe you my life, Miss Gray. That was a wonderful shot. You knocked the revolver from his hand without

even grazing his fingers. A very wonderful shot, and will you let me say it? you are a very wonderful

"There is the window, and the fire escape, so our friend here was good enough to inform me," said the

Adventurer, as he composedly pocketed the last dollar. "Will you open the window, Miss Gray, if you

please? I am afraid I hit Mr. Danglar a little ungently, and as he is still somewhat groggy, I fancy he will need

a little assistance. I imagine" he caught Danglar suddenly by the collar of his coat as Rhoda Gray ran to the

window and flung it up, and rushed the man unceremoniously across the room " I imagine it would be a

mistake to leave him behind. He might open the door, or even be unpleasant enough to throw something

down on us from above; also he should serve us very well as a hostage. Will you go first, please, Miss Gray?"

She climbed quickly over the sill to the iron platform. Danglar was dragged through by the Adventurer,

mumbling, and evidently still in a halfdazed condition. Windows were opening here and there. >From back

inside the room, the blows rained more heavily upon the door and now there came the rip and rend of

It was dark, almost too dark to see her footing. She felt her way down. It was only one story above the

ground, and it did not take long; but it seemed hours since she had fired that shot, though she knew the time

had been measured by scarcely more than a minute. And now, on the lower platform, waiting for that queer,

double, twisting shadow of the two men to join her, she heard the Adventurers s voice ring out sharply:

"This is your chance, Danglar! I didn't waste the time to bring you along because it afforded me any

amusement. They've found their heads at last, and gone to the next window, instead of wasting time on that

door. They can't reach the fire escape there, but if they fire a single shot you go out! You'd better tell them

They were all on the lower platform together now. The Adventurer was pressing the muzzle of his revolver

into the small of Danglar's back, and was still supporting the man by the collar of his coat.

"I think," said the Adventurer abruptly, "that we can now dispense with Mr. Danglar's services, and I am sure

a little cool night air out here on the fire escape will do him good. Miss Gray would you mind? there's a

Handcuffs! She could have laughed out idiotically. Handcuffs! They seemed the most incongruous things in

the world for the Adventurer to have, and She felt mechanically in his pocket, and handed them to him.

There was a click as a cuff was snapped over Danglar's wrist, another as the other cuff was snapped shut

around the iron handrailing of the fire escape. The act seemed to arouse Danglar, both mentally and

physically. He tore and wrenched at the steel links now, and burst suddenly, raving, into oaths.

"Hold your tongue, Danglar!" ordered the Adventurer in cold menace; and as the other, cowed, obeyed, the

Adventurer swung himself over the platform and dropped to the ground. "Come, Miss Gray. Drop! I'll catch

you!" he called in a low voice. "One step takes us around the corner of the tenement into the lane, and Mr.

Danglar won't let them fire at us before we can make that when we could still fire at him!"

She obeyed him, swinging at arm'slength. She felt his hands fold about her in a firm grasp as she let go her

hold, and she caught her breath suddenly, she did not know why, and felt the hot blood sweep her face and

They sped around the corner of the tenement. A yell from Danglar followed them. An echoing yell from

above answered and then a fusillade of abortive shots, and the sound as of boot heels clattering on the iron

rungs of the fire escape; and then, more faintly, for they were putting distance behind them as fast as they

"They won't follow!" panted the Adventurer. "Those shots of theirs outdoors will have alarmed the police,

and they'll try and get Danglar free first. It's lucky your shot inside wasn't heard by the patrolman on the beat.

But still they ran. They crossed an intersecting street, and continued on along the lane; then swerving into the

next intersecting street, moderated their pace to a rapid walk and stopped finally only as Rhoda Gray drew

suddenly into the shadows of another alleyway, and held out her hand. They were both safe now, as he had

said. And there were so many reasons why, though her resolution faltered a little, she should go the rest of the

way alone. She was not sure that she trusted this strange "gentleman," who was a thief with his pockets

crammed even now with the money that had lured him almost to his death; but, too, she was not altogether

sure that she distrusted him. But all that was secondary. She must, as soon as she could, get back to Gypsy

Nan's garret. Like that other night, she dared not take the risk that Danglar, by any chance, might return there

and find her gone after what had just happened. The man would be beside himself with fury, suspicious of

everything and suspicion would be fatal in its consequences for her. And so she must go. And she could not

"Oh, I say, Miss Gray!" he protested quickly. "You don't mean that! Why, look here, I haven't had a chance to

"There is nothing you need say," she answered quietly. "We are only quits. You have done quite as much for

"But, see here, Miss Gray!" he pleaded. "Can't we come to some understanding? We seem to have a jolly lot

in common. Is it quite necessary, really necessary, that you should keep me off at arm'slength? Couldn't you

let down the bars just a little? Couldn't you tell me, for instance, where I could find you in case of real

He drew a little closer. A sudden earnestness deepened his voice, made it rasp a little, as though it were not

"And suppose, Miss Gray, that I refuse to leave you, or to let you go, now that I have you here, unless you

"The other night," she said slowly, "you informed me, among other things, that you were a gentleman. I

"Good night, then!" she said again. "I will go by the alley here; you by the street."

"No! Wait!" he said gravely. "If nothing will change your mind and I shall not be importunate, for, as we

have met three times now through the same peculiar chain of circumstances, I know we shall meet again I

have something to tell you, before you go. As you already know, I went to Gypsy Nan's the night after I first

saw you, because I felt you needed help. I went there in the hope that she would know where to find you, and,

failing in that, I left a message for you in the hope that, since she had tricked Rorke in your behalf, you would

find means of communicating with her again. But all that is entirely changed now. Your participation in that

HaydenBond affair the other night makes Gypsy Nan's place the last in all New York to which you should

Rhoda Gray stared through the semidarkness, suddenly startled, searching the Adventurer's face.

"Just this," he answered. "That where before I hoped you would go there, I have spent nearly all the time

since then in haunting the vicinity of Gypsy Nan's house to warn you away in case you should try to reach

"It is simple enough," he said. "Gypsy Nan is now one of those you have most to fear. Gypsy Nan is merely a

"Not Gypsy Nan!" she repeated and fought to keep her voice in control. "Who is she, then?"

"She is quite closely connected with that gentleman we left airing himself on the fire escape," he said grimly.

It was very strange, very curious the alleyway seemed suddenly to be revolving around and around, and it

seemed to bring her a giddiness and a faintness. The Adventurer was standing there before her, but she did

not see him any more; she could only see, as from a brink upon which she tottered, a gulf, abysmal in its

"Thank you thank you for the warning." Was that her voice speaking so calmly and dispassionately? "I will

He said something. She did not know what. She only knew that she was hurrying along the alleyway now,

and that he had made no effort to stop her, and that she was grateful to him for that, and that her composure,

strained to the breaking point, would have given away if she had remained with him another instant.

Danglar's wife! It was dark here in the alleyway, and she did not know where it led to. But did it matter?

And she stumbled as she went along. But it was not the physical inability to see that made her stumble it

was a brainblindness that fogged her soul itself. His wife! Gypsy Nan was Danglar's wife.

Danglar's wife! It had been a night of horror; a night without sleep; a night, after the guttering candle had

gone out, when the blackness of the garret possessed added terrors created by an imagination which ran riot,

and which she could not control. She could have fled from it, screaming in panicstricken hysteria but there

had been no other place as safe as that was. Safe! The word seemed to reach the uttermost depths of irony.

She had not wanted to return there; her soul itself had revolted against it; but she had dared to do nothing

else. And all through that night, huddled on the edge of the cot bed, her fingers clinging tenaciously to her

revolver as though afraid for even an instant to relinquish it from her grasp, listening, listening, always

listening for a footstep that might come up from that dark hall below, the footstep that would climax all the

terrors that had surged upon her, her mind had kept on reiterating, always reiterating those words of the

And they were still with her, those words. Daylight had come again, and passed again, and it was evening

once more; but those words remained, insensible to change, immutable in their foreboding. And Rhoda Gray,

as Gypsy Nan, shuddered now as she scuffled along a shabby street deep in the heart of the East Side. She

was Danglar's wife by proxy. At dawn that morning when the gray had come creeping into the miserable

attic through the small and dirty window panes, she had fallen on her knees and thanked God she had been

spared that footstep. It was strange! She had poured out her soul in passionate thankfulness then that Danglar

had not come and now she was deliberately on her way to seek Danglar himself! But the daylight had done

more than disperse the actual, physical darkness of the past night; it had brought, if not a measure of relief, at

least a sense of guidance, and the final decision, perilous though it was, which she meant now to put into

There was no other way unless she were willing to admit defeat, to give up everything, her own good name,

her father's name, to run from it all and live henceforth in hiding in some obscure place far away, branded in

the life she would have left behind her as a despicable criminal and thief. And she could not, would not, do

this while her intuition, at least, inspired her with the faith to believe that there was still a chance of clearing

herself. It was the throw of the dice, perhaps but there was no other way. Danglar, and those with him, were

at the bottom of the crime of which she was held guilty. She could not go on as she had been doing, merely in

the hope of stumbling upon some clew that would serve to exonerate her. There was not time enough for that.

Danglar's trap set for herself and the Adventurer last night in old Nicky Viner's room proved that. And the

fact that the woman who had originally masqueraded as Gypsy Nan as she, Rhoda Gray, was masquerading

now was Danglar's wife, proved it a thousandfold more. She could no longer remain passive, arguing with

herself that it took all her wits and all her efforts to maintain herself in the role of Gypsy Nan, which

temporarily was all that stood between her and prison bars. To do so meant the certainty of disaster sooner or

later, and if it meant that, the need for immediate action of an offensive sort was imperative.

And so her mind was made up. Her only chance was to find her way into the full intimacy of the criminal

band of which Danglar was apparently the head; to search out its lair and its personnel; to reach to the heart

of it; to know Danglar's private movements, and to discover where he lived so that she might watch him. It

surely was not such a hopeless task! True, she knew by name and sight scarcely more than three of this crime

clique, but at least she had a starting point from which to work. There was Shluker's junk shop where she had

turned the tables on Danglar and Skeeny on the night they had planned to make the Sparrow their pawn. It

was obvious, therefore, that Shluker himself, the proprietor of the junk shop, was one of the organization. She

Rhoda Gray halted suddenly, and stared wonderingly a little way up the block ahead of her. As though by

magic a crowd was collecting around the doorway of a povertystricken, tumbledown frame house that

made the corner of an alleyway. And where but an instant before the street's jostling humanity had been

immersed in its wrangling with the pushcart men who lined the curb, the carts were now deserted by every

one save their owners, whose caution exceeded their curiosity and the crowd grew momentarily larger in

She drew Gypsy Nan's black, greasy shawl a little more closely around her shoulders, and moved forward

again. And now, on the outskirts of the crowd, she could see quite plainly. There were two or three low steps

that led up to the doorway, and a man and woman were standing there. The woman was wretchedly dressed,

but with most strange incongruity she held in her hand, obviously subconsciously, obviously quite oblivious

of it, a huge basket full to overflowing with, as nearly as Rhoda Gray could judge, all sorts of purchases, as

though out of the midst of abject poverty a golden shower had suddenly descended upon her. And she was

gray, and well beyond middle age, and crying bitterly; and her free hand, whether to support herself or with

the instinctive idea of supporting her companion, was clutched tightly around the man's shoulders. And the

man rocked unsteadily upon his feet. He was tall and angular, and older than the woman, and cadaverous of

feature, and miserably thin of shoulder, and blood trickled over his forehead and down one ashen, hollow

cheek and above the excited exclamations of the crowd Rhoda Gray heard him cough.

Rhoda Gray glanced around her. Where scarcely a second before she had been on the outer fringe of the

crowd, she now appeared to be in the very center of it. Women were pushing up behind her, women who

wore shawls as she did, only the shawls were mostly of gaudy colors; and men pushed up behind her, mostly

men of swarthy countenance, who wore circlets of gold in their ears; and, brushing her skirts, seeking vantage

points, ragged, illclad children wriggled and wormed their way deeper into the press. It was a crowd

composed almost entirely of the foreign element which inhabited that quarter and the crowd chattered and

gesticulated with everincreasing violence. She did not understand. And she could not see so well now. That

pitiful tableau in the doorway was being shut out from her by a man, directly in front of her, who had hoisted

And then a young man, one whom, from her years in the Bad Lands as the White Moll, she recognized as a

hangeron at a gambling hell in the Chatham Square district, came toward her, plowing his way,

"Somebody pinched a million from de old guy!" He shifted his cigarette with a deft movement of his tongue

from one side of his mouth to the other, and grinned again. "Can youse beat it! Accordin' to him, he had

enough coin to annex de whole of Noo Yoik! De moll's his wife. He went out to hellan'gone somewhere

for a few years huntin' gold while de old girl starved. Den back he comes an' blows in today wid his pockets

full, an' de old girl grabs a handful, an' goes out to buy up all de grub in sight 'cause she ain't had none for so

long. An' w'en she comes back she finds de old geezer gagged an' tied in a chair, an' some guy's hit him a

crack on de bean an' flown de coop wid de mazuma. But youse had better get out of here before youse gets

run over! Dis ain't no place for an old skirt like youse. De bulls'11 be down here on de hop in a minute, an'

w'en dis mob starts sprinklin' de street wid deir fleetin' footsteps, youse are likely to get hurt. See?" The

young man started to force his way through the crowd again. "Youse had better cut loose, mother!" he

It was good advice. Rhoda Gray took it. She had scarcely reached the next block when the crowd behind her

was being scattered pellmell and without ceremony in all directions by the police, as the young man had

predicted. She went on. There was nothing that she could do. The man's face and the woman's face haunted

her. They had seemed stamped with such abject misery and despair. But there was nothing that she could do.

It was one of those sore and grievous crosssections out of the lives of the swarming thousands down here in

this quarter which she knew so intimately and so well. And there were so many, many of those

crosssections! Once, in a small, pitifully meager and restricted way, she had been able to help some of these

hurt lives, but now Her lips tightened a little. She was going to Shluker's junk shop.

Her forehead gathered in little furrows as she walked along. She had weighed the pros and cons of this visit a

hundred times already during the day; but even so, instinctively to reassure herself lest some apparently

minor, but nevertheless fatally vital, point might have been overlooked, her mind reverted to it again. From

Shluker's viewpoint, whether Gypsy Nan was in the habit of mingling with or visiting the other members of

the gang or not a matter upon which she could not even hazard a guess her visit tonight must appear

entirely logical. There was last night and, a natural corollary, her equally natural anxiety on her supposed

husband's account, providing, of course, that Shluker was aware that Gypsy Nan was Danglar's wife. But

even if Shluker did not know that, he knew at least that Gypsy Nan was one of the gang, and, as such, he

must equally accept it as natural that she should be anxious and disturbed over what had happened. She

would be on safe ground either way. She would pretend to know only what had appeared in the papers; in

other words, that the police, attracted to the spot by the sound of revolver shots, had found Danglar

handcuffed to the fire escape of a wellknown thieves' resort in an all too wellknown and questionable

A smile came spontaneously. It was quite true. That was where the Adventurer had left Danglar handcuffed

to the fire escape! The smile vanished. The humor of the situation was not longlived; it ended there. Danglar

was as cunning as the proverbial fox; and Danglar, at that moment, in desperate need of explaining his

predicament in some plausible way to the police, had, as the expression went, run true to form. Danglar's

story, as reported by the papers, even rose above his own highwater mark of vicious cunning, because it

played upon a chord that appealed instantly to the police; and it rang true, not only because what the police

could find out about him made it likely, but also because it contained a modicum of truth in itself; and,

furthermore, Danglar had scored on still another count in that his story must stimulate the police into renewed

activities as his unsuspecting allies in the one thing, the one aim and object that, at that moment, must obsess

It was ingeniously simple, Danglar's smooth and oily lie! He had been walking along the street, he had stated,

when he saw a woman, as she passed under a street lamp, who he thought resembled the White Moll. To

make sure, he followed her at a safe distance, as he believed. She entered the tenement. He hesitated. He

knew the reputation of the place, which bore out his first impression that the woman was the one he thought

she was; but he did not want to make a fool of himself by calling in the police until he was positive of her

identity, so he finally followed her inside, and heard her go upstairs, and crept up after her in the dark. And

then, suddenly, he was set upon and hustled into a room. It was the White Moll, all right; and the shots came

from her companion, a man whom he described minutely the description being that of the Adventurer, of

course. They seemed to think that he, Danglar, was a plainclothes man, and tried to sicken him of his job by

frightening him. And then they forced him through the window and down the fire escape, and fastened him

there with handcuffs to mock the police, and the White Moll's companion had deliberately fired some more

shots to make sure of bringing the police to the scene, and then the two of them had run for it.

Rhoda Gray's eyes darkened angrily. The newspapers said that Danglar had been temporarily held by the

police, though his story was believed to be true, for certainly the man would make no mistake as to the

identity of the White Moll, since his life, what the police could find out about it, coincided with his own

statements, and he would naturally therefore have seen her many times in the Bad Lands when she was

working there under cover of her despicable role of sweet and innocent charity. Danglar had made no

pretensions to selfrighteousness he was too cute for that. He admitted that he had no "specific

occupation," that he hung around the gambling hells a good deal, that he followed the horses that, frankly,

he lived by his wits. He had probably given some framedup address to the police, but, if so, the papers had

not stated where it was. Rhoda Gray's face, under the grime of Gypsy Nan's disguise, grew troubled and

perplexed. Neither had the papers, even the evening papers, stated whether Danglar had as yet been released

they had devoted the rest of their space to the vilification of the White Moll. They had demanded in no

uncertain tones a more conclusive effort on the part of the authorities to bring her, and with her now the man

The thought of the Adventurer caused her mind to swerve sharply off at a tangent. Where he had piqued and

aroused her curiosity before, he now, since last night, seemed more complex a character than ever. It was

strange, most strange, the way their lives, his and hers, had become interwoven! She had owed him much; but

last night she had repaid him and squared accounts. She had told him so. She owed him nothing more. If a

sense of gratitude had once caused her to look upon him with with She bit her lips. What was the use of

that? Had it become so much a part of her life, so much a habit, this throwing of dust in the eyes of others,

this constant passing of herself off for some one else, this constant deception, warranted though it might be,

that she must now seek to deceive herself! Why not frankly admit to her own soul, already in the secret, that

she cared in spite of herself for a thief? Why not admit that a great hurt had come, one that no one but

herself would ever know, a hurt that would last for always because it was a wound that could never be

A thief! She loved a thief. She had fought a bitter, stubborn battle with her common sense to convince herself

that he was not a thief. She had snatched hungrily at the incident that centered around those handcuffs, so

opportunely produced from the Adventurer's pocket. She had tried to argue that those handcuffs not only

suggested, but proved, he was a police officer in disguise, working on some case in which Danglar and the

gang had been mixed up; and, as she tried to argue in this wise, she tried to shut her eyes to the fact that the

same pocket out of which the handcuffs came was at exactly the same moment the repository of as many

stolen banknotes as it would hold. She had tried to argue that the fact that he was so insistently at work to

defeat Danglar's plans was in his favor; but that argument, like all others, came quickly and miserably to

grief. Where the "leak" was, as Danglar called it, that supplied the Adventurer with foreknowledge of the

gang's movements, she had no idea, save that perhaps the Adventurer and some traitor in the gang were in

collusion for their own ends and that certainly did not lift the Adventurer to any higher plane, or wash from

She clenched her hands. It was all an attempt at argument without the basis of a single logical premise. It was

silly and childish! Why hadn't the man been an ordinary, plain, common thief and criminal and looked like

one? She would never have been attracted to him then even through gratitude! Why should he have all the

graces and earmarks of breeding? Why should he have all the appearances of gentleman? It seemed a

needlessly cruel and additional blow that fate had dealt her, when already she was living through days and

nights of fear, of horror, of trepidation, so great that at times it seemed she would literally lose her reason. If

he had not looked, yes, and at times, acted, so much like a thoroughbred gentleman, there would never have

come to her this hurt, this gulf between them that could not now be spanned, and in a personal way she would

Her mental soliloquy ended abruptly. She had reached the narrow driveway that led in, between the two

blocks of downattheheels tenements, to the courtyard at the rear that harbored Shluker's junk shop. And

now, unlike that other night when she had first paid a visit to the place, she made no effort at concealment as

she entered the driveway. She walked quickly, and as she emerged into the courtyard itself she saw a light in

Rhoda Gray nodded her head. It was still quite early, still almost twilight not more than eight o'clock. Back

there, on that squalid doorstep where the old woman and the old man had stood, it had still been quite light.

The long summer evening had served at least to sear, somehow, those two faces upon her mind. It was

singular that they should intrude themselves at this moment! She had been thinking, hadn't she, that at this

hour she might naturally expect to find Shluker still in his shop? That was why she had come so early since

she had not cared to come in full daylight. Well, if that light meant anything, he was there.

She felt her pulse quicken perceptibly as she crossed the courtyard, and reached the shop. The door was open,

and she stepped inside. It was a dingy place, filthy, and littered, without the slightest attempt at order, with a

heterogeneous collection of, it seemed, every article one could think of, from scraps of old iron and bundles

of rags to castoff furniture that was in an appalling state of dissolution. The light, that of a single and dim

incandescent, came from the interior of what was apparently the "office" of the establishment, a small,

Her first impression had been that there was no one in the shop, but now, from the other side of the glass

partition, she caught sight of a bald head, and became aware that a pair of black eyes were fixed steadily upon

She scuffled slowly, but without hesitation, up the shop. She intended to employ the vernacular that was part

of the disguise of Gypsy Nan. If Shluker, for that was certainly Shluker there, gave the slightest indication

that he took it amiss, her explanation would come glibly and logically enough she had to be careful; how

"'Ello!" she said curtly, as she reached the doorway of the little office, and paused on the threshold. Shifty

little black eyes met hers, as the bald head fringed with untrimmed gray hair, was lifted from a battered desk,

and the wizened face of an old man was disclosed under the rays of the tinshaded lamp. He grinned

suddenly, showing discolored teeth and instinctively she drew back a little. He was an uninviting and

"You, eh, Nan!" he grunted. "So you've come to see old Jake Shluker, have you? 'Tain't often you come! And

"I can read, can't I?" Rhoda Gray glanced furtively around her, then leaned toward the other. "Say, wot's de

lay? I been scared stiff all day. Is dat straight wot de papers said about youseknowwho gettin' pinched?"

"Yes; it's straight enough," he answered. "Damn 'em, one and all! But they let him out again."

"He didn't say?" echoed Rhoda Gray, a little tartly. "Wot d'youse mean, he didn't say? Have youse seen him?"

Rhoda Gray studied the wizened and repulsive old creature, that, huddled in his chair in the dirty, boxedin

little office, made her think of some crafty old spider lurking in its web for unwary prey. Was the man lying

to her? Was he in any degree suspicious? Why should he be? He had given not the slightest sign that her

uncouth language was either unexpected or unnecessary. Perhaps to Shluker, and perhaps to all the rest of the

gang except Danglar! Gypsy Nan was accepted at face value as just Gypsy Nan; and, if that were so, the

idea of playing up a natural wifely anxiety on Danglar's behalf could not be used unless Shluker gave her a

lead in that direction. But, all that apart, she was getting nowhere. She bit her lips in disappointment. She had

counted a great deal on this Shluker here, and Shluker was not proving the fount of information, far from it,

"Aw, open up!" she snapped. "Wot's de use bein' a clam! Youse heard me, didn't youse? Where is he?"

"is there anything wrong?" he asked in a tense, lowered voice. "What makes you so anxious to know?"

"Nothin'!" she answered coolly. "I told youse once, didn't I? I got a scare readin' dem papers an' I ain't over

"Oh!" he ejaculated. "Well, that's all right, then. You were beginning to give me a scare, too. I ain't playin' the

clam, and I dunno where he is; but I can tell you there's nothing to worry you any more about the rest of it.

He was after the White Moll last night, and it didn't come off. They pulled one on him instead, and fastened

him to the fire escape the way the papers said. Skeeny and the Cricket, who were in on the play with him,

didn't have time to get him loose before the bulls got there. So Danglar told them to beat it, and he handed the

cops the story that was in the papers. He got away with it, all right, and they let go him today; but he phoned

a little while ago that they were still stickin' around kind of close to him, and that I was to pass the word that

Rhoda Gray fumbled unnecessarily with her shawl, as the other answered the call. Failure! A curious

bitterness came to her. Her plan then, for tonight it least, was a failure. Shluker did not know where Danglar

was. She was quite convinced of that. Shluker was She glanced suddenly at the wizened little old man.

From an ordinary tone, Shluker' s voice had risen sharply in protest about something. She listened now:

What?...No! I tell you, no! Nothing! Not tonight! Those are the orders....No, I don't know! Nan is here

now....Eh?....You'll pay for it if you do!" Shluker was snarling threateningly now. "What?....Well, then, wait!

"Fools!" he muttered savagely. "No, I won't be long gettin' there!" He grabbed Rhoda Gray's arm. "Yes, and

you come, too! You will help me put a little sense into their heads, if it is possible eh? The fools!"

The man was violently excited. He half pulled Rhoda Gray down the length of the shop to the front door.

Puzzled, bewildered, a little uneasy, she watched him lock the door, and then followed him across the

But it was not until they had reached the street, and Shluker was hurrying along as fast as he could walk, that

"It's the Pug and Pinkie Bonn!" he jerked out angrily. "They're in the Pug's room. Pinkie went back there after

telephonin'. They've nosed out something they want to put through. The fools! And after last night nearly

havin' finished everything! I told 'em you heard me that everybody's to keep under cover now. But they

think they've got a soft thing, and they say they're goin' to it. I've got to put a crimp in it, and you've got to

Her mind was working swiftly. The night, after all, perhaps, was not to be so much of a failure! To get into

intimate touch with all the members of the clique was equally one of her objects, and, failing Danglar himself

tonight, here was an "open sesame" to the retreat of two of the others. She would never have a better

chance, or one in which risk and danger, under the chaperonage, as it were, of Shluker here, were, if not

entirely eliminated, at least reduced to an apparently negligible minimum. Yes; she would go. To refuse was

to turn her back on her own proposed line of action, and on the decision which she had made herself.

It was not far. Shluker, hastening along, still muttering to himself, turned into a cross street some two blocks

away, and from there again into a lane; and, a moment later, led the way through a small door in the fence

that hung, battered and half open, on sagging and broken hinges. Rhoda Gray's eyes traveled sharply around

her in all directions. It was still light enough to see fairly well, and she might at some future time find the

bearings she took now to be of inestimable worth. Not that there was much to remark! They crossed a

diminutive and disgustingly dirty backyard, whose sole reason for existence seemed to be that of a receptacle

for old tin cans, and were confronted by the rear of what appeared to be a fourstory tenement. There was a

back door here, and, on the right of the door, fronting the yard, a single window that was some four or five

Shluker, without hesitation, opened the back door, shut it behind them, led the way along a black, unlighted

hall, and halting before a door well toward the front of the building, knocked softly upon it giving two raps,

a single rap, and then two more in quick succession. There was no answer. He knocked again in precisely the

same manner, and then a footstep sounded from within, and the door was flung open. "Fools!" growled

Shluker in greeting, as they stepped inside and the door was closed again. "A pair of brainless fools!"

There were two men there. They paid Shluker scant attention. They both grinned at Rhoda Gray through the

"You close your face, Pinkie!" he snapped. "Get down to cases! Do you think I got nothing else to do but

chase you two around like a couple of puppy dogs that haven't got sense enough to take care of themselves?

"Nix on that stuff!" returned the one designated as Pinkie imperturbably. "Say, you'll be glad you come when

we lets you in on a little piece of easy money. We ain't askin' your advice; all we're askin' you to do is frame

"Frame nothing!" he spluttered angrily. "Ain't I tellin' you that the orders are not to make a move, that

everything is off for a few days? That's the word I got a little while ago, and the SevenThreeNine is goin'

"Sure!" corroborated Rhoda Gray, picking up the obvious cue. "Dat's de straight goods."

The two men were lounging beside a table that stood at the extreme end of the room, and now for a moment

they whispered together. And, as they whispered, Rhoda Gray found her first opportunity to take critical

stock both of her surroundings and of the two men themselves. Pinkie, a short, slight little man, she dismissed

with hardly a glance; he was the common type, with low, vicious cunning stamped all over his face an

ordinary rat of the underworld. But her glance rested longer on his companion. The Pug was indeed entitled

to his moniker! His face made her think of one. It seemed to be all screwed up out of shape. Perhaps the

eyepatch over the right eye helped a little to put the finishing touch of repulsiveness upon a countenance

already most unpleasant. The celluloid eyepatch, once fleshcolored, was now so dirty and smeared that its

original color was discernible only in spots, and the once white elastic cord that circled his head and kept the

patch in place was in equal disrepute. A battered slouch hat came to the level of the eyepatch in a forbidding

sort of tilt. His left eyelid drooped until it was scarcely open at all, and fluttered continually. One nostril of

his nose was entirely closed; and his mouth seemed to be twisted out of shape, so that, even when in repose,

the lips never entirely met at one corner. And his ears, what she could see of them in the poor light, and on

account of the slouch hat, seemed to bear out the lowtype criminal impression the man gave her, in that they

She turned her eyes away with a little shudder of repulsion, and gave her attention to an inspection of the

room. There was no window, except a small one high up in the righthand partition wall. She quite

understood what that meant. It was common enough, and all too unsanitary enough, in these old and cheap

tenements; the window gave, not on the outofdoors, but on a lightwell. For the, rest, it was a room she

had seen a thousand times before carpetless, unfurnished save for the barest necessities, dirt everywhere,

"That's all right!" he announced airily. "We'll let Nan in on it, too. The Pug an' me figures she can give us a

"Are you tryin' to make a fool of me?" he half screamed. "Or can't you understand English? D'ye want me to

keep on tellin' you till I'm hoarse that there ain't nobody goin' in with you, because you am't goin' in yourself!

See? Understand that? There's nothing doin' tonight for anybody and that means you!"

"Aw, shut up, Shluker!" It was the Pug now, a curious whispering sibilancy in his voice, due no doubt to the

disfigurement of his lips. "Give Pinkie a chance to shoot his spiel before youse injure yerself throwin' a fit!

"Sure!" said Pinkie eagerly. "Listen, Shluk! It ain't any crib we're wantin' to crack, or nothin' like that. It's just

a couple of crooks that won't dare open their yaps to the bulls, 'cause what we're after 'll be what they'll have

Shluker's face lost some of its belligerency, and in its place a dawning interest came.

"Oh!" Shluker's eyebrows went up. He looked at the Pug, and the Pug winked knowingly with his

halfclosed left eyelid. Shluker reached out for a chair, and, finding it suspiciously wobbly, straddled it

"Me," said Pinkie, "I was down to Charlie's this afternoon havin' a little layoff, an'"

"One of these days," interrupted Shluker sharply, "you'll go out like" he snapped his fingers "that!" "Can't

"I got to have me bit of coke," Pinkie answered, with a shrug of his shoulders. "An', anyway, I'm no

"It's all the same whatever way you take it!" retorted Shluker. "Well, go on with your story. You went down

to Charlie's dope parlors, and jabbed a needle into yourself, or took it some other old way. I get you! What

"It was about an hour ago," resumed Pinkie Bonn with undisturbed complacency. "Just as I was beatin' it out

of there by the cellar, I hears some whisperin' as I was passin' one of the end doors. Savvy? I hadn't made no

noise, an' they hadn't heard me. I gets a peek in, 'cause the door's cracked. It was French Pete an' Marny Day.

I listens. An' after about two seconds I was goin' shaky for fear some one would come along an' I wouldn't get

"I didn't get all the fine points," grinned Pinkie; "but I got enough. There was a guy by the name of Dainey

who used to live somewhere on the East Side here, an' he used to work in some sweatshop, an' he worked

till he got pretty old, an' then his lungs, or something, went bad on him, an' he went broke. An' the doctor said

he had to beat it out of here to a more salubrious climate. Some nut filled his ear full 'bout gold huntin' up in

Alaska, an' he fell for it. He chewed it over with his wife, an' she was for it too, 'cause the doctor 'd told her

her old man would bump off if he stuck around here, an' they hadn't any money to get away together. She

figured she could get along workin' out by the day till he came back a millionaire; an' old Dainey started off.

"I dunno how he got there. I'm just fillin' in what I hears French Pete an' Marny talkin' about. I guess mostly

he beat his way there ridin' the rods; but, anyway, he got there. See? An' then he goes down sick there again,

an' a hospital, or some outfit, has to take care of him for a couple of years; an' back here the old woman got

"Wot's bitin' youse, Nan?" The Pug's lisping whisper broke sharply in upon Pinkie Bonn's story.

Rhoda Gray started. She was conscious now that she had been leaning forward, staring in a startled way at

Pinkie as he talked; conscious now that for a moment she had forgotten that she was Gypsy Nan. But she

"Mabbe it's me soft heart dat's touched!" she flung out acidly. "Youse close yer trap, an' let Pinkie talk!"

"Yes, shut up!" said Pinkie. "What was I sayin'? Oh, yes! An' then the old guy makes a strike. Can you beat

it! I dunno nothing about the way they pull them things, but he's off by his lonesome out somewhere, an' he

finds gold, an' stakes out his claim, but he takes sick again an' can't work it, an' it's all he can do to get back

alive to civilization. He keeps his mouth shut for a while, figurin' he'll get strong again, but it ain't no good,

an' he gets a letter from the old woman tellin' how bad she is, an' then he shows some of the stuff he'd found.

After that there's nothing to it! Everybody's beatin' it for the place; but, at that, old Dainey comes out of it all

right, an' goes crazy with joy 'cause some guy offers him twentyfive thousand bucks for his claim, an'

throws in the expenses home for good luck. He gets the money in cash, twentyfive onethousanddollar

bills, an' the chicken feed for the expenses, an' starts for back here an' the old woman. But this time he don't

keep his mouth shut about it when he'd have been better off if he had. See? He was tellin' about it on the train.

I guess he was tellin' about it all the way across. But, anyway, he tells about it comm' from Philly this

afternoon, an' French Pete an' Marny Day happens to be on the train, an' they hears it, an' frames it up to

annex the coin before morning, 'cause he's got in too late to get the money into any bank today."

"Youse leave Danglar to me!" broke in the Pug. "As soon as we hands one to dem two boobs an' gets de cash,

Pinkie can beat it back here wid de coin an wait fer me while I finds Danglar an' squares it wid him. He ain't

goin' to put up no holler at dat. We ain't runnin' de gang into nothin'. Dis is private business see? So youse

just take a sneak wid yerself, an' fix a nice little alibi fer us so's we won't be takin' any chances."

"But what's the good of that?" he demurred. "French Pete and Marny Day '11 see you anyway."

"Will dey!" scoffed the Pug. "Guess once more! A coupla handkerchiefs over our mugs is good enough fer

dem, if youse holds yer end up. An' dey wouldn't talk fer publication, anyway, would dey?"

"One of dem thousanddollar engravin's," stated the Pug promptly. "An' Pinkie'll run around an' slip it to

"All right," said Shluker, after a moment. "It's half past eight now. From nine o'clock on, you can beat any

jury in New York to it that you were both at the same old place as long as you keep decently under cover.

Rhoda Gray, as Gypsy Nan, for the first time projected herself into the discussion. She cackled suddenly in

"I t'ought something was wrong wid her!" whispered the Pug with mock anxiety. "Mabbe she ain't well! Tell

"When I do," she said complacently, "mabbe youse'll smile out of de other corner of dat mouth of yers!" She

turned to Shluker. "Youse needn't lay awake waitin' fer dat thousand, Shluker, 'cause youse'll never see it. De

little game's all off 'cause it's already been pulled. See? Dere was near a riot as I passes along a street goin'

to yer place, an' I gets piped off to wot's up, an' it's de same story dat Pinkie's told, an' de crib's cracked, an' de

"I said you were fools when I first came in here!" he burst out suddenly, wheeling on Pinkie Bonn and the

Pug. "I'm sure of it now. I was wonderin a minute ago how you were goin' to keep your lamps on Pete and

Marny from here, or know when they were goin' to pull their stunt, or where to find 'em."

"Sure, I'm sure!" Rhoda Gray asserted tersely. The one thought in her head now was that her information

would naturally deprive these men here of any further interest in the matter, and that she would get away as

quickly as possible, and, in some way or other, see that the police were tipped off to the fact that it was

French Pete and Marny Day who had taken the old couple's money. Those two old faces rose before her again

now blotting out most curiously the face of Pinkie Bonn just in front of her. She felt strangely glad glad

that she had heard all of old Dainey's story, because she could see now an ending to it other than the

miserable, hopeless one of despair that she had read in the Daineys' faces just a little while ago. "Sure, I'm

"I dunno," she answered. "I just went to Shluker's, an' den we comes over here. Youse can figure it fer

And then Rhoda Gray stared at the other with sudden misgiving. Pinkie Bonn's face was suddenly wreathed

"I'll answer you now, Shluk," he grinned. "What do you think? That we're nuts, me an' Pug? Well, forget it!

We didn't have to stick around watchin' Pete an' Marny; we just had to wait until they had collected the

dough. That was the most trouble we had wonderin' when that would be. Well, we don't have to wonder

any more. We know now that the cherries are ripe. See? An' now we'll go an' pick 'em! Where? Where d'ye

suppose? Down to Charlie's, of course! I hears 'em talkin' about that, too. They ain't so foolish! They're out

for an alibi themselves. Get the idea? They was to sneak out of Charlie's without anybody seem' 'em, an' if

everything broke right for 'em, they was to sneak back again an' spend the night there. No, they ain't so

foolish I guess they ain't! There ain't no place in New York you can get in an' out of without nobody

"Aw, write de rest of it down in yer memoirs!" interposed the Pug impatiently and moved toward the door.

"It's all right, Shluker all de way. Now, everybody beat it, an' get on de job. Nan, youse sticks wid Pinkie

Rhoda Gray, her mind in confusion, found herself being crowded hurriedly through the doorway by the three

men. Still in a mentally confused condition, she found herself, a few minutes later Shluker having parted

company with them walking along the street between Pinkie Bonn and the Pug. She was fighting

desperately to obtain a rip upon herself. The information she had volunteered had had an effect diametrically

opposite to that which she had intended. She seemed terribly impotent; as though she were being swept from

her feet and borne onward by some swift and remorseless current, whether she would or no.

The Pug, in his curious whisper, was talking to her: "Pinkie knows de way in. We don't want any row in dere,

on account of Charlie. We ain't fer puttin' his place on de rough, an' gettin' him raided by de bulls. Charlie's

all to de good. See? Well, dat's wot 'd likely happen if me an' Pinkie busts in on Pete an' Marny widout

sendin' in our visitin'cards first, politelike. Dey would pull deir guns, an' though we'd get de coin just de

same, dere'd be hell to pay fer Charlie, an' de whole place 'd go up in fireworks right off de bat. Well, dis is

where youse come in. Youse are de visitin'card. Youse gets into deir bunk room, pretendin' youse have

made a mistake, an' youse leaves de door open behind youse. Dey don't know youse, an', bein' a woman, dey

won't pull no gun on youse. An' den youse breaks it gently to dem dat dere's a coupla gents outside, an' just

about den dey looks up an' sees me an' Pinkie an' our gunsan' I guess dat's all. Get it?"

The Pug talked on. She did not hear him. It seemed as though her brain ached literally with an acute physical

pain. What was she to do? What could she do? She must do something! There must be some way to save

herself from being drawn into the very center of this vortex toward which she was being swept closer with

every second that passed. Those two old faces, haggard in their despair and misery, rose before her again. She

felt her heart sink. She had counted, only a few moments before, on getting their money back for them

through the police. The police! How could she get any word to the police now, without first getting away

from these two men here? And suppose she did get away, and found some means of communicating with the

authorities, it would be Pinkie Bonn here, and the Pug, who would fall into the meshes of the law quite as

much as would French Pete and Marny Day; and to have Pinkie and the Pug apprehended now, just as they

seemed to be opening the gateway for her into the inner secrets of the gang, meant ruin to her own hopes and

plans. And to refuse to go on with them now, as one of them, would certainly excite their suspicions and

Her hands, under her shawl, clenched until the nails bit into her palms. Couldn't she do anything? And there

was the money, too, for those two old people. Wasn't there any She caught her breath. Yes, yes! Perhaps

there was a way to save the money; yes, and at the same time to place herself on a firmer footing of intimacy

with these two men here if she went on with this. But She shook her head. She could not afford "buts"

now; they must take care of themselves afterwards. She would play Gypsy Nan now without reservation.

These two men here, like Shluker, were obviously ignorant that Gypsy Nan was Danglar's wife; so she was

They had drawn into a very dark and narrow area way between two buildings, and now Pinkie kept his touch

upon her as he led the way along. What was this "Charlie's"? She did not know, except that, from what had

been said, it was a drug dive of some kind, patronized extensively by the denizens of the underworld. She did

not know where she was now, save that she had suddenly left one of the outoftheway East Side streets.

Pinkie halted suddenly, and, bending down, lifted up what was evidently a half section of the folding trapdoor

"There's only a few of us regulars wise to this," whispered Pinkie. "Watch yourself! There's five steps. Count

'em, so's you won't trip. Keep hold of me all the way. An' nix on the noise, or we won't get away with it

inside. Leave the trap open, Pug, for our getaway. We ain't goin' to be long. Come on!"

It was horribly dark. Rhoda Gray, with her hand on Pinkie Bonn's shoulder, descended the five steps. She felt

the Pug keeping touch behind by holding the corner of her shawl. They went forward softly, slowly,

stealthily. She felt her knees shake a little, and suddenly panic seized her, and she wanted to scream out.

What was she doing? Where was she going? Was she mad, that she had ventured into this trap of blackness?

Blackness! It was hideously black. She looked behind her. She could not see the Pug, close as he was to her;

and dark as she had thought it outside there at the cellar entrance, it appeared by contrast to have been light,

They were in a cellar that was damp underfoot, and the soft earth deadened all sound as they walked upon it

and they seemed to be walking on interminably. It was too far much too far! She felt her nerve failing her.

She looked behind her again. That opening, still discernible to her straining eyes, beckoned her, lured her.

Pinkie had halted again. She bumped into him. And then she felt his lips press against her ear.

"Here we are!" he breathed. "They got the end room on the right, so's they could get in an' out with out bein'

seen, an so's even Charlie'd swear they was here all the time. You're too old a bird to fall down, Nan. If the

door's locked, knock an' give 'em any old kind of a song an' dance till you gets 'em off their guard. The Pug

Before Rhoda Gray could reply, Pinkie had stepped suddenly to one side. A door in front of her, a sliding

door it seemed to be, opened noiselessly, and she could see a faintly lighted, narrow, and very short passage

ahead of her. It appeared to make a rightangled turn just a few yards in, and what light there was seemed to

filter in from around the corner. And on each side of the passage, before it made the turn, there was a door,

and from the one on the right, through a cracked panel, a tiny thread of light seeped out.

Her lips moved silently. After all, it was not so perilous. Nobody would be hurt. Pinkie and the Pug would

She moved forward mechanically. There were many sounds now, but they came muffled and indeterminate

from around that corner ahead all save a low murmuring of voices from the door with the cracked panel on

It was only a few feet. She found herself crouched before the door but she did not knock upon it. Instead,

her blood seemed suddenly to run cold in her veins, and she beckoned frantically to her two companions. She

could see through the crack in the panel. There were two men in there, French Pete and Marny Day

undoubtedly, and they sat on opposite sides of a table, and a lamp burned on the table, and one of the men

was counting out a sheaf of crisp yellowback banknotes but the other, while apparently engrossed in the

first man's occupation, and while he leaned forward in apparent eagerness, was edging one hand stealthily

toward the lamp, and his other hand, hidden from his companion's view by the table, was just drawing a

revolver from his pocket. There was no mistaking the man's murderous intentions. A dull horror, that numbed

her brain, seized upon Rhoda Gray; the lowtype brutal faces under the rays of the lamp seemed to assume

the aspect of two monstrous gargoyles, and to spin around and around before her vision; and then it could

only have been but the fraction of a second since she had begun to beckon to Pinkie and the Pug she felt

herself pulled unceremoniously away from the door, and the Pug leaned forward in her place, his eyes to the

She heard a low, quickmuttered exclamation from the Pug; and then suddenly, as the lamp was obviously

extinguished, that crack of light in the panel had vanished. But in an instant, curiously like a jagged lightning

flash, light showed through the crack again and vanished again. It was the flash of a revolver shot from

within, and the roar of the report came now like the roll of thunder on its heels.

Rhoda Gray was back against the opposite wall. She saw the Pug fling himself against the door. It was a

Were eternities passing? Her eyes were fascinated by the interior beyond that broken door. It was utterly dark

inside there, save that the ray of a flashlight played now on the table, and a hand reached out and snatched up

a scattered sheaf of banknotes; and on the outer edge of the ray two shadowy forms struggled and one went

Commotion came now; cries and footsteps from around that corner in the passage. The Pug grasped her by

the shoulders, and rushed her back into the cellar. She was conscious, it seemed, only in a dazed and

mechanical way. There were men in the passage running toward them and then the passage had

"Hop it like blazes!" whispered the Pug, as they ran for the faint glimmer of light that located the cellar exit.

"Separate de minute we're outside!" he ordered. "Dere's murder in dere. Pete shot Marny. I put Pete to sleep

wid a punch on de jaw; but de bunch knows now some one else was dere, an' Pete'll swear it was us, though

he don't know who we was dat did de shootin'. I gotta make dis straight right off de bat wid Danglar." His

whispering voice was labored, panting; they were climbing up the steps now. "Youse take de money to my

room, Pinkie, an' wait fer me. I won't be much more'n half an hour. Nan, youse beat it fer yer garret, an' stay

They were outside. The Pug had disappeared in the darkness. Pinkie was closing, and evidently fastening, the

"The other way, Nan!" he flung out, as she started to run. "That takes you to the other street, an' they can't get

around that way without goin' around the whole block. Me for a fence I knows about, an' we gives 'em the

She ran ran breathlessly, stumbling, half falling, her hands stretched out before her to serve almost in lieu

of eyes, for she could make out scarcely anything in front of her. She emerged upon a street. It seemed

abnormal, the quiet, the lack of commotion, the laughter, the unconcern in the voices of the passersby

It was many blocks away before calmness came again to Rhoda Gray, and before it seemed, even, that her

brain would resume its normal functions; but with the numbed horror once gone, there came in its place, like

some surging tide, a fierce virility that would not be denied. The money! The old couple on that doorstep,

stripped of their all! Wasn't that one reason why she had gone on with Pinkie Bonn and the Pug? Hadn't she

Rhoda Gray looked quickly about her. On the corner ahead she saw a drug store, and started briskly in that

direction. Yes, there was a way! The idea had first come to her from the Pug's remark to Shluker that, after

they had secured the money, Pinkie would return with it to the Pug's room, while the Pug would go and

square things with Danglar. And also, at the same time, that same remark of the Pug's had given rise to a hope

that she might yet trace Danglar to night through the Pug but the circumstances and happenings of the last

few minutes had shattered that hope utterly. And so there remained the money. And, as she had walked with

Pinkie and the Pug a little while ago, knowing that Pinkie would, if they were successful, carry the money

back to the Pug's room, just as was being done now precisely in accordance with the Pug's original intentions,

she had thought of the Adventurer. It had seemed the only way then; it seemed the only way now despite

the fact that she would be hard put to it to answer the Adventurer if he thought to ask her how, or by what

means, she was in possession of the information that enabled her to communicate with him. But she must risk

that put him off, if necessary, through the plea of haste, and on the ground that there was not time tonight

for an unnecessary word. He had given her, believing her to be Gypsy Nan, his telephone number, which she,

in turn, was to transmit to the White Moll in other words, herself! But the White Moll, so he believed, had

never received that message and it must of necessity be as the White Moll that she must communicate with

him tonight! It would be hard to explain she meant to evade it. The one vital point was that she

remembered the telephone number he had given her that night when he and Danglar had met in the garret.

Rhoda Gray, alias Gypsy Nan, scuffled along. Was she inconsistent? The Adventurer would be in his element

in going to the Pug's room, and in relieving Pinkie Bonn of that money; but the Adventurer, too, was a

thiefwasn't he? Why, then, did she propose, for her mind was now certainly made up as to her course of

She smiled a little wearily as she reached the drug store, stepped into the telephone booth, and gave central

her call. Trust a thief! No, it wasn't because her heart prompted her to believe in him; it was because her head

assured her she was safe in doing so. She could trust him in an instance such as this because well, because

once before, for her sake he had foregone the opportunity of appropriating a certain diamond necklace worth

a hundred times the sum that she would ask him yes, if necessary, for her sake to recover tonight. There

She was listening in a startled way now at the instrument. Central had given her "information"; and

"information" was informing her that the number she had asked for had been disconnected.

She hung up the receiver, and went out again to the street in a dazed and bewildered way. And then suddenly

a smile of bitter selfderision crossed her lips. She had been a fool! There was no softer word a fool! Why

had she not stopped to think? She understood now! On the night the Adventurer had confided that telephone

number to her as Gypsy Nan, he had had every reason to believe that Gypsy Nan would, as she had already

apparently done, befriend the White Moll even to the extent of accepting no little personal risk in so doing.

But since then things had taken a very different turn. The White Moll was now held by the gang, of which

Gypsy Nan was supposed to be a member, to be the one who had of late profited by the gang's plans to the

gang's discomfiture; and the Adventurer was ranked but little lower in the scale of hatred, since they counted

him to be the White Moll's accomplice. Knowing this, therefore, the first thing the Adventurer would

naturally do would be to destroy the clew, in the shape of that telephone number, that would lead to his

whereabouts, and which he of course believed he had put into the gang's hands when he had confided in

Gypsy Nan. Had he not told her, no later than last night, that Gypsy Nan was her worst enemy? He did not

know, did he, that Gypsy Nan and the White Moll were one! And so that telephone had been disconnected

and tonight, now, just when she needed help at a crucial moment, when she had counted upon the

Adventurer to supply it, there was no Adventurer, no means of reaching him, and no means any more of

Rhoda Gray walked on along the street, her lips tight, her face drawn and hard. Failing the Adventurer, there

remained the police. If she telephoned the police and sent them to the Pug's room, they would of a certainty

recover the money, and with equal certainty restore it to its rightful owners. She had already thought of that

when she had been with Pinkie and the Pug, and had been loath even then to take such a step because it

seemed to spell ruin to her own personal plans; but now there was another reason, and one far more cogent,

why she should not do so. There had been murder committed back there in that underground drugdive, and

of that murder Pinkie Bonn was innocent; but if Pinkie were found in possession of that money, and French

Pete, to save his own skin from the consequences of a greater crime, admitted to its original theft, Pinkie

would be convicted out of hand, for there were the others in that dive, who had come running along the

passage, to testify that an attack had been made on the door of French Pete and Marny Day's room, and that

Her lips pressed harder together. And so there was no Adventurer upon whom she could call, and no police,

and no one in all the millions in this great pulsing city to whom she could appeal; and so there remained only

Well, she could do it, couldn't she? Not as Gypsy Nan, of course but as the White Moll. It would be worth

it, wouldn't it? If she were sincere, and not a moral hypocrite in her sympathy for those two outraged old

people in the twilight of their lives, and if she were not a moral coward, there remained no question as to

Her mind began to mull over the details. Subconsciously, since the moment she had made her escape from

that cellar, she found now that she had been walking in the direction of the garret that sheltered her as Gypsy

Nan. In another five minutes she could reach that deserted shed in the lane behind Gypsy Nan's house where

her own clothes were hidden, and it would take her but a very few minutes more to effect the transformation

from Gypsy Nan to the White Moll. And then, in another ten minutes, she should be back again at the Pug's

room. The Pug had said he would not be much more than half an hour, but, as nearly as she could calculate it,

that would still give her from five to ten minutes alone with Pinkie Bonn. It was enough more than enough.

The prestige of the White Moll would do the rest. A revolver in the hands of the White Moll would insure

instant and obedient respect from Pinkie Bonn, or any other member of the gang under similar conditions.

And so and so it would not be difficult. Only there was a queer fluttering at her heart now, and her

breath came in hard, short little inhalations. And she spoke suddenly to herself:

"I'm glad," she whispered, "I'm glad I saw those two old faces on that doorstep, because because, if I hadn't,

The minutes passed. The dissolute figure of an old hag disappeared, like a deeper shadow in the blackness of

a lane, through the broken door of a deserted shed; presently a slim, neat little figure, heavily veiled,

emerged. Again the minutes passed. And now the veiled figure let herself in through the back door of the

Pug's lodging house, and stole softly down the dark hall, and halted before the Pug's door. It was the White

From under the door, at the illfitting threshold, there showed a thin line of light. Rhoda Gray, with her ear

against the door panel, listened. There was no sound of voices from within. Pinkie Bonn, then, was still alone,

and still waiting for the Pug. She glanced sharply around her. There was only darkness. Her gloved right hand

was hidden in the folds of her skirt; she raised her left hand and knocked softly upon the doortwo raps, one

rap, two raps. She repeated it. And as it had been with Shluker, so it was now with her. A footstep crossed the

The man's words ended in a gasp of surprised amazement. With a quick step forward, Rhoda Gray was in the

room. Her revolver, suddenly outflung, covered the other; and her free hand, reaching behind her, closed and

"Yes!" said Rhoda Gray tersely. "Put your hands up over your head and go over there and stand against the

Rhoda Gray followed him, and with the muzzle of her revolver pressed into the small of the man's back, felt

rapidly over his clothes with her left hand for the bulge of his revolver. She found and possessed herself of

"I haven't much time," she said icily. "I'll trouble you now for the cash you took from Marny Day and French

"Quick!" she said imperatively. "Put it on the table there, and then go back again to the wall!"

Pinkie Bonn fumbled in his pocket. His face was white, almost chalky white, and it held fear; but its

dominant expression was one of helpless stupefaction. He placed the sheaf of banknotes on the table, and

Rhoda Gray picked up the money, and retreated to the door. Still facing the man, working with her left hand

behind her back, she unlocked the door again, and this time removed the key from the lock.

"You are quite safe here," she observed evenly, "since there appears to be no window through which you

could get out; but you might make it a little unpleasant for me if you gave the alarm and aroused the other

occupants of the house before I had got well away. I dare say that was in your mind, but she opened the

door slightly, and inserted the key on the outer side "I am quite sure you will reconsider any such intentions

Pinkie. It would be a very disastrous thing for you if I were caught. Somebody is 'wanted' for the murder of

Marny Day at Charlie's a little while ago, and a jury would undoubtedly decide that the guilty man was the

one who broke in the door there and stole the money. And if I were caught and were obliged to confess that I

got it from you, and French Pete swore that it was whoever broke into the room that shot his pal, it might go

hard with you, Pinkie don't you think so?" She smiled coldly at the man's staring eyes and dropped jaw.

"Goodnight, Pinkie; I know you won't make any noise," she said softly and suddenly opened the door, and

in a flash stepped back into the hall, and closed and locked the door, and whipped out the key from the lock.

It was done now. Rhoda Gray drew in her breath in a great choking gasp of relief. She found herself

trembling violently. She found her limbs were bearing her none too steadily, as she began to grope her way

now along the black hall toward the back door. But it was done now, and No, she was not safe away, even

yet! Some one was coming in through that back door just ahead of her; or, at least, she heard voices out there.

She was just at the end of the hall now. There was no time to go back and risk the front entrance. She darted

across the hall to the opposite side from that of the Pug's room, because on that side the opening of the door

would not necessarily expose her, and crouched down in the corner. It was black here, perhaps black enough

to escape observation. She listened, her heart beating wildly. The voices outside continued. Why were they

lingering there? Why didn't they do one thing or the other either go away, or come in? There wasn't any too

much time! The Pug might be back at any minute now. Perhaps one of those people out there was the Pug!

Perhaps it would be better after all to run back and go out by the front door, risky as that would be. No, her

She shrank as far back into the corner as she could. The door of the end room on this side of the hall had

opened, and now a man stepped out and closed the door behind him. Would he see her? She held her breath.

No! It it was all right. He was walking away from her toward the front of the hall. And now for a moment it

seemed as though she had lost her senses, as though her brain were playing some mad, wild trick upon her.

Wasn't that the Pug's door before which the man had stopped? Yes, yes! And he seemed to have a key to it,

for he did not knock, and the door was opening, and now for an instant, just an instant, the light fell upon the

man as he stepped with a quick, lightninglike movement inside, and she saw his face. It was the Adventurer.

She stifled a little cry. Her brain was in turmoil. And now the back door was opening. They they might see

her here! And yes it was safer safer to act on the sudden inspiration that had come to her. The door of

the room from which the Adventurer had emerged was almost within reach; and he had not locked it as he

had gone out she had subconsciously noted that fact. And she understood why he had not now that he had

safeguarded himself against the loss of even the second or two it would have taken him to unlock it when he

ran back for cover again from the Pug's room. Yesthat room! It was the safest thing she could do. She could

even get out that way, for it must be the room with the low window, which she remembered gave on the back

yard, and She darted silently forward, and, as the back door opened, slipped into the room the Adventurer

It was pitch black. She must not make a sound; but, equally, she must not lose a second. What was taking

place in the Pug's room between Pinkie Bonn and the Adventurer she did not know. But the Adventurer was

obviously on one of his marauding expeditions, and he might stay there no more than a minute or two once

She felt her way forward in what she believed to be the direction of the window. She ran against the bed. But

this afforded her something by which to guide herself. She kept her touch upon it, her hand trailing along its

edge. And then, halfway down its length, what seemed to be a piece of string caught in her extended, groping

fingers. It seemed to cling, but also to yield most curiously, as she tried to shake it off; and then something,

evidently from under the mattress, came away with a little jerk, and remained, suspended, in her hand.

It didn't matter, did it? Nothing mattered except to reach the window. Yes, here it was now! And the roller

shade was drawn down; that was why the room was so dark. She raised the shade quickly and suddenly

stood there as though transfixed, her face paling, as in the faint light by the window she gazed, fascinated, at

And it seemed as if an inner darkness were suddenly riven as by a bolt of lightning a hundred things, once

obscure and incomprehensible, were clear now, terribly clear. She understood now how the Adventurer was

privy to all the inner workings of the organization; she understood now how it was, and why, the Adventurer

had a room so close to that other room across the hall. That dangling thing on an elastic cord was a smeared

and dirty celluloid eyepatch that had once been fleshcolored! The Adventurer and the Pug were one!

Her wits! Quick! He must not know! In a frenzy of haste she ran for the bed, and slipped the eyepatch in

under the mattress again; and then, still with frenzied speed, she climbed to the window sill, drew the roller

Through the back yard and lane she gained the street, and sped on along the street but her thoughts

outpaced her hurrying footsteps. How minutely every detail of the night now seemed to explain itself and

dovetail with every other one! At the time, when Shluker had been present, it had struck her as a little forced

and unnecessary that the Pug should have volunteered to seek out Danglar with explanations after the money

had been secured. But she understood now the craft and guile that lay behind his apparently innocent plan.

The Adventurer needed both time and an alibi, and also he required an excuse for making Pinkie Bonn the

custodian of the stolen money, and of getting Pinkie alone with that money in the Pug's room. Going to

Danglar supplied all this. He had hurried back, changed in that room from the Pug to the Adventurer, and

proposed in the latter character to relieve Pinkie of the money, to return then across the hall, become the Pug

again, and then go back, as though he had just come from Danglar, to find his friend and ally, Pinkie Bonn,

The Pugthe Adventurer! She did not quite seem to grasp its significance as applied to her in a personal way.

It seemed to branch out into endless ramifications. She could not somehow think logically, coolly enough

now, to decide what this meant in a concrete way to her, and her tomorrow, and the days after the

She hurried on. Tonight, as she would lay awake through the hours that were to come, for sleep was a thing

denied, perhaps a clearer vision would be given her. For the moment there there was something else

She hurried on. She came again to the street where the old couple lived. It was a dirty street, and from the

curb she stooped and picked up a dirty piece of old newspaper. She wrapped the banknotes in the paper.

There were not many people on the street as she neared the mean little frame house, but she loitered until for

the moment the immediate vicinity was deserted; then she slipped into the alleyway, and stole close to the

side window, through which, she had noted from the street, there shone a light. Yes, they were there, the two

She went back to the front door then, and knocked. And presently the old woman came and opened the door.

"This is yours," Rhoda said, and thrust the package into the woman's hand. And as the woman looked from

her to the package uncomprehendingly, Rhoda Gray flung a quick "goodnight" over her shoulder, and ran

But a few moments later she stole back, and stood for an instant once more by the shuttered window in the

alleyway. And suddenly her eyes grew dim. She saw an old man, white and haggard, with bandaged head,

sitting in a chair, the tears streaming down his face; and on the floor, her face hidden on the other's knees, a

woman knelt and the man's hand stroked and stroked the thin gray hair on the woman' s head.

And Rhoda Gray turned away. And out in the street her face was lifted and she looked upward, and there

were myriad stars. And there seemed a beauty in them that she had never seen before, and a great, comforting

serenity. And they seemed to promise something that through the window of that stark and evil garret to

which she was going now, they would keep her dreaded vigil with her until morning came again.

Another night another day! And the night again had been without rest, lest Danglar's dreaded footstep come

upon her unawares; and the day again had been one of restless, abortive activity, now prowling the streets as

Gypsy Nan, now returning to the garret to fling herself upon the cot in the hope that in daylight, when she

might risk it, sleep would come, but it had been without avail, for, in spite of physical weariness, it seemed to

Rhoda Gray as though her tortured mind would never let her sleep again. Danglar's wife! That was the horror

And now night was coming upon her once more. It had even begun to grow dark here on the lower stairway

that led up to that wretched, haunted garret above where in the shadows stark terror lurked. Strange! Most

strange! She feared the night and yet she welcomed it. In a little while, when it grew a little darker, she

would steal out again and take up her work once more. It was only during the night, under the veil of

darkness, that she could hope to make any progress in reaching to the heart and core of this criminal clique

which surrounded her, whose members accepted her as Gypsy Nan, and, therefore, as one of themselves, and

who would accord to her, if they but even suspected her to be the White Mall, less mercy than would be

She climbed the stairs. Fear was upon her now, because fear was always there, and with it was abhorrence

and loathing at the frightful existence fate had thrust upon her; but, somehow, tonight she was not so

depressed, not so hopeless, as she had been the night before. There had been a little success; she had come a

little farther along the way; she knew a little more than she had known before of the inner workings of the

gang who were at the bottom of the crime of which she herself was accused. She knew now the Adventurer's

secret, that the Pug and the Adventurer were one; and she knew where the Adventurer lived, now in one

character, now in the other, in those two rooms almost opposite each other across that tenement hall.

And so it seemed that she had the right to hope, even though there were still so many things she did not

know, that if she allowed her mind to dwell upon that phase of it, it staggered her where those code

messages came from, and how; why Rough Rorke of headquarters had never made a sign since that first

night; why the original Gypsy Nan, who was dead now, had been forced into hiding with the death penalty of

the law hanging over her; why Danglar, though Gypsy Nan's husband, was comparatively free. These, and a

myriad other things! But she counted now upon her knowledge of the Adventurer's secret to force from him

everything he knew; and, with that to work on, a confession from some of the gang in corroboration that

would prove the authorship of the crime of which she had seemingly been caught in the act of committing.

Yes, she was beginning to see the way at last through the Adventurer. It seemed a sure and certain way. If

she presented herself before him as Gypsy Nan, whom he believed to be not only one of the gang, but

actually Danglar's wife, and let him know that she was aware of the dual role he was playing, and that the

information he thus acquired as the Pug he turned to his own account and to the undoing of the gang, he must

of necessity be at her mercy. Her mercy! What exquisite irony! Her mercy! The man her heart loved; the thief

her common sense abhorred! What irony! When she, too, played a double role; when in their other characters,

that of the Adventurer and the White Moll, he and she were linked together by the gang as confederates,

Her mercy! How merciful would she be to the thief she loved? He knew, he must know, all the inner

secrets of the gang. She smiled wanly now as she reached the landing. Would he know that in the last

analysis her threat would be only an idle one; that, though her future, her safety, her life depended on

obtaining the evidence she felt he could supply, her threat would be empty, and that she was powerless

because she loved him. But he did not know she loved him she was Gypsy Nan. If she kept her secret, if he

did not penetrate her disguise as she had penetrated his, if she were Gypsy Nan and Danglar's wife to him, her

A flush, half shamed, half angry, dyed the grime that was part of Gypsy Nan's disguise upon her face. What

was she saying to herself? What was she thinking? That he did not know she loved him! How would he?

How could he? Had a word, an act, a single look of hers ever given him a hint that, when she had been with

him as the White Moll, she cared! It was unjust, unfair, to fling such a taunt at herself. It seemed as though

she had lost nearly everything in life, but she had not yet lost her womanliness and her pride.

She had certainly lost her senses, though! Even if that word, that look, that act had passed between them,

between the Adventurer and the White Moll, he still did not know that Gypsy Nan was the White Moll and

Rhoda Gray halted suddenly, and stared along the hallway ahead of her, and up the short, ladderlike steps

that led to the garret. Her ears or was it fancy? had caught what sounded like a low knocking up there

upon her door. Yes, it came again now distinctly. It was dusk outside; in here, in the hall, it was almost dark.

Her eyes strained through the murk. She was not mistaken. Something darker than the surrounding darkness,

The knocking ceased, and now the form seemed to bend down and grope along the floor; and then, an instant

later, it began to descend the ladderlike steps and abruptly Rhoda Gray, too, moved forward. It wasn't

Danglar. That was what had instantly taken hold of her mind, and she knew a sudden relief now. The man on

the stairs she could see that it was a man now though he moved silently, swayed in a grotesquely jerky

way as though he were lame. It wasn't Danglar! She would go to any length to track Danglar to his lair; but

not here here in the darkness here in the garret. Here she was afraid of him with a deadly fear; here alone

with him there would be a thousand chances of exposure incident to the slightest intimacy he might show the

woman whom he believed to be his wife a thousand chances here against hardly one in any other

She halted now and uttered a sharp exclamation, as though she had caught sight of the man for the first time.

The other, too, had halted at the foot of the stairs. A plaintive drawl reached her:

"Don't screech, Bertha! It's only your devoted brotherinlaw. Curse your infernal ladder, and my twisted

Danglar's brother! Bertha! She snatched instantly at the cue with an inward gasp of thankfulness. She would

not make the mistake of using the vernacular behind which Gypsy Nan sheltered herself. Here was some one

who knew that Gypsy Nan was but a role. But she had to remember that her voice was slightly hoarse; that

her voice, at least, could not sacrifice its disguise to any one. Danglar had been a little suspicious of it until

"What do you suppose?" he complained irritably. "The same old thing, all I'm good for to write out code

messages and deliver them like an errand boy! It's a sweet job, isn't it? How'd you like to be a deformed little

She did not answer at once. The night seemed suddenly to be opening some strange, even premonitory, vista.

"I'd like to trade with you," he said, a quick note of genuine envy in his voice. "You can pitch away your

clothes; I can't pitch away a crooked spine. And, anyway, after tonight, you'll be living swell again.

She leaned toward him, staring at him in the semidarkness. That premonitory vista was widening; his words

seemed suddenly to set her brain in tumult. After tonight! She was to resume, after tonight, the character

that was supposed to lay behind the disguise of Gypsy Nan! She was to resume her supposedly true character

"Aw, come on!" he said abruptly. "This isn't the place to talk. Pierre wants you at once. That's what the

message was for. I thought you were out, and I left it in the usual place so you'd get it the minute you got

He was moving down the hallway, blotching like some misshapen toad in the shadowy light, lurching in his

walk, that was, nevertheless, almost uncannily noiseless. Mechanically she followed him. She was trying to

think; striving frantically to bring her wits to play on this sudden and unexpected denouement. It was obvious

that he was taking her to Danglar. She had striven desperately last night to run Danglar to earth in his lair.

And here was a selfappointed guide! And yet her emotions conflicted and her brain was confused. It was

what she wanted, what through bitter travail of mind she had decided must be her course; but she found

herself shrinking from it with dread and fear now that it promised to become a reality. It was not like last

night when of her own initiative she had sought to track Danglar, for then she had started out with a certain

freedom of action that held in reserve a freedom to retreat if it became necessary. Tonight it was as though

she were deprived of that freedom, and being led into what only too easily might develop into a trap from

They had reached the street now, and now she obtained a better view of the misshapen thing that lurched

jerkily along beside her. The man was deformed, miserably deformed. He walked most curiously, half bent

over; and one arm, the left, seemed to swing helplessly, and the left hand was like a withered thing. Her eyes

sought the other's face. It was an old face, much older than Danglar's, and it was white and pinched and

drawn; and in the dark eyes, as they suddenly darted a glance at her, she read a sullen, bitter brooding and

discontent. She turned her head away. It was not a pleasant face; it struck her as being both morbid and cruel

"You'll see," he answered. "Pierre'll tell you. You're in luck, that's all. The whole thing that has kept you

under cover has bust wide open your way, and you win. And Pierre's going through for a cleanup.

Tomorrow you can swell around in a limousine again. And maybe you'll come around and take me for a

drive, if I dress up, and promise to hide in a corner of the back seat so's they won't see your handsome

He had told her what she wanted to know more than she had hoped for. The mystery that surrounded the

character of Gypsy Nan, the evidence of the crime at which the woman who had originated that role had

hinted on the night she died, and which must necessarily involve Danglar, was hers, Rhoda Gray's, now for

the taking. As well go and give herself up to the police as the White Moll and have done with it all, as to

refuse to seize the opportunity which fate, evidently in a kindlier mood toward her now, was offering her at

this instant. It promised her the hold upon Danglar that she needed to force an avowal of her own innocence,

the very hold that she had but a few minutes before been hoping she could obtain through the Adventurer.

Her hand groped down under the shabby black shawl into the wide, voluminous pocket of her greasy skirt.

Yes, her revolver was there. She knew it was there, but the touch of her fingers upon it seemed to bring a

sense of reassurance. She was perhaps staking her all in accompanying this cripple here tonight she did

not need to be told that but there was a way of escape at the last if she were cornered and caught. Her

fingers played with the weapon. If the worst came to the worst she would never be at Danglar's mercy while

They walked on rapidly; the lurching figure beside her covering the ground at an astounding rate of speed.

The man made no effort to talk. She was glad of it. She need not be so anxiously on her guard as would be

the case if a conversation were carried on, and she, who knew so much and yet so pitifully little, must weigh

her every word, and feel her way with every sentence. And besides, too, it gave her time to think. Where were

they going? What sort of a place was it, this headquarters of the gang? For it must be the headquarters, since

it was from there the code messages would naturally emanate, and this deformed creature, from what he had

said, was the "secretary" of the nefarious clique that was ruled by his brother. And was luck really with her at

last? Suppose she had been but a few minutes later in reaching Gypsy Nan's house, and had found, instead of

this man here, only the note instructing her to go and meet Danglar! What would she have done? What

explanation could she have made for her nonappearance? Her hands would have been tied. She would have

been helpless. She could not have answered the summons, for she could have had no idea where this

ganglair was; and the note certainly would not contain such details as street and number, which she was

obviously supposed to know. She smiled a little grimly to herself. Yes, it seemed as though fortune were

beginning to smile upon her again fortune, at least, had supplied her with a guide.

The twisted figure walked on the inside of the sidewalk, and curiously seemed to seek as much as possible

the protecting shadows of the buildings, and invariably shrank back out of the way of the passersby they

met. She watched him narrowly as they went along. What was he afraid of? Recognition? It puzzled her for a

time, and then she understood: It was not fear of recognition; the sullen, almost belligerent stare with which

he met the eyes of those with whom he came into close contact belied that. The man was morbidly,

They turned at last into one of the East Side cross streets, and her guide halted finally on a corner in front of a

little shop that was closed and dark. She stared curiously as the man unlocked the door. Perhaps, after all, she

had been woefully mistaken. It did not look at all the kind of place where crimes that ran the gamut of the

decalogue were hatched, at all the sort of place that was the council chamber of perhaps the most cunning,

certainly the most coldblooded and unscrupulous, band of crooks that New York had ever harbored. And yet

why not? Wasn't there the essence of cunning in that very fact? Who would suspect anything of the sort

from a ramshackle, twostory little house like this, whose front was a woebegone little store, the proceeds

The man fumbled with the lock. There was not a single light showing from the place, but in the dwindling

rays of a distant street lamp she could see the meager window display through the filthy, unwashed panes. It

was evidently a cheap and tawdry notion store, well suited to its locality. There were toys of the cheapest

variety, stationery of the same grade, cheap pipes, cigarettes, tobacco, candy a package of needles.

"Go on in!" grunted the man, as he pushed the door which seemed to shriek out unduly on its hinges wide

open. "If anybody sees the door open, they'll be around wanting to buy a paper of pins curse 'em! and I

ain't open tonight." He snarled as he shut and locked the door. "Pierre says you're grouching about your

garret. How about me, and this job? You get out of yours tonight for keeps. What about me? I can't do

anything but act as a damned blind for the rest of you with this fool store. just because I was born a freak that

"Well, go on!" snapped the man. "What are you standing there for? One would think you'd never been here

Go on! Where? She had not the faintest idea. It was quite dark inside here in the shop. She could barely make

"You're in a sweet temper tonight, aren't you?" she said tartly. "Go on, yourself! I'm waiting for you to get

He moved brusquely past her, with an angry grunt. Rhoda Gray followed him. They passed along a short,

narrow space, evidently between a low counter and a shelved wall, and then the man opened a door, and,

shutting it again behind them, moved forward once more. She could scarcely see him at all now; it was more

the sound of his footsteps than anything else that guided her. And then suddenly another door was opened,

and a soft, yellow light streamed out through the doorway, and she found that she was standing in an

intervening room between the shop and the room ahead of her. She felt her pulse quicken, and it seemed as

though her heart began to thump almost audibly. Danglar ! She could see Danglar seated at a table in there.

She clenched her hands under her shawl. She would need all her wits now. She prayed that there was not too

The man with the withered hand had passed through into the other room. She heard them talking together, as

she followed. She forced herself to walk with as nearly a leisurely defiant air as she could. The last time she

had been with Danglar as Gypsy Nan she had, in selfprotection, forbidding intimacy, played up what he

She paused in the doorway. Halfway across the room, at the table, Danglar's gaunt, swarthy face showed

under the rays of a shaded oil lamp. Behind her spectacles, she met his small, black ferret eyes steadily.

"Hello, Bertha!" he called out cheerily. "How's the old girl tonight?" He rose from his seat to come toward

"Worse!" she said curtlyand hoarsely. "And a lot you care! I could have died in that hole, for all you knew!

She pushed him irritably away, as he came near her. "Yes, that's what I said! And you needn't start any

cooing game now! Get down to cases!" She jerked her hand toward the twisted figure that had slouched into a

chair beside the table. "He says you've got it doped out to pull something that will let me out of this Gypsy

Nan stunt. Another bubble, I suppose!" She shrugged her shoulders, glanced around her, and, locating a chair

not too near the table seated herself indifferently. "I'm getting sick of bubbles!" she announced insolently.

He stood there for a moment biting at his lips, hesitant between anger and tolerant amusement; and then, the

latter evidently gaining the ascendency, he too shrugged his shoulders, and with a laugh returned to his chair.

"You're a rare one, Bertha!" he said coolly. "I thought you'd be wild with delight. I guess you're sick, all right

because usually you're pretty sensible. I've tried to tell you that it wasn't my fault I couldn't go near you,

"What's the use of going over all that again?" she interrupted tartly. "I guess I "

"Oh, all right!" said Danglar hurriedly. "Don't start a row! After tonight I've an idea you'll be sweet enough

to your husband, and I'm willing to wait. Matty maybe hasn't told you the whole of it."

Matty! So that was the deformed creature's name. She glanced at him. He was grinning broadly. A family

squabble seemed to afford him amusement. Her eyes shifted and made a circuit of the room. It was

povertystricken in appearance, barefloored, with the scantiest and cheapest of furnishings, its one window

"Well, then, listen, Bertha!" Danglar's voice was lowered earnestly. "We've uncovered the Nabob's stuff! Do

Rhoda Gray's eyes went back to the deformed creature at Danglar's side, as the man laughed out abruptly.

"Yes," grinned Matty Danglar, "and they weren't in the empty moneybelt that you beat it with like a scared

How queer and dim the light seemed to go suddenly or was it a blur before her own eyes? She said nothing.

Her mind seemed to be groping its way out of darkness toward some faint gleam of light showing in the far

distance. She heard Danglar order his brother savagely to hold his tongue. That was curious, too, because she

was grateful for the man's gibe. Gypsy Nan, in her proper person, had murdered a man named Deemer in an

"Well, tonight we'll get that stuff, all of it it's worth a cool half million; and tonight we'll get Mr.

HouseDetective Cloran for keeps bump him off. That cleans everything up. How does that strike you,

Rhoda Gray's hands under her shawl locked tightly together. Her premonition had not betrayed her. She was

"You're a rare one, Bertha!" he ejaculated again. "You don't seem to put much stock in your husband lately."

"Why should I?" she inquired imperturbably. "Things have been breaking fine, haven't they? only not for

us!" She cleared her throat as though it were an effort to talk. "I'm not going crazy with joy till I've been

"Well, come and look at the cards, then," he said impressively. "Pull your chair up to the table, and I'll tell

Rhoda Gray tilted her chair, instead, nonchalantly back against the wall it was quite light enough where she

"I can hear you from here," she said coolly. "I'm not deaf, and I guess Matty's suite is safe enough so that you

"Damn you, Bertha!" he flung out savagely. "I could wring that neck of yours sometimes, and "

"I know you could, Pierre," she interposed sweetly. "That's what I like about you you're so considerate of

me! But suppose you get down to cases. What's the story about those sparklers? And what's the game that's

"I'll tell her, Pierre," grinned the deformed one. "It'll keep you two from spitting at one another; and neither of

you have got all night to stick around here." He swung his withered hand suddenly across the table, and as

suddenly all facetiousness was gone both from his voice and manner. "Say, you listen hard, Bertha! What

Pierre's telling you is straight. You and him can kiss and make up tomorrow or the next day, or whenever

you damned please; but tonight there ain't any more time for scrapping. Now, listen! I handed you a rap

about beating it with the empty moneybelt the night you croaked Deemer with an overdose of knockout

drops in the private diningroom up at the Hotel Marwitz, but you forget that! I ain't for starting any

argument about that. None of us blames you. We thought the stuff was in the belt, too. And none of us

blames you for making a mistake and going too strong with the drops, either; anybody might do that. And I'll

say now that I take my hat off to you for the way you locked Cloran into the room with the dead man, and

made your escape when Cloran had you dead to rights for the murder; and I'll say, too, that the way you've

played Gypsy Nan and saved your skin, and ours too, is as slick a piece of work as has ever been pulled in the

Rhoda Gray blinked at the man through her spectacles; her brain was whirling in a mad turmoil. "I always

Danglar was lolling back in his chair, blowing smoke rings into the air. She caught his eyes fixed quizzically

"Go on, Matty!" he prompted. "You'll have her in a good humor, if you're not careful!"

"We were playing more or less blind after that." The withered hand traced an aimless pattern on the table

with its crooked and halfclosed fingers, and the man's face was puckered into a shrewd, reminiscent scowl.

"The papers couldn't get a lead on the motive for the murder, and the police weren't talking for publication.

Not a word about the Rajah's jewels. Washington saw to that! A young potentate's son, practically the guest

of the country, touring about in a special for the sake of his education, and dashed near 'ending it in the river

out West if it hadn't been for the rescue you know about, wouldn't look well in print; so there wasn't anything

said about the slather of gems that was the reward of heroism from a grateful nabob, and we didn't get any

help that way. All we knew was that Deemer came East with the jewels, presumably to cash in on them, and

it looked as though Deemer "were pretty clever; that he wore the moneybelt for a stall, and that he had the

sparklers safe somewhere else all the time. And I guess we all got to figuring it that way, because the fact that

nothing was said about any theft was strictly along the lines the police were working anyway, and a was a

Get him! This wasn't real, was it, this room here; those two figures sitting there under that shaded lamp?

Something cold, an icy grip, seemed to seize at her heart, as in a surge there swept upon her the full

appreciation of her peril through these confidences to which she was listening. A word, in act, some slightest

thing, might so easily betray her; and then Her fingers under the shawl and inside the wide pocket of her

greasy skirt, clutched at her revolver. Thank God for that! It would at least be merciful! She nodded her head

"But the police didn't find the jewels because they weren't there to be found. Somebody got in ahead of us.

Pinched 'em, understand, may be only a few hours before you got in your last play, and, from the way you

Rhoda Gray let her chair come sharply down to the floor. She must play her role of "Bertha" now as she

never had before. Here was a question that she could not only ask with safety, but one that was obviously

"She's coming to life!" murmured Danglar, through a haze of cigarette smoke. "I thought you'd wake up after

a while, Bertha. This is the big night, old girl, as you'll find out before we're through."

"I guess she'll listen to me now," said Danglar, with a little chuckle. "Don't overtax yourself any more,

Matty. I'll tell you, Bertha; and it will perhaps make you feel better to know it took the slickest dip New York

"Because," said Danglar, and lighted another cigarette, "he died yesterday afternoon up in Sing Sing."

She could afford to show her frank bewilderment. Her brows knitted into furrows, as she stared at Danglar.

"The Angel? Never!" Danglar laughed grimly, and shook his head. "Nothing like that! It was a question of

playing one 'fence' against another. You know that Witzer, who's handled all our jewelry for us, has been on

the lookout for any stones that might have come from that collection. Well, this afternoon he passed the

word to me that he'd been offered the finest unset emerald he'd ever seen, and that it had come to him through

old Jake Luertz's runner, a very innocentfaced young man who is known to the trade as the Crab."

Danglar paused and laughed again. Unconsciously Rhoda Gray drew her shawl a little closer about her

shoulders. It seemed to bring a chill into the room, that laugh. Once before, on another night, Danglar had

laughed, and, with his parted lips, she had likened him to a beast showing its fangs. He looked it now more

than ever. For all his ease of voice and manner, he was in deadly earnest; and if there was merriment in his

laugh, it but seemed to enhance the menace and the promise of unholy purpose that lurked in the cold glitter

"It didn't take long to get hold of the Crab" Danglar was rubbing his hands together softly "and the

emerald with him. We got him where we could put the screws on without arousing the neighborhood."

"Oh, no," said Danglar pleasantly. "He squealed before it came to that. He's none the worse for wear, and he'll

be turned loose in another hour or so, as soon as we're through at old Jake Luertz's. He's no more good to us.

He came across all right after he was properly frightened. He's been with old Jake as a sort of familiar for

"He'd have sold his soul out, he was so scared!" The withered hand on the table twitched; the deformed

creature's face was twisted into a grimace; and the man was chuckling with unhallowed mirth, as though

unable. to contain himself at, presumably, the recollection of a scene which he had witnessed himself. "He

was down on his knees and clawing out with his hands for mercy, and he squealed like a rat. 'It's the sixth

panel in the bedroom upstairs,' he says; 'it's all there. But for God's sake don't tell Jake I told. It's the sixth

Danglar had pulled out his watch and with exaggerated patience was circling the crystal with his thumb.

"Are you all through, Matty?" he inquired monotonously. "I think you said something a little while ago about

wasting time. Bertha's looking bored; and, besides, she's got a little job of her own on for tonight." He

jerked his watch back into his pocket, and turned to Rhoda Gray again. "The only one who knew all the

details Angel Jack, and he'll never tell now because he's dead. Whether he came down from the West with

Deemer or not, or how he got wise to the stones, I don't know. But he got the stones, all right. And then he

tumbled to the fact that the police were pushing him hard for another job he was 'wanted' for, and he had to

get those stones out of sight in a hurry. He made a package of them and slipped them to old Luertz, who had

always done his business for him, to keep for him; and before he could duck, the bulls had him for that other

job. Angel Jack went up the river. See? Old Jake didn't know what was in that package; but he knew better

than to monkey with it, because he always thought something of his own skin. He knew Angel Jack, and he

knew what would happen if he didn't have that package ready to hand back the day Angel Jack got out of

Sing Sing. Understand? But yesterday Angel Jack diedwithout a will; and old Jake appointed himself sole

executorwithout bonds! He opened that package, figured he'd begin turning it into money and that's how

we get our own back again. Old Jake will get a fake message tonight calling him out of the house on an

errand uptown; and about ten o'clock Pinkie Bonn and the Pug will pay a visit there in his absence, and

Rhoda Gray was crouched down in her chair. She shrugged her shoulders now, and infused a sullen note into

"Yes, it's fine!" she sniffed. "I'll be rolling in wealth in my garret which will do me a lot of good! That

doesn't separate me from these rags, and the hell I've lived, does it after two years?"

"I'm coming to that," said Danglar, with his short, grating laugh. "We've as good as got the stones now, and

we're going through tonight for a cleanup of all that old mess. We stake the whole thing. Get me, Bertha

the whole thing ! I'm showing my hand for the first time. Cloran's the man that's making you wear those

clothes; Cloran's the only one who could go into the witness box and swear that you were the woman who

murdered Deemer; and Cloran's the man who has been working his head off for two years to find you. We've

tried a dozen times to bump him off in a way that would make his death appear to be due purely to an

accident, and we didn't get away with it; but we can afford to leave the 'accident' out of it tonight, and go

through for keeps and that's what we're going to do. And once he's out of the way by midnight you can

It seemed to Rhoda Gray that horror had suddenly taken a numbing hold upon her sensibilities. Danglar was

talking about murdering some man, wasn't he, so that she could resume again the personality of a woman

who was dead? Hysterical laughter rose to her lips. It was only by a frantic effort of will that she controlled

herself. She seemed to speak involuntarily, doubtful almost that it was her own voice she heard.

"I'm listening," she said; "but I wouldn't be too sure. Cloran's a wary bird, and there's the White Moll."

She caught her breath. What suicidal inspiration had prompted her to say that! Had what she had been

listening to here, the horror of it, indeed turned her brain and robbed her of her wits to the extent that she

should invite exposure? Danglar's face had gone a mottled purple; the misshapen thing at Danglar's side was

It was a moment before Danglar spoke; and then his hand, clenched until the white of the knuckles showed,

"Not tonight!" he rasped out with an oath. "There's not a chance that she's in on this tonight the

shedevil! But she's next! With this cleaned up, she's next! If it takes the last dollar of tonight's haul, and

"Sure!" mumbled Rhoda Gray hurriedly. "But you needn't get excited! I was only thinking of her because

she's queered us till I've got my fingers crossed, that's all. Go on about Cloran."

Danglar's composure did not return on the instant. He gnawed at his lips for a moment before he spoke.

"All right!" he jerked out finally. "Let it go at that! I told you the other night in the garret that things were

beginning to break our way, and that you wouldn't have to stay there much longer, but I didn't tell you how or

why you wouldn't give me a chance. I'll tell you now; and it's the main reason why I've kept away from you

lately. I couldn't take a chance of Cloran getting wise to that garret and Gypsy Nan." He grinned suddenly.

"I've been cultivating Cloran myself for the last two weeks. We're quite pals! I'm for playing the luck every

time! When the jewels showed up today, I figured that tonight's the night see? Cloran and I are going to

supper together at the Silver Sphinx at about eleven o'clock and this is where you shed the Gypsy Nan stuff,

"You will in a minute," said Danglar softly. "You're the bait see? Cloran and I will be at supper and

watching the foxtrotters. You blow in and show yourself I don't need to tell you how, you're clever

enough at that sort of thing yourself and the minute he recognizes you as the woman he's been looking for

that murdered Deemer, you pretend to recognize him for the first time too, and then you beat it like you had

the scare of your life for the door. He'll follow you on the jump. I don't know what it's all about, and I sit

tight, and that lets me out. And now get this! There'll be two taxicabs outside. If there's more than two, it's the

first two I'm talking about. You jump into the one at the head of the line. Cloran won't need any invitation to

grab the second one and follow you. That's all! It's the last ride he'll take. It'll be our boys, and not chauffeurs,

who'll be driving those cars tonight, and they've got their orders where to go. Cloran won't come back.

There was only one answer to make, only one answer that she dared make. She made it mechanically, though

her brain reeled. A man named Cloran was to be murdered; and she was to show herself as this this Bertha

"Good!" said Danglar. He pulled out his watch again. "All right, then! We've been here long enough." He

rose briskly. "It's time to make a move. You hop it back to the garret, and get rid of that fancy dress. I've got

The place stifled her. She got up and moved quickly through the intervening room. She heard Danglar and his

crippled brother talking earnestly together as they followed her. And then the cripple brushed by her in the

darkness, and opened the front door and Danglar had drawn her to him in a quick embrace. She did not

struggle; she dared not. Her heart seemed to stand still. Danglar was whispering in her ear:

"I promised I'd make it up to you, Bertha, old girl. You'll see after tonight. We'll have another

honeymoon. You go on ahead now I can't be seen with Gypsy Nan. And don't be late the Silver Sphinx

She ran out on the street. Her fingers mechanically clutched at her shawl to loosen it around her throat. It

seemed as though she were choking, that she could not breathe. The man's touch upon her had seemed like

contact with some foul and loathsome thing; the scene in that room back there like some nightmare of horror

Rhoda Gray hurried onward, back toward the garret, her mind in riot and dismay. It was not only the

beginning of the end; it was very near the end! What was she to do? The Silver Sphinx at eleven! That was

the end after eleven wasn't it? She could impersonate Gypsy Nan; she could not, if she would,

impersonate the woman who was dead! And then, too, there were the stolen jewels at old Jake Luertz's! She

could not turn to the police for help there, because then the Pug might fall into their hands, and and the Pug

And then a sort of fatalistic calm fell upon her. If the masquerade was over, if the end had come, there

remained only one thing for her to do. There were no risks too desperate to take now. It was she who must

strike, and strike first. Those jewels in old Luertz's bedroom became suddenly vital to her. They were tangible

evidence. With those jewels in her possession she should be able to force Danglar to his knees. She could get

them before Pinkie Bonn and the Pug if she hurried. Afterward she would know where to find Danglar

at the Silver Sphinx. Nothing would happen to Cloran, because, through her failure to cooperate, the plan

would be abortive; but, veiled, as the White Moll, she could pick up Danglar's trail again there. Yes, it would

She quickened her steps. Old Luertz was to be inveigled away from his home about ten o'clock. At a guess,

she made it only a little after nine now. She would need the skeleton keys in order to get into old Luertz's

place, and, yes, she would need a flashlight, too. Well, she would have time enough to get them, and time

enough, then, to run to the deserted shed in the lane behind the garret and change her clothes.

Rhoda Gray, as Gypsy Nan, went on as speedily as she dared without inviting undue attention to herself,

reached the garret, secured the articles she sought, hurried out again, and went down the lane in the rear to the

deserted shed. She remained longer here than in the attic, perhaps ten minutes, working mostly in the

darkness, risking the flashlight only when it was imperative; and then, the metamorphosis complete, a veiled

figure, in her own person, as Rhoda Gray, the White Moll, she was out on the street again, and hastening back

She knew old Jake Luertz's place, and she knew the man himself very intimately by reputation. There were

few such men and such places that she could have escaped knowing in the years of selfappointed service

that she had given to the worst, and perhaps therefore the most needy, element in New York. The man

ostensibly conducted a little secondhand store; in reality he probably "shoved" more stolen goods for his

clientele, which at one time or another undoubtedly embraced nearly every crook in the underworld, than any

other "fence" in New York. She knew him for an oily, cunning old fox who lived alone in the two rooms over

his miserable store unless, of late, his young henchman, the Crab, had taken to living with him; though, as

far as that was concerned, it mattered little tonight, since the Crab, for the moment, thanks to the gang, was

She reached the secondhand store and walked on past it. There was a light upstairs in the front window. Old

Luertz therefore had not yet gone out in response to the gang's fake message. She knew old Luertz's

reputation far too well for that; the man would never go out and leave a gas jet burning which he would

There was nothing to do but wait. Rhoda Gray sought the shelter of a doorway across the street. She was

nervously impatient now. The minutes dragged along. Why didn't 'the man hurry and go out? "About ten

o'clock," Danglar had said but that was very indefinite. Pinkie Bonn and the Pug might be as late as that;

It seemed an interminable time. And then, her eyes strained across the street upon that upper window, she

drew still farther back into the protecting shadows of the doorway. The light had gone out.

A moment more passed. The street door of the house opposite to her a door separate from that of the

secondhand storeopened, and a bent, graybearded man, stepped out, peered around, locked the door behind

Rhoda Gray scanned the dingy and illlighted little street. It was virtually deserted. She crossed the road, and

stepped into the doorway from which the old "fence" had just emerged. It was dark here, well out of the

direct radius of the nearest street lamp, and, with luck, there was no reason why she should be observed if

she did not take too long in opening the door! She had never actually used a skeleton key in her life before,

She inserted one of her collection of keys in the lock. It would not work. She tried another, and still

anotherwith mounting anxiety and perplexity. Suppose that yes! The door was open now! With a quick

glance over her shoulder, scanning the street in both directions to make sure that she was not observed, she

Her flashlight stabbed through the darkness. Narrow stairs immediately in front of her led upward; at her

right was a connecting door to the secondhand shop. Without an instant's hesitation she ran up the stairs.

There was no need to observe caution since the place was temporarily untenanted; there was need only of

haste. She opened the door at the head of the stairs, and, with a quick, eager nod of satisfaction, as the

flashlight swept the interior, stepped over the threshold. It was the room she sought old Luertz's bedroom.

And now the flashlight played inquisitively about her. The bed occupied a position by the window; across

one corner of the room was a cretonne hanging, that evidently did service as a wardrobe; across another

corner was a large and dilapidated washstand; there were a few chairs, and a threadbare carpet; and, opposite

Rhoda Gray stepped to this door, opened it, and peered in. She was not concerned that it was evidently used

for kitchen, diningroom and the stowage of everything that overflowed from the bedroom; she was

concerned only with the fact that it offered no avenue through which any added risk or danger might reach

her. She closed the door as she had found it, and gave her attention now to the walls of old Luertz's bedroom.

She smiled a little whimsically. The Crab had used a somewhat dignified term when he had referred to

"panels." True, the, walls were of stained wood, but the wood was of the cheapest variety of matched boards,

and the stain was of but a single coat, and a very meager one at that! The smile faded. There were a good

many knots; and there were four corners to the room, and therefore eight boards, each one of which would

She went to the corner nearest her, and dropped down on her knees. As well start with this one! She had not

dared press Danglar, or Danglar's deformed brother, for more definite directions, had she? She counted the

boards quickly from the corner to her right; and then, the flashlight playing steadily, she began to press first

one knot after another, in the board before her, working from the bottom up. There were many knots; she

She turned then to the sixth board from the corner to her left. The result was the same. She stood up, her

brows puckered, a sense of anxious impatience creeping upon her. She had been quite a while over even these

Her eyes traversed the room, following the ray of the flashlight. If she only knew which one, it would Was

it an inspiration? Her eyes had fixed on the cretonne hanging across one of the far corners from the door, and

she moved toward it now quickly. The hanging might very well serve for an other purpose than that of merely

a wardrobe! It seemed suddenly to be the most likely of the four corners because it was ingeniously

She parted the hanging. A heterogeneous collection of clothing hung from pegs and nails. Eagerly, hastily

now, she brushed these aside, and, close to the wall, dropped down on her knees again. The minutes passed.

Twice she went over the sixth board from the corner to her right. She felt so sure now that it was this corner.

It was warm and close here. The clothing hanging from the pegs and nails enveloped her, and, with the

cretonne hanging itself, shut out the air, what little of it there was, that circulated through the room.

Over the board, from the tiniest knot to the largest, her fingers pressed carefully. Had she missed one

anywhere? She must have missed one! She was sure the panel in question was here behind this hanging.

In an instant the flashlight in her hand was out, and she was listening tensely. Yes, there was a footstep two

of them not only on the stairs, but already just outside the door. It seemed as though a deadly fear, cold and

numbing, settled upon her and robbed her of even the power of movement. She was caught! If it was Pinkie

Bonn and the Pug, and if this corner hid the secret panel as she still believed it did, this was the first place to

which they would come, and they would find her here amongst the clothing which had evidently been the

She held her breath, her hands tight upon her bosom. There was no time to reach the sanctuary of the other

room the footsteps were already crossing the threshold from the head of the stairs. And then a voice

"Strike a light, Pinkie! Dere's no use messin' around wid a flash. De old geezer'11 be back on de hop de

A match crackled into flame. An airchoked gas jet, with a protesting hiss, was lighted. And then Rhoda

Gray's drawn face relaxed a little, and a strange, mirthless smile came hovering over her lips. What was she

afraid of? The Pug was the Adventurer, wasn't he? This was one of the occasions when he could not escape

the entanglements of the gang, and must work for the gang instead of appropriating all the loot for his own

personal and nefarious ends; but he was the Adventurer. The White Moll need not fear him, even though he

appeared, linked with Pinkie Bonn, in the role of the Pug! So there was only Pinkie Bonn to fear.

Rhoda Gray took her revolver from her pocket. She was well armed and in more than a material sense. The

Adventurer did not know that she was aware of the Pug's identity. Her smile, still mirthless, deepened. She

might even turn the tables upon them, and still secure the stolen stones. She had turned the tables upon Pinkie

And then, suddenly, she stifled an exclamation, as the Pug's voice reached her again:

"Wot are youse gapin' about? Dere ain't anything else worth pinchin' around here except wot's in de old gent's

safety vault. Get a move on! We ain't got all night! It's de corner behind de washstand. Give us a hand to

It wasn't here behind the cretonne hanging! Rhoda Gray bit her lips in a crestfallen little way. Well, her

supposition had been natural enough, hadn't it? And she would have tried every corner before she was

She moved now slightly, without a sound, parting the clothing away from in front of her, and moving the

cretonne hanging by the fraction of an inch where it touched the side wall of the room. And now she could

see the Pug, with his dirty and discolored celluloid eyepatch, and his ingeniously contorted face; and she

It was not a large room. The two men in the opposite corner along the wall from her were scarcely more than

ten feet away. They swung the washstand out from the wall, and the Pug, going in behind it, began to work

on one of the wall boards. Pinkie Bonn, an unlighted cigarette dangling from his lip, leaned over the

A minute passed another. It was still in the room, except only for the distant sounds of the world outside a

clatter of wheels upon the pavement, the muffled roar of the elevated, the clang of a trolley bell. And then the

Pug began to mutter to himself. Rhoda Gray smiled a little grimly. She was not the only one, it would appear,

"Say, dis is de limit!" the Pug growled out suddenly. "Dere's more damned knots in dis board dan I ever save

in any piece of wood in me life before, an' " He drew back abruptly from the wall, twisting his head sharply

around. "D'ye hear dat, Pinkie!" he whispered tensely. "Quick! Put out de light! Quick! Dere's some one

Rhoda Gray felt the blood ebb from her face. She had heard nothing save the rattle and bump of a wagon

along the street below; but she had had reason to appreciate on a certain occasion before that the Pug, alias

the Adventurer, was possessed of a sense of hearing that was abnormally acute. If it was some one else who

was it? What would it mean to her? What complication here in this room would result? What...

The light was out. Pinkie Bonn had stepped silently across the room to the gas jet near the door. Her eyes,

strained, she could just make out the Adventurer's form kneeling by the wall, and then was she mad! Was

the faint nightlight of the city filtering in through the window mocking her? The Adventurer, hidden from

his companion by the washstand, was working swiftly and without a sound or else it was a phantasm of

shadows that tricked her! A door in the wall opened; the Adventurer thrust in his hand, drew out a package,

and, leaning around, slipped it quickly into the bottom of the washstand, where, with its little doors, there was

a most convenient and very commodious apartment. He turned again then, seemed to take something from his

Rhoda Gray brushed her hand across her eyes. No, it wasn't a phantasm! She had misjudged the Adventurer

quite misjudged him! The Adventurer, even with one of the gang present to furnish an unimpeachable alibi

for him! was plucking the gang's fruit again for his own and undivided enrichment!

The Pug tiptoed across the room, and joined his companion. She could not see them now, but apparently they

stood together by the door listening. They stood there for a long time. Occasionally she heard them whisper

"All right," he said. "I guess me nerves are gettin' de creeps. Shoot de light on again, an' let's get back on de

job. An' youse can take a turn dis time pushin' de knots, Pinkie; mabbe youse'll have better luck."

The light went on again. Both men came back across the room, and now Pinkie Bonn knelt at the wall while

the Pug leaned over the washstand watching him. Pinkie Bonn was not immediately successful; the Pug's

"Fer Gawd's sake, hurry up!" he urged irritably. "Or else lemme take another crack at it, Pinkie, an'...

A low, triumphant exclamation came from Pinkie Bonn, as the small door in the wall swung suddenly open.

"There she is, my bucko!" he grinned. "Some nifty vault, eh? The old guy" He stopped. He had thrust in his

hand, and drawn it out again. His fingers gripped a sheet of notepaper but he was seemingly unconscious of

that fact. He was leaning forward, staring into the aperture. "It's empty!" he choked.

"Wot's dat?" cried the Pug, and sprang to his companion's side. "Youse're crazy, Pinkie! He thrust his head

toward the opening and then turned and stared for a moment helplessly at Pinkie Bonn. "So help me!" he

said heavily. "It's it's empty." He shook his fist suddenly. "De Crab's handed us one, dat's wot! But de

"It wasn't the Crab!" Pinkie Bonn was stuttering his words. He stood, jaws dropped, his eyes glued now on

The Pug, his face working, the personification of baffled rage and intolerance, leered at Pinkie Bonn. "Well,

"Yes," said Pinkie Bonn. "Listen to what's on this paper that I fished out of there I Listen! She's got all the

nerve of the devil! 'With thanks, and my most grateful appreciation the White Moll.'"

The Pug snatched the paper from Pinkie Bonn's hand, as though to assure himself that it was true. Rhoda

Gray smiled faintly. It was good acting, very excellently done seeing that the Pug had written the note and

"My God!" mumbled Pinkie Bonn thickly. "I ain't afraid of most things, but I'm gettin' scared of her. She ain't

human. Last night you know what happened, and the night before, and " He gulped suddenly. "Let's get out

of here !" he said hurriedly. The Pug made no reply, except for a muttered growl of assent and a nod of his

The two men crossed the room. The light went out. Their footsteps echoed back as they descended the stairs,

And then Rhoda Gray moved for the first time. She brushed aside the cretonne hanging, ran to the washstand,

possessed herself of the package she had seen the Pug place there, and then made her way, cautious now of

She tried the door that led into the secondhand shop from the hall, found it unlocked, and with a little gasp of

relief slipped through, and closed it gently behind her. She did not dare risk the front entrance. Pinkie Bonn

and the Pug were not far enough away yet, and she did not dare wait until they were. Too bulky to take the

risk of attempting to conceal it about his person while with Pinkie Bonn, the Pug, it was obvious, would come

back alone for that package, and it was equally obvious that he would not be long in doing so. There was old

Luertz's return that he would have to anticipate. It would not take wits nearly so sharp as those possessed by

Rhoda Gray groped her way down the shop, groped her way to a back door, unbolted it, working by the sense

of touch, and let herself out into a back yard. Five minutes later she was blocks away, and hurrying rapidly

Her lips formed into a tight little curve as she went along. There was still work to do tonight if this

package really contained the stolen legacy of gems left by Angel Jack. She had first of all to reach a place

where she could examine the package with safety; then a place to hide it where it would be secure; and then

She gained the lane, stole along it, and disappeared into the shed through the broken door that hung, partially

open, on sagging hinges. Here she sought a corner, and crouched down so that her body would smother any

reflection from her flashlight. And now, eagerly, feverishly, she began to undo the package; and then, a

moment later, she gazed, stupefied and amazed, at what lay before her. Precious stones, scores of them,

nestled on a bed of cotton; they were of all colors and of all sizes but each one of them seemed to pulsate

and throb, and from some wondrous, glorious depth of its own to fling back from the white ray upon it a

thousand rays in return, as though into it had been breathed a living and immortal fire.

And Rhoda Gray, crouched there, stared until suddenly she grew afraid, and suddenly with a shudder she

wrapped the package up again. These were the stones for whose fabulous worth the woman whose

personality she, Rhoda Gray, had usurped, had murdered a man; these were the stones which were indirectly

the instrumentality since but for them Gypsy Nan would never have existed that made her, Rhoda Gray,

tonight, now, at this very moment, a hunted thing, homeless, friendless, fighting for her very life against

She rose abruptly to her feet. She had no longer any need of a flashlight. There was even light of a sort in the

place she could see the stars through the jagged holes in the roof, and through one of these, too, the

moonlight streamed in. The shed was all but crumbling in a heap. Underfoot, what had once been flooring,

was now but rotting, broken boards. Under one of these, beside the clothing of Gypsy Nan which she had

discarded but a little while before, she deposited the package; then stepped out into the lane, and from there to

And now she became suddenly conscious of a great and almost overpowering physical weariness. She did not

quite understand at first, unless it was to be attributed to the reaction from the last few hours and then,

smiling wanly to herself, she remembered. For two nights she had not slept. It seemed very strange. That was

it, of course, though she was not in the least sleepy now just tired, just near the breaking point.

But she must go on. Tonight was the end, anyhow. Tonight, failing to keep her appointment as "Bertha,"

the crash must come; but before it came, as the White Moll, armed with the knowledge of the crime that had

driven Danglar's wife into hiding, and which was Danglar's crime too, and with the evidence in the shape of

those jewels in her possession, she and Danglar would meet somewhere alone. Before the law got him,

when he would be closemouthed and struggling with all his cunning to keep the evidence of other crimes

from piling up against him and damning whatever meager chances he might have to escape the penalty for

Deemer's murder, she meant yes, even if she pretended to compound a felony with him to force or to

inveigle from him, it mattered little which, a confession of the authorship and details of the scheme to rob

Skarbolov that night when she, Rhoda Gray, in answer to a dying woman's pleading, had tried to forestall the

plan, and had been caught, apparently, in the very act of committing the robbery herself! With that confession

in her possession, with the identity of the unknown woman who had died in the hospital that night

And so, if she were weary, what did it matter? It was only until morning. Danglar was at the Silver Sphinx

now with the man he meant that she should help him murder, only only that plan would fail, because there

would be no "Bertha" to lure the man to his death, and she, Rhoda Gray, had only to keep track of Danglar

until somewhere, where he lived perhaps, she should have that final scene, that final reckoning with him

It was a long way to the Silver Sphinx, which she knew, as every one in the underworld, and every one in

New York who was addicted to slumming knew, was a combination dancehall and restaurant in the

Chatham Square district. She tried to find a taxi, but with out avail. A clock in a jeweler's window which she

passed showed her that it was ten minutes after eleven. She had had no idea that it was so late. At eleven,

Danglar had said. Danglar would be growing restive! She took the elevated. If she could risk the protection of

But, in spite of the elevated, it was, she knew, well on towards half past eleven when she finally came down

the street in front of the Silver Sphinx. From under her veil, she glanced, half curiously, half in a sort of grim

irony, at the taxis lined up before the dancehall. The two leading cars were not taxis at all, though they bore

the earmarks, with their registers, of being public vehicles for hire; they were large, roomy, powerful, and

looked, with their hoods up, like privately owned motors. Well, it was of little account! She shrugged her

shoulders, as she mounted the steps of the dancehall. Neither "Bertha" nor Cloran would use those cars

A Bedlam of noise smote Rhoda Gray's ears as she entered the Silver Sphinx. A jazz band was in full swing;

on the polished section of the floor in the center, a packed mass of humanity swirled and gyrated and

wriggled in the contortions of the "latest" dance, and laughed and howled immoderately; and around the sides

of the room, the waiters rushed this way and that amongst the crowded tables, mopping at their faces with

Rhoda Gray scanned the occupants of the tables. The Silver Sphinx was particularly riotous tonight, wasn't

it? Yes, she understood! A great many of the men were wearing little badges. Some society or other was

celebrating and was doing it with abandon. Most of the men were half drunk. It was certainly a

Danglar! Yes, 'there he was quite close to her, only a few tables away and beside him sat a heavy built,

cleanshaven man of middle age. That would be Cloran, of course the man who was to have been lured to

his death. And Danglar was nervous and uneasy, she could see. His fingers were drumming a tattoo on the

table; his eyes were roving furtively about the room; and he did not seem to be paying any but the most

Rhoda Gray sank quickly into a vacant chair. Three men, linked arm in arm, and decidedly more than a little

drunk, were approaching her. She turned her head away to avoid attracting their attention. It was too free and

easy here tonight, and she began to regret her temerity at having ventured inside; she would better, perhaps,

have waited until Danglar came out only there were two exits, and she might have missed him and...

A cold fear upon her, she shrank back in her chair. The three men had halted at the table, and were clustered

around her. They began a jocular quarrel amongst themselves as to who should dance with her. Her heart was

"Oh, no, you don't!" hiccoughed one of the three. "Gotta see your hic! pretty face, anyhow!"

She put up her hands frantically and clutched at her veil but just an instant too late to save it from being

wrenched aside. Wildly her eyes flew to Danglar. His attention had been attracted by the scene. She saw him

rise from his seat; she saw his eyes widen and then, stumbling over his chair in his haste, he made toward

She turned and ran. Fear, horror, desperation, lent her strength. It was not like this that she had counted on her

reckoning with Danglar! She brushed the roisterers aside, and darted for the door. Over her shoulder she

glimpsed Danglar following her. She reached the door, burst through a knot of people there, and, her torn veil

clutched in her hand, dashed down the steps. She could only run run, and pray that in some way she might

And then a mad exultation came upon her. She saw the man in the chauffeur's seat of the first car in the line

lean out and swing the door open. And in a flash she grasped the situation. The man was waiting for just this

for a woman to come running for her life down the steps of the Silver Sphinx. She put her hand up to her

face, hiding it with the torn veil, raced for the car, and flung herself into the tonneau.

The door slammed. The car leaped from the curb. Danglar was coming down the steps. She heard him shout.

The chauffeur, in a startled way, leaned out, as he evidently recognized Danglar's voice but Rhoda Gray

was mistress of herself now. The tonneau of the car was not separated from the driver's seat, and bending

forward, she wrenched her revolver from her pocket, and pressed the muzzle of her weapon to the back of the

The man, with a frightened oath, obeyed. The car gained speed. A glance through the window behind showed

And then for a moment Rhoda Gray sat there fighting for her selfcontrol, with the certain knowledge in her

soul that upon her wits, and her wits alone, her life depended now. She studied the car's mechanism over the

chauffeur's shoulder, even as she continued to hold her revolver pressed steadily against the back of the man's

neck. She could drive a car she could drive this one. The presence of this chauffeur, one of the gang, was an

added menace; there were too many tricks he might play before she could forestall them, any one of which

would deliver her into the hands of Danglar behind there an apparently inadvertent stoppage due to traffic,

for instance, that would bring the pursuing car alongside that, or a dozen other things which would achieve

"Open the door on your side!" she commanded abruptly. "And get out without slowing the car! Do you

He turned his head for a half incredulous, half frightened look at her. She met his eyes steadily the torn veil,

quite discarded now, was in her pocket. She did not know the man; but it was quite evident from the almost

"Jump!" she ordered imperatively and her revolver pressed still more significantly against the man's flesh.

He seemed in even frantic haste to obey her. He whipped the door open, and, before she could reach to the

wheel, he had leaped to the street. The car swerved sharply. She flung herself over into the vacated seat, and

snatched at the wheel barely in time to prevent the machine from mounting the curb.

She looked around again through the window of the hood. The man had swung aboard Danglar's car, which

Rhoda Gray drove steadily. Here in the city streets her one aim must be never to let the other car come

abreast of her; but she could prevent that easily enough by watching Danglar's movements, and cutting across

in front of him if he attempted anything of the sort. But ultimately what was she to do? How was she to

escape? Her hands gripped and clenched in a sudden, almost paniclike desperation at the wheel. Turn

suddenly around a corner, and jump from the car herself? It was useless to attempt it; they would keep too

close behind to give her a chance to get out of sight. Well, then, suppose she jumped from the car, and trusted

herself to the protection of the people on the street. She shook her head grimly. Danglar, she knew only too

well, would risk anything, go to any length, to put an end to the White Moll. He would not hesitate an instant

to shoot her down as she jumped and he would be fairly safe himself in doing it. A few revolver shots from a

car that speeded away in the darkness offered an even chance of escape. And yet, unless she forced an issue

such as that, she knew that Danglar would not resort to firing at her here in the city. He would want to be sure

that was the only chance he had of getting her, before he accepted the risk that he would run of being caught

She found herself becoming strangely, almost unnaturally, cool and collected now. The one danger, greater

than all others, that menaced her was a traffic block that would cause her to stop, and allow those in the other

car behind to rush in upon her as she sat here at the wheel. And sooner or later, if she stayed in the city, a

block such as that was inevitable. She must get out of the city, then. It was only to invite another risk, the risk

She drove more quickly, made her way to the Bridge, and crossed it. The car behind followed with immutable

persistence. It made no effort to close the short gap between them; but, neither, on the other hand, did it

They passed through Brooklyn; and then, reaching the outskirts, Rhoda Gray, with headlights streaming into

the black, with an open Long Island road before her, flung her throttle wide, and the car leaped like a thing of

life into the night. It was a sudden start, it gained her a hundred yards but that was all.

The wind tore at her and whipped her face; the car rocked and reeled as in some mad frenzy. There was not

much traffic, but such as there was it cleared away from before her as if by magic, as, seeking shelter from

the wild meteoric thing running amuck, the few vehicles, motor or horse, that she encountered hugged; the

edge of the road, and the wind whisked to her ears fragments of shouts and execrations. Again and again she

looked back two fiery balls of light blazed behind her always those same two fiery balls.

She neither gained nor lost. Rigid, like steel, her little figure was crouched over the wheel. She did not know

the road. She knew nothing save that she was racing for her life. She did not know the end; she could not see

the end. Perhaps there would be some merciful piece of luck for her that would win her through a

She passed through a town with lighted streets and lighted windows or was it only imagination? It was gone

again, anyhow, and there was just black road ahead. Over the roar of the car and the sweep of the wind, then,

she caught, or fancied she caught, a series of faint reports. She looked behind her. Yes, they were firing now.

How long was it since she had left the Silver Sphinx? Minutes or hours would not measure it, would they?

But it could not last much longer! She was growing very tired; the strain upon her arms, yes, and upon her

eyes, was becoming unbearable. She swayed a little in her seat, and the car swerved, and she jerked it back

again into the straight. She began to laugh a little hysterically and then, suddenly, she straightened up, tense

That swerve was the germ of an inspiration! It took root swiftly now. It was desperate but she was

desperate. She could not drive much more, or much longer like this. Mind and body were almost undone.

And, besides, she was not outdistancing that car behind there by a foot; and sooner or later they would hit her

with one of their shots, or, perhaps what they were really trying to do, puncture one of her tires.

Again she glanced over her shoulder. Yes, Danglar was just far enough behind to make the plan possible. She

began to allow the car to swerve noticeably at intervals, as though she were weakening and the car was

getting beyond her control which was, indeed, almost too literally the case. And now it seemed to her that

each time she swerved there came an exultant shout from the car behind. Well, she asked for nothing better;

that was what she was trying to do, wasn't it? inspire them with the belief that she was breaking under the

Her eyes searched anxiously down the luminous pathway made by her highpowered headlights. If only she

could reach a piece of road that combined two things an embankment of some sort, and a curve just sharp

enough to throw those headlights behind off at a tangent for an instant as they rounded it, too, in following

A minute, two, another passed. And then Rhoda Gray, tightlipped, her face drawn hard, as her own

headlights suddenly edged away from the road and opened what looked like a deep ravine on her left, while

the road curved to the right, flung a frenzied glance back of her. It was her chance her one chance. Danglar

was perhaps a little more than a hundred yards in the rear. Yes now! His headlights were streaming out on

her left as he, too, touched the curve. The righthand side of her car, the righthand side of the road were in

blackness. She checked violently, almost to a stop, then instantly opened the throttle wide once more,

wrenching the wheel over to head the machine for the ravine; and before the car picked up its momentum

again, she dropped from the righthand side, darted to the far edge of the road, and flung herself flat down

The great, black body of her car seemed to sail out into nothingness like some weird aerial monster, the

headlights streaming uncannily through space then blackness and a terrific crash.

And now the other car had come to a stop almost opposite where she lay. Danglar and the two chauffeurs,

shouting at each other in wild excitement, leaped out and rushed to the edge of the embankment. And then

suddenly the sky grew red as a great tongueflame shot up from below. It outlined the forms of the three men

as they stood there, until, abruptly, as though with one accord, they rushed pellmell down the embankment

toward the burning wreckage. And as they disappeared from sight Rhoda Gray jumped to her feet, sprang for

Danglar's car, flung herself into the driver's seat, and the car shot forward again along the road.

A shout, a wild chorus of yells, the reports of a fusillade of shots reached her; she caught a glimpse of forms

running insanely after her along the edge of the embankment then silence save for the roar of the speeding

She drove on and on. Somewhere, nearing a town, she saw a train in the distance coming in her direction. She

reached the station first, and left the car standing there, and, with the torn veil over her face again, took the

She was weak, undone, exhausted. Even her mind refused its functions further. It was only in a subconscious

way she realized that, where she had thought never to go to the garret again, the garret and the role of Gypsy

Nan were, more than ever now, her sole refuge. The plot against Cloran had failed, but they could not blame

that on "Bertha's" nonappearance; and since it had failed she would not now be expected to assume the dead

woman's personality. True, she had not, as had been arranged, reached the Silver Sphinx at eleven, but there

were a hundred excuses she could give to account for her being late in keeping the appointment so that she

had arrived just in time, say, to see Danglar dash wildly in pursuit of a woman who had jumped into the car

The garret! The garret again and Gypsy Nan! Her surroundings seemed to become a blank to her; her

actions to be prompted by some purely mechanical sense. She was conscious only that finally, after an

interminable time, she was in New York again; and after that, long, long after that, dressed as Gypsy Nan, she

How her footsteps dragged! She opened the door, staggered inside, locked the door again, and staggered

toward the cot, and dropped upon it; and the gray dawn came in with niggardly light through the grimy little

window panes, as though timorously inquisitive of this shawled and dissolute figure prone and motionless,

this figure who in other dawns had found neither sleep nor rest this figure who lay there now as one dead.

Rhoda Gray opened her eyes, and, from the cot upon which she lay, stared with drowsy curiosity around the

garret and in another instant was sitting bolt upright, alert and tense, as the full flood of memory swept

There was still a meager light creeping in through the small, grimy window panes, but it was the light of

waning day. She must have slept, then, all through the morning and the afternoon, slept the dead, heavy sleep

of exhaustion from the moment she had flung herself down here a few hours before daybreak.

She rose impulsively to her feet. It was strange that she had not been disturbed, that no one had come to the

garret! The recollection of the events of the night before were crowding themselves upon her now. In view of

last night, in view of her failure to keep that appointment in the role of Danglar's wife, it was very strange

Subconsciously she was aware that she was hungry, that it was long since she had eaten, and, almost

mechanically, she prepared herself something now from the store the garret possessed; but, even as she ate,

her mind was far from thoughts of food. From the first night she had come here and selfpreservation had

thrust this miserable role of Gypsy Nan upon her, from that first night and from the following night when, to

save the Sparrow, she had been whirled into the vortex of the gang's criminal activities, her mind raced on

through the sequence of events that seemed to have spanned some vast, immeasurable space of time until

Last night! She had thought it was the end last night, but instead The dark eyes grew suddenly hard and

intent. Yes, she had counted upon last night, when, with the necessary proof in her possession with which to

confront Danglar with the crime of murder, she could wring from the man all that now remained necessary to

substantiate her own story and clear herself in the eyes of the law of that robbery at Skarbolov's antique store

of which she was held guilty and instead she had barely escaped with her life. That was the story of last

Her eyes grew harder. Well, the way was still open, wasn't it? Last night had changed nothing in that respect.

Tonight, as the White Moll, she had only to find and corner Danglar as she had planned to do last night. She

Rhoda Gray's hands clenched tightly. That was all that was necessary just the substantiation of her own

story that the plot to rob Skarbolov lay at the door of Danglar and his gang; or, rather, perhaps, that the plot

was in existence before she had ever heard of Skarbolov. It would prove her own statement of what the dying

woman had said. It would exonerate her from guilt; it would prove that, rather than having any intention of

committing crime, she had taken the only means within her power of preventing one. The real Gypsy Nan,

Danglar's wife, who had died that night, bad, even in eleventhhour penitence, refused to implicate her

criminal associates. There was a crime projected which, unless she, Rhoda Gray, would agree to forestall it in

person and would give her oath not to warn the police about it and so put the actual criminals in jeopardy,

She remembered that night in the hospital. The scene came vividly before her now. The woman's pleading,

the woman's grim loyalty even in death to her pals. She, Rhoda Gray, had given her oath.

It became necessary only to substantiate those facts. Danglar could be made to do it. She had now in her

possession the evidence that would convict him of complicity in the murder of Deemer, and for which murder

the original Gypsy Nan had gone into hiding; she even had in her possession the missing jewels that had

prompted that murder; she had, too, the evidence now to bring the entire gang to justice for their myriad

depredations; she knew where their secret hoard of illgotten gains was hidden here in this attic, behind

that ingeniously contrived trapdoor in the ceiling. She knew all this; and this information placed before the

police, providing only it was backed by the proof that the scheme to rob Skarbolov was to be carried out by

the gang, as she, Rhoda Gray, would say the dying woman had informed her, would be more than enough to

clear her. She had not had this proof on that first night when she had snatched at the mantle of Gypsy Nan as

the sole means of escape from Rough Rorke, of headquarters; she did not have it now but she would have

it, stake all and everything in life she had to have it, for it, in itself, literally meant everything and all and

Danglar would make a written confession, or else or else She smiled mirthlessly. That was all! Last night

she had failed. Tonight she would not fail. Before morning came, if it were humanly within her power, she

And now a pucker came and gathered her forehead into little furrows, and anxiety and perplexity crept into

her eyes. Another thought tormented her. In the exposure that was to come the Adventurer, alias the Pug, was

involved. Was there any way to save the man to whom she owed so much, the splendidly chivalrous,

She pushed the remains of her frugal meal away from her, stood up abruptly from the rickety washstand at

which she had been seated, and commenced to pace nervously up and down the stark, bare garret. Where was

the line of demarcation between right and wrong? Was it a grievous sin, or an infinitely human thing to do, to

warn the man she loved, and give him a chance to escape the net she meant to furnish the police? He was a

thief, even a member of the gang though he used the gang as his puppets. Did ethics count when one who

had stood again and again between her and peril was himself in danger now? Would it be a righteous thing, or

She laughed out shortly. Warn him! Of course, she would warn him! But then what? She shivered a little,

and her face grew drawn and tired. It was the old, old story of the pitcher and the well. It was almost

inevitable that sooner or later, for some crime or another, the man she loved would be caught at last, and

would spend the greater portion of his days behind prison bars. That was what the love that had come into her

life held as its promise to her! It was terrible enough without her agency being the means of placing him

She did not want to think about it. She forced her mind into other channels, though they were scarcely less

disquieting. Why was it that during the day just past there had been not a sign from Danglar or any one of the

gang, when every plan of theirs had gone awry last night, and she had failed to keep her appointment in the

role of Danglar's wife? Why was it? What did it mean? Surely Danglar would never allow what had happened

She halted suddenly by the door to listen, her hand going instinctively to the wide, voluminous pocket of her

greasy skirt for her revolver. Yes, there was a footstep in the hall below, but it was descending now to the

ground floor, not coming up. She even heard the street door close, but still she hung there in a strained, tense

The revolver was gone! Its loss, pregnant with a hundred ominous possibilities, seemed to bring a panic fear

upon her, holding her for a moment inert and then she rushed frantically to the cot. Perhaps it had fallen out

of her pocket during the hours she had lain there asleep. She searched the folds of the soiled and crumpled

blanket, that was the cot's sole covering, then snatched the blanket completely off the cot and shook it; and

then, down on her knees, she searched the floor under the cot. There was no sign of the revolver.

Rhoda Gray stood up, and stared in a stunned way about her. Was this, then, the explanation of her having

seemingly been left undisturbed here all through the day? Had some one, after all, been here, and ? She

shook her head suddenly with a quick, emphatic gesture of dissent. The door was still locked, she could see

the key on the inside; and, besides, as a theory, it wasn't logical. They wouldn't have taken her revolver and

The loss of the revolver was a vital matter. It was her one safeguard; the one means by which she could first

gain and afterwards hold the whiphand over Danglar in the interview she proposed to have with him; the

one means of escape, the last resort, if she herself were cornered and fell into his power. It had sustained her

more than once, that resolution to turn it against herself if she were in extremity. It meant everything to her,

that weapon, and it was gone now; but the panic that had seized upon her was gone too, and she could think

Last night, or rather this morning, when she had made her way back to the shed out there in the lane behind

the garret, she had been in a state of almost utter exhaustion. She had changed from the clothes of the White

Moll to those of Gypsy Nan, but she must have done so almost mechanically for she had no concrete

recollection of it. It was quite likely then, even more than probable, that she had left the revolver in the pocket

of her other clothes; for she had certainly had, not only her revolver, but her flashlight and her skeleton keys

with her when she had visited old Luertz's place last night, and later on too, when she had jumped into that

automobile in front of the Silver Sphinx, she had had her revolver, for she had used it to force the chauffeur

Of course! That was it! She stepped impulsively to the door, and, opening it, made her way quickly down the

stairs to the street. The revolver was undoubtedly in the pocket of her other skirt, and she felt a surge of relief

sweep upon her; but a sense of relief was far from enough. She would not feel safe until the weapon was

again in her possession, and intuitively she felt that she had no time to lose in securing it. She had already

been left too long alone not to make a break in that unaccountable isolation they had accorded her as

something to be expected at any moment. She hurried now down the street to the lane that intervened

between Gypsy Nan's house and the next corner, glanced quickly about her, and, seeing no one in her

immediate vicinity, slipped into the lane. She gained the deserted shed some fifty yards along the lane,

entered through the broken door that hung, half open, on sagging hinges, and, dropping on her knees, reached

in under the decayed and rotting flooring. She pushed aside impatiently the package of jewels, at whose

magnificence she had gazed awestruck and bewildered the night before, and drew out the bundle that

comprised her own clothing. Her hand sought the pocket eagerly. Yes, it was here at least the flashlight

was, and so were the skeleton keys. That was what had happened! She had been near utter collapse last night,

and she had forgotten, and Rhoda Gray, unconscious even that she still held the clothing in her hands, rose

mechanically to her feet. There was a sudden weariness in her eyes as she stared unseeingly about her. Yes,

the flashlight and the keys were here but the revolver was not! Her brain harked back in lightning flashes

over the events of the preceding night. She must have lost it somewhere, then. Where? She had had it in the

automobile, that she knew positively; but after that she did not remember, unless yes, it must have been

that! When she had jumped from the car and flung herself down at the roadside! It must have fallen out of her

Her heart seemed to stand still. Suppose they had found it! They would certainly recognize it as belonging to

Gypsy Nan! They were not fools. The deduction would be obvious the identity of the White Moll would be

solved. Was that why no one had apparently come near her? Were they playing at catandmouse, watching

her before they struck, so that she would lead them to those jewels under the flooring here that were worth a

king's ransom? They certainly believed that the White Moll had them. The Adventurer's note, so ironically

true, that he had intended as an alibi for himself, and which he had exchanged for the package in old Luertz's

place, would have left no doubt in their minds but that the stones were in her possession. Was that it? Were

they She held her breath. It seemed as though suddenly her limbs were refusing to support her weight. In

the soft earth outside she had heard no step, but she saw now a shadow fall athwart the halfopen doorway.

There was no time to move, even had she been capable of action. It seemed as though even her soul had

turned to stone, and, with the White Moll's clothes in her hands, she stood there staring at the doorway, and

something that was greater than fear, because it mingled horror, ugly and forbidding, fell upon her. It was still

just light enough to see. The shadow moved forward and came inside. She wanted to scream, to rush madly in

retreat to the farthest corner of the shed; but she could not move. It was Danglar who was standing there. He

seemed to sway a little on his feet, and the dark, sinister face seemed blotched, and he seemed to smile as

She was helpless, at his mercy, unarmed, saved for her wits. Her wits! Were wits any longer of avail? She

could believe nothing else now except that he had been watching her before he struck.

"What are you doing here, and what are those clothes you've got in your hands?" he rasped out.

She could only fence for time in the meager hope that some loophole would present itself. She forced an

assumed defiance into her tones and manner, that was in keeping with the sort of armed truce, which, from

"You have asked me two questions," she said tartly. "Which one do you want me to answer first?"

"Look here," he snapped, "you cut that out! There's one or two things need explaining see? What are those

Her wits! Perhaps he did not know as much as she was afraid he did! She seemed to have become abnormally

contained, her mind abnormally acute and active. It was not likely that the woman, his wife, whom he

believed she was, had worn her own clothes in his presence since the day, some two years ago, when she had

adopted the disguise of Gypsy Nan; and she, Rhoda Gray, remembered that on the night Gypsy Nan,

reassuming her true personality, had gone to the hospital, the woman's clothes, like these she held now, had

been of dark material. It was not likely that a man would be able to differentiate between those clothes and

the clothes of the White Moll, especially as the latter hung folded in her hands now, and even though he had

"What clothes do you suppose they are but my own? though I haven't had a chance to wear them much

"I had to wear them last night, hadn't I?" she retorted. "I'd have looked well coming out of Gypsy Nan's garret

dressed as myself if any one had seen me! She scowled at him in turn. She was beginning to believe that he

had not even an inkling of her identity. Her safest play was to stake everything on that belief. "Say, what's the

matter with you?" she inquired disdainfully. "I came out here and changed last night; and I changed into these

rags I'm wearing now when I got back again; and I left my own clothes here because I was expecting to get

word that I could put them on again soon for keeps though I might have known from past experience that

something would queer the fine promises you made at Matty's last night! And the reason I'm out here now is

because I left some things in the pocket, amongst them" she stared at him mockingly " my marriage

"Curse you!" he burst out angrily. "When you get your tantrums on, you've got a tongue, haven't you! You'd

have been wearing your clothes now, if you'd have done as you were told. You're the one that queered things

last night." His voice was rising; he was rocking even more unsteadily upon his feet. "Why in hell weren't

Rhoda Gray squinted at him through Gypsy Nan's spectacles. She knew an hysterical impulse to laugh

outright in the sure consciousness of supremacy over him now. The man had been drinking. He was by no

means drunk; but, on the other hand, he was by no means sober and she was certain now that, though she

did not know how he had found her here in the shed, not the slightest suspicion of her had entered his mind.

"You lie!" he said hoarsely. "You weren't! I told you to be there at eleven, and you weren't. You lie! What are

Rhoda Gray dashed the clothes down on the floor at her feet, and faced the man as though suddenly

"Don't you talk to me like that, Pierre Danglar!" she shrilled. "I lie, do I? Well, I'll prove to you I don't! You

said you were going to have supper with Cloran at about eleven o'clock, and perhaps I was a few minutes

after that, but maybe you think it's easy to get all this Gypsy Nan stuff off me face and all, and rig up in my

own clothes that I haven't seen for so long it's a wonder they hold together at all. I lie, do I? Well, just as I got

to the Silver Sphinx, I saw a woman breaking her neck to get down the steps with you after her. She jumped

into the automobile it was doped out I was to take, and you jumped into the other one, and both beat it down

the street. I thought you'd gone crazy. I was afraid that Cloran would come out and recognize me, so I turned

and ran, too. The safest thing I could do was to get back into the Gypsy Nan game again, and that's what I

did. And I've been lying low ever since, waiting to get word from some of you, and not a soul came near me.

You're a nice lot, you are! And now you come sneaking here and call me a liar! How'd you get to this shed,

"My God!" he said heavily. "So that's it, is it?" His voice became suddenly conciliating in its tones. "Look

here, Bertha, old girl, don't get sore. I didn't understand, see? And there was a whole lot that looked queer.

We even lost the jewels at old Luertz's last night. Do you know who that woman was? It was the White Moll!

"The White Moll!" ejaculated Rhoda Gray. And then her laugh, short and jeering, rang out. The tables were

turned. She had him on the defensive now. "You needn't tell me I She got away again, of course! Why don't

you hire a detective to help you? You make me weary! So, it was the White Moll, was it? Well, I'm listening

"There's nothing in that!" he answered impatiently. "There's something more important to talk about. I was

coming over to the garret, and just as I reached the corner I saw you go into the lane. I followed you; that's all

"Oh!" she sniffed. She stared at him for a moment. There was something in which there was the uttermost of

irony now, it seemed, in this meeting between them. Last night she had striven to meet him alone, and she

had meant to devote tonight to the same purpose; and she was here with him now, and in a place than

which, in her wildest hopes, she could have imagined one no better suited to the reckoning she would have

demanded and forced. And she was helpless, powerless to make use of it. She was unarmed. Her revolver

was gone. Without that to protect her, at an intimation that she was the White Moll she would never leave the

shed alive. The spot would be quite as ideal under those circumstances for him, as it would have been under

other circumstances for her. She shrugged her shoulders. Danglar's continued silence evidently invited further

comment on her part. "Oh!" she sniffed again. "And I suppose, then, that you have been chasing the White

Moll ever since last night at eleven, and that's why you didn't get around sooner to allay my fears, even

though you knew I must be half mad with anxiety at the way things broke last night. She'll have us down and

out for keeps if you haven't got brains enough to beat her. How much longer is this thing going on?"

Danglar's little black eyes narrowed. She caught a sudden glint of triumph in them. It was Danglar now who

"Not much longer!" His voice was arrogant with malicious satisfaction. "The luck had to turn, hadn't it? Well,

She felt the color leave her face. It seemed as though something had closed with an icy clutch upon her heart.

She had heard aright, hadn't she? that he had said he had got the White Moll at last. And there was no

mistaking the mans s sinister delight in making that announcement. Had she been premature, terribly

premature, in assuring herself that her identity was still safe as far as he was concerned? Did it mean that,

after all, he had been playing at catandmouse with her, as she had at first feared?

"You you've got the White Moll?" She forced the words from her lips, striving to keep her voice steady and

"Sure!" he said complacently. "The showdown comes tonight. In another hour or so we'll have her where we

"Oh!" She laughed almost hysterically in relief. "I thought so! You haven't got her yet. You're only going to

get her in another hour or so! You make me tired! It's always in 'another hour or so' with you and it never

"It'll come off this time!" he snarled in savage menace. "You hold that tongue of yours! Yes, it'll come off!

And when it does" a sweep of fury sent the red into his working face "I'll keep the promise I made her

"I hear," she said indifferently. "But would you mind telling me how you are going to do it? I might believe

"Damn you, Bertha!" he exploded. "Sometimes I'd like to wring that pretty neck of yours; and sometimes!"

"Never mind about that! This isn't a love scene!" she purred caustically. "And as for the other, save it for the

"I don't think I know." He stood gnawing at his lips, eying her uncertainly, half angrily, half hungrily. And

then he shrugged his shoulders. "Listen!" he said. "I've got some one else, too! And I know now where the

leak that's queered every one of our games and put the White Moll wise to every one of our plans beforehand

has come from. I guess you'll believe me now, won't you? We've got that dude pal of hers fastened up tighter

than the night he fastened me with his cursed handcuffs! Do you know who that same dude pal is?" He

laughed in an ugly, immoderate way. "You don't, of course, so I'll tell you. It's the Pug!" Rhoda Gray did not

answer. It was growing dark here in the shed now perhaps that was why the man's form blended suddenly

into the doorway and wall, and blurred before her. She tried to think, but there seemed to have fallen upon her

a numbed and agonized stupefaction. There was no confusing this issue. Danglar had found out that the

Adventurer was the Pug. And it meant oh, what did it mean? They would kill him. Of course, they would

kill him! The Adventurer, discovered, would be safer at the mercy of a pack of starved pumas, and...

"I thought that would hold you!" said Danglar with brutal serenity. "That's why I didn't get around till now. I

didn't get back from that chase until daylight the shefiend stole our car and then I went to bed to get a

little sleep. About three o'clock this afternoon Pinkie Bonn woke me up. He was half batty with excitement.

He said he was over in the tenement in the Pug's room. The Pug wasn't in, and Pinkie was waiting for him,

and then all of a sudden he heard a woman screaming like mad from somewhere. He went to the door and

looked out, and saw a man dash out of a room across the hall, and burst in the door of the next room. There

was a woman in there with her clothes on fire. She'd upset a coaloil stove, or something. The man Pinkie

had seen beats the fire out, and everybody in the tenement begins to collect around the door. And then Pinkie

goes popeyed. The man's face was the face of the White Moll's dude pal but he had on the Pug's clothes.

Pinkie's a wise guy. He slips away to me without getting himself in the limelight or spilling any beans. And I

didn't ask him if he'd been punching the needle again overtime, either. It fitted like a glove with what

happened at old Luertz's last night. You don't know about that. Pinkie and this doublecrossing snitch went

there and only found a note from the White Moll. He'd tipped her off before, of course, and the note made a

nice little play so's he'd be safe himself with us. Well, that's about all. We had to get him where we wanted

him and we got him. We waited until he showed up again as the Pug, and then we put over a frameup deal

on him that got him to go over to that old iron plant in Harlem, you know, behind Jake Malley's saloon,

where we had it fixed to hand Cloran his last night and the Pug's there now. He's nicely gagged, and tied,

and quite safe. The plant's been shut down for the last two months, and there's only the watchman there, and

he's 'squared.' We gave the Pug two hours of solitary confinement to think it over and come across. We just

asked him for the White Moll's address, so's we could get her and the sparklers she swiped at Old Luertz's

Still Rhoda Gray did not speak for a moment. She seemed to be held in thrall by both terror and a sickening

dismay. It did not seem real, her surroundings here, this man, and the voice that was gloatingly pronouncing

the death sentence upon the man who had come unbidden into her life, and into her heart, the man she loved.

Yes, she understood! Danglar's words had been plain enough. The Adventurer had been trapped not

through Danglar's cunning, or lack of cunning on the Adventurer's own part, but through force of

circumstances that had caused him to fling all thought of selfconsideration to the winds in an effort to save

another's life. Her hands, hidden in the folds of her skirt, clenched until they hurt. And it was another self, it

seemed, subconsciously enacting the role of Gypsy Nan, alias Danglar's wife, who spoke at last.

"You are a fool! You are all fools!" she cried tempestuously. "What do you expect to gain by that? Do you

imagine you can make the Pug come across with any information by a threat to kill him if he doesn't? You

tried that once. You had him cold, or at least you thought you had, and so did he, that night in old Nicky

Viner's room, and he laughed at you even when he expected you to fire the next second. He's not likely to

"No," said Danglar, with a vicious chuckle; "and that's why I'm not trying the same game twice. That's why

There was something she did not like in Danglar's voice, something of ominous assurance, something that

"It's a lonely place," said Danglar complacently. "There's no one around but the watchman, and he's an old

friend of Shluker's; and it's so roomy over there that no one could expect him to be everywhere at once. See?

That let's him out. He's been well greased, and he won't know anything. Don't you worry, old girl! That's

what I came here for to tell you that everything is all right, after all. The Pug will talk. Maybe he wouldn't if

he just had his choice between that and the quick, painless end that a bullet would bring; but there are some

things that a man can't stand. Get me? We'll try a few of those on the Pug, and, believe me, before we're

Rhoda Gray stood motionless. Thank God it had grown dark dark enough to hide the whiteness that she

knew had crept over her face, and the horror that had crept into her eyes. "You mean" her voice was very

"We bump him off, of course," said Danglar callously. "He knows all about us, don't he? And I guess we'll

square up on what's coming to him! He's put the crimp into us for the last time!" Danglar's voice pitched

suddenly hoarse in fury. "That's a hell of a question to ask! What do you think we'd do with a yellow cur

Plead for the Adventurer's life? It was useless; it was worse than useless it would only arouse suspicion

toward herself. From the standpoint of any one of the gang, the Adventurer's life was forfeit. Her mind was

swift, cruelly swift, in its workings now. There came the prompting to disclose her own identity to tell

Danglar that he need not go to the Adventurer to discover the whereabouts of the White Moll, that she was

here now before him; there came the prompting to offer herself in lieu of the man she loved. But that, too,

was useless, and worse than useless; they would still do away with the Adventurer because he had been the

Pug, and the only chance he now had, as represented by whatever she might be able to do, would be gone,

She drew back suddenly. Danglar had stepped toward her. She was unable to avoid him, and his arm

"It's all right, old girl!" he said exuberantly. "You've been through hell, you have; but it's all right at last. You

leave it to me! Your husband's got a kiss to make up for every drop of that grease you've had to put on the

It seemed as though she must scream out. It was hideous. She could not force herself to endure it another

instant even for safety's safe. She pushed him away. It was unbearable at any risk, cost what it might. Mind,

"Not very much," he said. "The celebration hasn't started yet, and you'll be in on that. I guess your nerves

have been getting shaky lately, haven't they? Well, you can figure on the swellest restcure you ever heard

of, Bertha. Take it from me! We're going down to keep the Pug company presently. You blow around to

Matty's about midnight and get the election returns. We'll finish the job after that by getting Cloran out of the

road some way before morning, and that will let you out for keeps there won't be any one left to recognize

the woman who was with Deemer the night he shuffled out." He backed to the doorway. "Get me? Come over

to Matty's and see the rajah's sparklers about midnight. We'll have 'em then and the shefiend, too. So long,

For a moment after Danglar had gone, Rhoda Gray stood motionless; and then, the necessity for instant action

upon her, she moved quickly toward the doorway herself. There was only one thing she could do, just one;

but she must be sure first that Danglar was well started on his way. She reached the doorway, looked out

and suddenly caught her breath in a low, quick inhalation, In the semidarkness she could just make out

Danglar's form, perhaps twentyfive yards away now, heading along the lane toward the street; but behind

Danglar, at a wellguarded distance in the rear, hugging the shadows of the fence, she saw the form of

another man. Her brows knitted in a perplexed and anxious frown. The second man was undoubtedly

She retreated back into the shed, and commenced hastily to disrobe and dress again in her own clothes, which

she had flung down upon the floor. In the last analysis, did it matter who it was that was following Danglar

even if it were one of the police? For, supposing that the man who was shadowing Danglar was a

plainclothes man, and suppose he even followed Danglar and the rest of the gang to the old iron plant, and

suppose that with the necessary assistance he rounded them all up, and in that sense effected the Adventurer's

rescue, it scarcely meant a better fate for the Adventurer! It simply meant that the Adventurer, as one of the

gang, and against whom every one of the rest would testify as the sole means left to them of wreaking their

vengeance upon one who had tricked and outwitted them again and again for his own ends, would stand his

trial with the others, and with the others go behind prison bars for a long term of years.

She hurried now, completing the last touches that transformed her from Gypsy Nan into the veiled figure of

the White Moll, stepped out into the lane, and walking rapidly, reached the street and headed, not in the

direction of Harlem, but deeper over into the East Side. Even as Danglar had been speaking she had realized

that, for the Adventurer's own sake, and irrespective of what any premature disclosure of her own identity to

the authorities might mean to her, she could not call upon the police for aid. There was only one way, just one

to go herself, to reach the Adventurer herself before Danglar returned there and had an opportunity of

Well, she was going there, wasn't she? And if she lost no time she should be there easily ahead of them, and

her chances would be excellent of releasing the Adventurer with very little risk. From what Danglar had said,

the Adventurer was there alone. Once tied and gagged there had been no need to leave anybody to guard him,

save that the watchman would ordinarily serve to keep any one off the premises, which was all that was

necessary. But that he had been left at all worried her greatly. He had, of course, already refused to talk. What

they had done to him she did not know, but the 'solitary confinement' Danglar had referred to was

undoubtedly the first step in their efforts to break his spirit. Her lips tightened as she went along. Surely she

could accomplish it! She had but to evade the watchman only, first, the lost revolver, the one safeguard

against an adverse turn of fortune, must be replaced, and that was where she was going now. She knew, from

her associations with the underworld as the White Moll in the old days, where such things could be purchased

and no questions asked, if one were known. And she was known in the establishment to which she was going,

for evil days had once fallen upon its proprietor, one "Daddy" Jacques, in that he had incurred the enmity of

certain of his own ilk in the underworld, and on a certain night, which he would not be likely to forget, she

had stood between him and a manhandling that would probably have cost him his life, and Yes, this was the

She entered a dirtywindowed, small and musty pawnshop. A little old man, almost dwarflike in stature,

with an unkempt, tawny beard, who wore a greasy and illfitting suit, and upon whose bald head was perched

"I want a gun, and a good one, please," she said, after a glance around her to assure herself that they were

"I haven't got any, lady," he answered. "We're not allowed to sell them without "

"Oh, yes, you have, Daddy," she contradicted quietly, as she raised her veil. "And quick, please; I'm in a

The little old man leaned forward, staring at her for a moment as though fascinated; and then his hand, in a

fumbling way, removed the skull cap from his bead. There was a curious, almost wistful reverence in his

"It's loaded, of course?" she said, as she took the weapon. She slipped it into her pocket as he nodded

"The White Moll!" He seemed still under the spell of amazement. "It is nothing. There is no charge. It is

"Thank you, Daddy!" she said softly and laid a bill upon the counter, and stepped back to the door.

She heard him call to her; but she was already on the street again, and hurrying along. She felt better,

somehow, in a mental way, for that little encounter with the shady old pawnbroker. She was not so much

alone, perhaps, as she had thought; there were many, perhaps, even if they were of the underworld, who had

It brought a new train of thought, and she paused suddenly in her walk. She might rally around her some of

those underworld intimates upon whose allegiance she felt she could depend, and use them now, tonight, in

behalf of the Adventurer; she would be sure then to be a match for Danglar, no matter what turn affairs took.

And then, with an impatient shake of her head, she hurried on again. There was no time for that. It would take

a great deal of time to find and pick her men; she had even wasted time herself, where there was no time to

spare, in the momentary pause during which she had given the thought consideration.

She reached the nearest subway station, which was her objective, and boarded a Harlem train, satisfied that

her heavy veil would protect her against recognition. Unobtrusively she took a window seat. No one paid her

any attention. Hours passed, it seemed to her impatience, while the black walls rushed by, punctuated by

occasional scintillating signal lights, and, at longer intervals, by the fuller glare from the station platforms.

In the neighborhood of 125th street she left the train, and, entering the first drug store she found, consulted a

directory. She did not know this section of New York at all; she did not know either the location or the firm

name of the iron plant to which Danglar, assuming naturally, of course, that she was conversant with it, had

referred; and she did not care to ask to be directed to Jake Malley's saloon, which was the only clew she had

to guide her. The problem, however, did not appear to be a very difficult one. She found the saloon's address,

and, asking the clerk to direct her to the street indicated, left the drug store again.

But, after all, it was not so easy; no easier than for one unacquainted with any locality to find one's way

about. Several times she found herself at fault, and several times she was obliged to ask directions again. She

had begun to grow panicky with fear and dread at the time she had lost, before, finally, she found the saloon.

She was quite sure that it was already more than half an hour since she had left the drug store; and that half an

hour might easily mean the difference between safety and disaster, not only for the Adventurer, but for

herself as well. Danglar might have been in no particular hurry, and he would probably have gone first to

whatever rendezvous he had appointed for those of the gang selected to accompany him, but even to have

done so in a leisurely way would surely not have taken more than that half hour!

Yes, that was Jake Malley's saloon now, across the road from her, but she could not recall the time that was

She quickened her steps almost to a run. There should be no difficulty in finding the iron plant now. "Behind

Jake Malley's saloon," Danglar had said. She turned down the cross street, passed the side entrance to the

saloon, and hastened along. The locality was lonely, deserted, and none too well lighted. The arc lamps,

powerful enough in themselves, were so far apart that they left great areas of shadow, almost blackness,

between them. And the street too was very narrow, and the buildings, such as they were, were dark and

And now she became aware that she was close to the river, for the sound of a passing craft caught her

attention. Of course! She understood now. The iron plant, for shipping facilities, was undoubtedly on the

bank of the river itself, and yes, this was it, wasn't it? this picket fence that began to parallel the

righthand side of the street, and enclose, seemingly, a very large area. She halted and stared at it and

suddenly her heart sank with a miserable sense of impotence and dismay. Yes, this was the place beyond

question. Through the picket fence she could make out the looming shadows of many buildings, and spidery

iron structures that seemed to cobweb the darkness, and and Her face mirrored her misery. She had

thought of a single building. Where, inside there, amongst all those rambling structures, with little time,

She did not try to answer her own question she was afraid that her dismay would get the better of her if she

hesitated for an instant. She crossed the street, choosing a spot between two of the arc lamps where the

shadows were blackest. It was a high fence, but not too high to climb. She reached up, preparatory to pulling

herself to the top and drew back with a stifled cry. She was too late, then already too late! They were here

ahead of her and on guard after all! A man's form, appearing suddenly out of the darkness but a few feet

away, was making quickly toward her. She wrenched her automatic from her pocket. The touch of the

"It's you, ain't it?" he called in guarded eagerness. "It's the White Moll, ain't it? Thank God, it's you!"

Her extended hand with the automatic fell to her side. She had recognized his voice. It wasn't Danglar, it

wasn't one of the gang, or the watchman who was no better than an accomplice; it was Marty Finch, alias the

"I'm here to keep you from goin' in there!" he answered excitedly. "And and, say, I was afraid I was too

late. Don't you go in there! For God's sake, don't you go! They're layin' a trap for you! They're goin' to bump

"I quit my job a few days after that fellow you called Danglar tried to murder me that night you saved me,"

said the Sparrow, with a savage laugh. "I knew he had it in for you, and I guess I had something comm' to

him on my own account too, hadn't I? That's the job I've been on ever since tryin' to find the dirty pup. And

I found him! But it wasn't until tonight, though you can believe me there weren't many joints in the old town

where I didn't look for him. My luck turned tonight. I spotted him comin' out of Italian Joe's bar. See? I

followed him. After a while he slips into a lane, and from the street I saw him go into a shed there. I worked

my way up quiet, and got as near as I dared without bein' heard and seen, and I listened. He was talkin' to a

woman. I couldn't hear everything they said, and they quarreled a lot; but I heard him say something about

framin' up a job to get somebody down to the old iron plant behind Jake Malley's saloon and bump 'em off,

and I heard him say there wouldn't be any White Moll by morning, and I put two and two together and beat it

"Thank you, Marty! You haven't got it quite right though, thank Heaven, you got it the way you did, since

you are here now!" she said fervently. "It wasn't me, it wasn't the White Moll, they expected to get here; it's

the man who helped me that night to clear you of the HaydenBond robbery that Danglar meant to make you

shoulder. He risked his life to do it, Marty. They've got him a prisoner somewhere in there; and they're

coming back to to torture him into telling them where I am, and and afterwards to do away with him.

"Well, then, I guess it's my hunt too," he said coolly. "And I guess this is where a prison bird horns in with

the goods. Ever since I've been looking for that Danglar guy, I've been carryin' a full kit because I didn't

know what might break, or what kind of a mess I might want to get out of. Come on! We ain't got no time.

There's a couple of broken pickets down there. We might be seen climbin' the fence. Come on!"

Bread upon the waters! With a sense of warm gratitude upon her, Rhoda Gray followed the exconvict. They

made their way through the fence. A long, low building, a storage shed evidently, showed a few yards in front

of them. It seemed to be quite close to the river, for now she could see the reflection of lights from here and

there playing on the black, mirrorlike surface of the water. Farther on, over beyond the shed, the yard of the

plant, dotted with other buildings and those spidery iron structures which she had previously noticed,

stretched away until it was lost in the darkness. Here, however, within the radius of one of the street arc

Rhoda Gray had paused in almost hopeless indecision as to how or where to begin her search, when the

"It looks like we got a long hunt," whispered the Sparrow; "but a few minutes before you came, a guy with a

lantern comes from over across the yard there and nosed around that shed, and acted kind of queer, and I

could see him stick his head up against them side doors there as though he was listenin' for something inside.

"Yes!" she breathed tensely. "That was the watchman. He's one of them. The man we want is in that shed

They ran together now, and reached the double sidedoor. It was evidently for freight purposes only, and

probably barred on the inside, for they found there was no way of opening it from without.

"There must be an entrance," she said feverishly and led the way toward the front of the building in the

direction away from the river. "Yes, here it is!" she exclaimed, as they rounded the end of the shed.

She tried the door. It was locked. She felt in her pocket for her skeleton keys, for she had not been unprepared

"Leave it to me!" he said quickly. "I'll pick that lock like one o'clock! It won't take me more'n a minute."

Rhoda Gray did not stand and watch him. Minutes were priceless things, and she could put the minute he

asked for to better advantage than by idling it away. With an added injunction to hurry and that she would be

back in an instant, she was already racing around the opposite side of the shed. If they were pressed,

cornered, by the arrival of Danglar, it might well mean the difference between life and death to all of them if

She was running at top speed. Halfway down the length of the shed she tripped and fell over some object. She

pushed it aside as she rose. It was an old iron casting, more bulky in shape than in weight, though she found it

none too light to lift comfortably. She ran on. A wharf projected out, she found, from this end of the shed. At

the edge, she peered over. It was quite light here again; away from the protecting shadows of the shed, the

rays of the arc lamp played without hindrance on the wharf just as they did on the shed's side door. Below,

some ten or twelve feet below, and at the corner of the wharf, a boat, or, rather, a sort of scow, for it was

larger than a boat though oars lay along its thwarts, was moored. It was partly decked over, and she could see

a small black opening into the forward end of it, though the opening itself was almost hidden by a heap of

tarpaulin, or sailcloth, or something of the kind, that lay in the bottom of the craft. She nodded her head. They

Rhoda Gray turned and ran back. The Sparrow, with a grunt of satisfaction, was just opening the door. She

"Close it!" said Rhoda Gray, under her breath. She felt her heart beat quicken, the blood flood her face and

then recede. Her imagination had suddenly become too horribly vivid. Suppose they they had already gone

With an effort she controlled herself and the round, white ray of her flashlight swept the place. A moment

more, and, with a low cry, she was running forward to where, on the floor near the wall of the shed opposite

the side door, she made out the motionless form of a man. She reached him, and dropped on her knees beside

him. It was the Adventurer. She spoke to him. He did not answer. And then she remembered what Danglar

had said, and she saw that he was gagged. But but she was not sure that was the reason why he did not

answer. The flashlight in her hand wavered unsteadily as it played over him. Perhaps the whiteness of the ray

itself exaggerated it, but his face held a deathly pallor; his eyes were closed; and his hands and feet were

"Give me your knife quick Sparrow!" she called. "Then go and keep watch just outside."

She worked in the darkness now. She could not use both hands and still hold the flashlight; and, besides, with

the door partially open now where the Sparrow was on guard there was always the chance, if Danglar and

those of the gang with him were already in the vicinity, of the light bringing them all the more quickly to the

Again she spoke to the Adventurer, as she removed the gag and a fear that made her sick at heart seized up

on her. There was still no answer. And now, as she worked, cutting at the cords on his hands and feet, the

love that she knew for the man, its restraint broken by the sense of dread and fear at his condition, rose

dominant within her, and impulse that she could not hold in least took possession of her, and in the darkness,

since he would not know, and there was none to see, she bent her head, and, half crying, her lips pressed upon

She drew back startled, a crimson in her face that the darkness hid. What had she done? Did he know? Had he

returned to consciousness, if he really had been unconscious, in time to know? She could not see; but she

"I don't know how you found me, but get away at once for God's sake, get away!" he cried. "Danglar'll be

here at any minute. It's you he wants. He thinks you know where some some jewels are, and that I I "

"I know all about Danglar," she said hurriedly. "And I know all about the jewels, for I've got them myself."

He was up on his knees now, swaying there. She caught at his shoulder to support him.

"You!" he cried out incredulously. "You you've got them? Say that again! You you've "

"Yes," she said, and with an effort steadied her voice. He he was a thief. Cost her what it might, with all its

bitter hurt, she must remember that, even even if she had forgotten once. "Yes," she said. "And I mean to

turn them over to the police, and expose every one of Danglar's gang. I you are entitled to a chance; you

once stood between me and the police. I can do no less by you. I couldn't turn the police loose on the gang

"Try and walk," she said breathlessly. "There isn't any time. And once you are away from here, remember

that when Danglar is in the hands of the police he will take the only chance for revenge he has left, and give

"I can't walk much yet." He was striving to speak coolly. "They trussed me up a bit, you know but I'll be all

right in a little while when I get the cramps out of my joints and the circulation back. And so, Miss Gray,

"They're comm'!" he said excitedly. "They're comm' from a different way than we came in. I saw 'em sway

up there across the yard for a second when they showed up under a patch of light from an arc lamp on the

"Get those side doors open! Quick! And no noise!"' ordered Rhoda Gray tersely. And then to the Adventurer:

The Adventurer made a desperate attempt at a few steps. It was miserably slow. At that rate Danglar would

"I can crawl faster," laughed the Adventurer with bitter whimsicality. "Give me your revolver, Miss Gray,

The Sparrow was opening the side door, but she realized now that even if they could carry the Adventurer

they could not get away in time. Her mind itself seemed stunned for an instant and then, in a lightning

flash, inspiration came. She remembered that iron casting, and the wharf, and the other side of the shed in

shadow. It was desperate, perhaps almost hopeless, but it was the only way that gave the Adventurer a chance

She spoke rapidly. The little margin of time they had must be narrowing perilously.

"Marty, help this gentleman! Crawl to the street, if you have to. The only thing is that you are not to make the

She started toward the front door of the shed; but he reached out and held her back.

"You are going to take the only chance there is for me!" he cried brokenly. "You're going out there where

they are. Oh, my God! I know! You love me! I I was only half conscious, but I am sure you kissed me a

little while ago. And but for this you would never have known that I knew it, because, please God, whatever

else I am, I am not coward enough to take that advantage of you. But I love you, too! Rhoda! I have the right

to speak, the right our love gives me. You are not to go that way. Run run through the side door there

She was trembling. Repudiate her love? Tell him there could be nothing between them because he was a

thief? She might never live to see him again. Her soul was in riot, the blood flaming hot in her cheeks. He

was clinging to her arm. She tore herself forcibly away. The seconds were counting now. She tried to bid him

goodby, but the words choked in her throat. She found herself running for the front door.

"Sparrow quick! Do as I told you!" she half sobbed over her shoulder and opening the door, stepped out

And now Rhoda Gray was in the radius of the arc lamp, and distinctly visible to any one coming down the

yard. How near were they? Yes, she saw them now three formsperhaps a little more than a hundred yards

away. She moved a few steps deliberately toward them, as though quite unconscious of their presence; and

then, as a shout from one of them announced that she was seen, she halted, hesitated as though surprised,

terrified and uncertain, and, as they sprang forward, she turned and ran making for the side of the shed

It was the only way! She had the pack in cry now. They would pay no attention to the Adventurer while the

White Moll was seemingly almost within their grasp. If she could only hold them now for a little while just

a little while the Adventurer wasn't hurt only cramped and numbed he would be all right again and able

to take care of himself in a little while and meanwhile the Sparrow would help him to get away.

She was running with all her speed. She heard them behind her the pound, pound, pound of feet. She had

gained the side of the shed. The light from the arc lamp was shut off from her now, and they would only be

able to see her, she knew, as a dim, fleeting shadow. Where was that iron casting? Pray God, it was heavy

enough; and pray God, it was not too heavy! Yes, here it was! She pretended to stumble and caught the

thing up in her arms. An exultant cry went up from behind her as she appeared to fall oaths, a chorus of

They had not gained on her before; but with the weight in her arms, especially as she was obliged to carry it

awkwardly in order to shield it from their view with her body, she could not run so fast now, and they were

beginning to close up on her. But she was on the wharf now, and there was not much farther to go, and and

The light from the arc lamp held her in view again out here on the wharf where she was clear of the shed; but

she knew they would not fire at her except as a last resort. They could not afford to sound an alarm that

would attract notice to the spot when they had, or believed they had, both the Adventurer and the White

She was running now with short, hard, panting gasps. There were still five yards to gothreeone! She

looked around her like a hunted animal at bay, as she reached the end of the wharf and stood there poised at

the edge. Yes, thank God, they were still far enough behind to give her the few seconds she needed! She cried

out loudly as though in despair and terror and sprang from the edge of the wharf. And as she sprang she

dropped the casting; but even as it struck the water with a loud splash, Rhoda Gray, in frantic haste, was

crawling in through the little lockerlike opening under the deckedover bow of the half scow, half boat into

which she had leaped. And quick as a flash, huddled inside, she reached out and drew the heap of what

A few seconds passed; then she heard them at the edge of the wharf, and heard Danglar s voice.

A queer, wan smile twisted Rhoda Gray's lips. The casting had served her well; the splash had been loud

enough! She listened, straining her ears to catch every sound from above. It was miserably small this hiding

place into which she had crawled, scarcely large enough to hold her she was beginning to be painfully

"She's got to come up, ain't she or drown!" he rasped. "Maybe she's swum under the wharf, or maybe she's

swum under water far enough out so's we can't see her from here. Anyway, jump into that boat there, and

Rhoda Gray held her breath. The boat rocked violently as, one after another, the men jumped into it. Her right

hand was doubled under her, it was hard to reach her pocket and her automatic. She moved a little; they were

cursing, splashing with their oars, making too much noise to hear any slight rustle that she might make.

A minute, two, went by. She had her automatic now, and she lay there, grimlipped, waiting. Even if they

found her now, she had her own way out; and by now, beyond any question, the Adventurer and the Sparrow

would have reached the street, and, even if they had to hide out there somewhere until the Adventurer had

She could not see, of course. Once the boat bumped, and again. They were probably searching around under

the wharf. She could not hear what they said, for they were keeping quiet now, talking in whispers so as not

The time dragged on. Her cramped position was bringing her excruciating agony now. She could understand

how the Adventurer, in far worse case in the brutal position in which they had bound him, had fainted. She

was afraid she would faint herself it was not only the pain, but it was terribly close in the confined space,

Occasionally the oars splashed; and then, after an interminable time, the men, as though hopeless of success,

"It's no use!" he snarled. "If she's a good swimmer, she could get across the river easy. She's got away; that's

sure. What the hell's the good of this? We're playing the fool. Beat it back! She was nosing around the shed.

"If he's gone too, we're crimped! The whole works is bust up! The Pug knows everything, where our money

"Close your face, Pinkie!" It was Danglar speaking, his voice hoarse with uncontrollable rage. "Go on back,

Rhoda Gray heard the hurried splashing of the oars now; and presently she felt the bumping of the boat

against the wharf, and its violent rocking as the men climbed out of it again. But she did not move save

with her hand to push the folds of sailcloth a cautious inch or two away from the opening. It did not ease the

agony she was suffering from her cramped position, but it gave her fresher air, and she could hear better the

The footsteps died away. There was silence then for a moment; and then, faintly, from the direction of the

shed, there came a chorus of baffled rage and execration. She smiled a little wearily to herself. It was all

Still she lay there. She dared not leave the boat yet; but she could change her position now. She crawled half

out from under the docking, and lay with her head on the sailcloth. It was exquisite relief! They could not

come back along the wharf without her hearing them, and she could retreat under the decking again in an

Voices reached her now occasionally from the direction of the shed. Finally a silence fell. The minutes passed

ten fifteen twenty of them. And then Rhoda Gray climbed warily to the wharf, made her way warily

past the shed, and gained the road and threequarters of an hour later, in another shed, in the lane behind

It was almost the end now. Tonight, she would keep the appointment Danglar had given her and keep it

ahead of time. It was almost the end. Her lips set tightly. The Adventurer had been warned. There was

nothing now to stand in the way of her going to the police, save only the substantiation of that one point in

Her transformation completed, she reached in under the flooring and took out the package of jewels they

would help very materially when she faced Danglar! and, though it was somewhat large, tucked it inside

her blouse. It could not be noticed. The black, greasy shawl hid it effectively.

She stepped out into the lane, and from there to the street, and began to make her way across town. She did

not have to search for Danglar tonight. She was to meet him at Matty's at midnight, and it was not more than

halfpast eleven now. Three hours and a half! Was that all since at eight o'clock, as nearly as she could place

it, he had left her in the lane? It seemed as many years; but it was only twenty minutes after eleven, she had

noticed, when she had left the subway on her return a few minutes ago. Her hand clenched suddenly. She was

to meet him at Matty's and, thereafter, if it took all night, she would not leave him until she had got him

alone somewhere and disclosed herself. The man was a coward in soul. She could trust to the effect upon him

Rhoda Gray walked quickly. It was not very far. She turned the corner into the street where Danglar's

deformed brother, Matty, cloaked the executive activities of the gang with his cheap little notion store and

halted abruptly. The store was just ahead of her, and Danglar himself, coming out, had just closed the door.

He saw her, and stepping instantly to her side, grasped her arm roughly and wheeled her about.

The man was in a towering, ungovernable passion. She cast a furtive glance at his face. She had seen him

before in anger; but now, with his lips drawn back and working, his whole face contorted, he seemed utterly

"What's the matter?" she inquired innocently. "Wouldn't the Pug talk, or is it a case of 'another hour or so,'

"Hold your cursed tongue!" he flared. "You'll snicker on the wrong side of your face this time!" He gulped,

stared at her threateningly, and quickened his step, forcing her to keep pace with him. But he spoke again

after a minute, savagely, bitterly, but more in control of himself. "The Pug got away. The White Moll queered

us again. But it's worse than that. The game's up! I told you to be here at midnight. It's only half past eleven

yet. I figured you would still be over in the garret, and I was going there for you. That's where we're going

now. There's no chance at those rajah's jewels now; there's no chance of fixing Cloran so's you can swell it

around in the open again the only chance we've got is to save what we can and beat it!"

"The gang's thrown us down!" he said between his teeth. "They're scared; they've got cold feet they're

going to quit. Shluker and Pinkie were with me at the iron plant. We went back to Matty's from there. Matty's

with them, too. They say the Pug knows every one of us, and every game we've pulled, and that in revenge

for our trying to murder him he'll wise up the police that he could do it easily enough without getting

nipped himself, by sending them a letter, or even telephoning the names and addresses of the whole layout.

They're scared he curs! They say he knows where all our coin is too; and they're for splitting it up tonight,

and ducking it out of New York for a while to get under cover." He laughed out suddenly, raucously. "They

will eh? I'll show them the yellowstreaked pups! They wouldn't listen to me and it meant that you and

I were thrown down for fair. If we're caught, it's the chair. I'll show them! When I saw it wasn't any use trying

to get them to stick, I pretended to agree with them. See? I said they could go around and dig up the rest of

the gang, and if the others felt the same way about it, they were all to come over to the garret, and I'd be

waiting for them, and we'd split up the swag, and everybody'd be on his own after that." Again he laughed

out raucously. "It'll take them half an hour to get together but it won't take that long for us to grab all that's

worth grabbing out of that trapdoor, and making our getaway. See? I'll teach them to throw Pierre Danglar

Her mind was sifting, sorting, weighing what he had said. She was not surprised. She remembered Pinkie

Bonn's outburst in the boat. She walked on beside Danglar. The man was muttering and cursing under his

breath. Well, why shouldn't she appear to fall in with his plans? Under what choicer surroundings could she

get him alone than in the garret? And half an hour would be ample time for her, too! Yes, yes, she began to

see! With Danglar, when she had got what she wanted out of him herself, held up at the point of her

automatic, she could back to the door and lock him in there and notify the police and the police would not

only get Danglar and the illgotten hoard hidden in the ceiling behind that trapdoor, but they would get all

the rest of the gang as the latter in due course appeared on the scene. Yes, why not? She experienced an

exhilaration creeping upon her; she even increased, unconsciously, the rapid pace which Danglar had set.

"That's the stuff!" he grunted in savage approval. "We need every minute we've got."

They reached the house where once so long ago now, it seemed! Rhoda Gray had first found the original

Gypsy Nan; and, Danglar leading, mounted the dark, narrow stairway to the hall above, and from there up the

short, ladderlike steps to the garret. He groped in the aperture under the partition for the key, opened the

door, and stepped inside. Rhoda Gray, following, removed the key, inserted it on the inside of the door, and,

as she too entered, locked the door behind her. It was pitchblack here in the attic. Her face was set now, her

lips firm. She had been waiting for this, hadn't she? It was near the end at last. She had Danglar alone. But

not in the darkness! He was too tricky! She crossed the garret to where the candlestub, stuck in the neck of

Her hand was in the pocket of her skirt now, her fingers tightclosed on the stock of her automatic, as he

shuffled his way across the attic to her side. A match spurted into flame; the candle wick flickered, then

steadied, dispersing little by little, as it grew brighter, the nearer shadows and there came a startled cry from

Danglar and Rhoda Gray, the weapon in her pocket forgotten, was staring as though stricken of her senses

across the garret. The Adventurer was sitting on the edge of the cot, and a revolver in his hand held a steady

"Both of you! What charming luck!" he murmured whimsically. "You'll forgive the intrusion won't you? A

friend of mine, the Sparrow by name I think you are acquainted with him, Danglar was good enough to

open the door for me, and lock it again on the outside. You see, I didn't wish to cause you any alarm through

a premature suspicion that you might have a guest!" His voice hardened suddenly as he rose from the cot,

and, though he limped badly, stepped quickly toward them. "Don't move, Danglar or you, Mrs. Danglar!"

he ordered sharply and with a lightning movement of his hand felt for, and whipped Danglar's revolver

from the latter's pocket. "Pardon me!" he said and his hand was in and out of Rhoda Gray's pocket. He

tossed the two weapons coolly over onto the cot. "Well, Danglar," he smiled grimly, "there's quite a change in

Danglar made no answer. His face was ashen; his little black eyes, like those of a cornered rat, and as though

searching for some avenue of escape, were darting hunted glances all around the garret.

Rhoda Gray, the first shock of surprise gone, leaned back against the washstand with an air of composure that

she did not altogether feel. What was the Adventurer going to do? True, she need have no fear of personal

violence she had only to disclose herself. But but there were other considerations. She saw that reckoning

of her own with Danglar at an end, though yes! perhaps the Adventurer would become her ally in that

matter. But, then, there was something else. The Adventurer was a thief, and she could not let him get away

with those packages of banknotes up there behind the trapdoor in the ceiling, if she could help it. That was

perhaps what he had come for, and and Her mind seemed to tumble into chaos. She did not know what to

do. She stared at the Adventurer. He was still dressed as the Pug, though the eyepatch was gone, and there

"Won't you sit down Mrs. Danglar?" He pushed the single chair the garret possessed toward her and

shrugged his shoulders as she remained motionless. "You'll pardon me, then, if I sit down myself." He

appropriated the chair, and faced them, his revolver dangling with ominous carelessness in his hand. "I've had

a rather upsetting experience this evening, and I am afraid I am still a little the worse for it as perhaps you

"Quite so!" said the Adventurer smoothly. "But we'll get to that in a minute. Do you mind if I inflict a little

story on you? I promise you it won't take long. It's a little personal history which I think will be interesting to

you both; but, in any case, as my hosts, I am sure you will be polite enough to listen. It concerns the murder

of a man named Deemer; but in order that you may understand my interest in the matter, I must go back quite

a little further. Perhaps I even ought to introduce myself. My name, my real name, you know, is David Holt.

My father was in the American Consular service in India when I was about ten. He eventually left it and went

into business there through the advice of a very warm friend of his, a certain very rich and very powerful

rajah in the State of Chota Nagpur in the Province of Bengal, where we then lived. I became an equally

Danglar was like a crouched animal, his head drawn into his shoulders, his hands behind him with fingers

"What's your proposition?" he snarled. "Curse you, name your price, and have done with it! You're as big a

"You are impatient!" The Adventurer's shoulders went up again. "In due time the rajah decided that a trip

through Europe and back home through America would round out his son's education, and broaden and fit

him for his future duties in a way that nothing else would. It was also decided, I need hardly say to my

intense delight, that I should accompany him. We come now to our journey through the United States you

see, Danglar, that I am omitting everything but the essential details. In a certain city in the Middle West I

think you will remember it well, Danglar the young rajah met with an accident. He was out riding in the

outskirts of the city. His horse took fright and dashed for the riverbank. He was an excellent horseman, but,

pitched from his seat, his foot became tangled in the stirrup, and as he hung there head down, a blow from he

horse's hoof rendered him unconscious, and he was being dragged along, when a man by the name of

Deemer, at the risk of his own life, saved the rajah's son. The horse plunged over the bank and into the water

with both of them. They were both nearly drowned. Deemer, let me say in passing, did one of the bravest

things that any man ever did. Submerged, half drowned himself, he stayed with the maddened animal until he

Rhoda Gray, hanging on his words, was leaning tensely forward it seemed as though some great, dawning

wonderment was lifting her out of herself, making her even unconscious of her surroundings.

"The rajah's son remained at the hotel there for several days to recuperate," continued the Adventurer

deliberately; "and during that time he saw a great deal of Deemer, and, naturally, so did I. And, incidentally,

Danglar, though I thought nothing much of it then, I saw something of you; and something of Mrs. Danglar

there, too, though if she will permit me to say it in a more becoming costume than she is now wearing!"

Once more he shrugged his shoulders as Danglar snarled. "Yes, yes; I will hurry. I am almost through. While

it was not made public throughout the country, inasmuch as the rajah's son was more or less an official guest

of the government, the details of the accident were of course known locally, as also was the fact that the

young rajah in token of his gratitude had presented Deemer with a collection of jewels of almost priceless

worth. We resumed our journey; Deemer, who was a man in very moderate circumstances, and who had

probably never had any means in his life before, went to New York, presumably to have his first real holiday,

and, as it turned out, to dispose of the stones, or at least a portion of them. When we reached the coast we

received two advices containing very ill news. The first was an urgent message to return instantly to India on

account of the old rajah's serious illness; the second was to the effect that Deemer had been murdered by a

"I will not attempt to explain to you," he went on, "the young rajah's feelings when he heard that the gift he

had given Deemer in return for his own life had cost Deemer his. Nor will I attempt to explain the racial

characteristics of the people of whom the young rajah was one, and who do not lightly forget or forgive. But

an eye for an eye, Danglar you will understand that. If it cost all he had, there should be justice. He could

not stay himself; and so I stayedbecause he made me swear I would, and because he made me swear that I

"And so I came East again. I remembered you, Danglar that on several occasions when I had come upon

Deemer unawares, you, sometimes accompanied by a woman, and sometimes not, had been lurking in the

background. I went to Cloran, the house detective at the hotel here in New York where Deemer was

murdered. He described the woman. She was the same woman that had been with you. I went to the

authorities and showed my credentials, with which the young rajah had seen to it I was supplied from very

high sources indeed. I did not wish to interfere with the authorities in their handling of the case; but, on the

other hand, I had no wish to sit down idly and watch them, and it was necessary therefore that I should

protect myself in anything I did. I also made. myself known to one of New York's assistant district attorneys,

who was an old friend of my father's. And then, Danglar, I started out after you.

"I discovered you after about a month; then I wormed myself into your gang as the Pug. That took about a

year. I was almost another year with you as an accepted member of the gang. You know what happened

during that period. A little while ago I found out that the woman we wanted with you, Danglar was your

wife, living in hiding in this garret as Gypsy Nan. But the jewels themselves were still missing. Tonight

they are not. A a friend of mine, one very much misjudged publicly, I might say, has them, and has told me

"And so, Danglar, after coming here tonight, I sent the Sparrow out to gather together a few of the

authorities who are interested in the case my friend the assistant district attorney; Cloran, the house

detective; Rough Rorke of headquarters, who on one occasion was very much interested in Gypsy Nan; and

enough men to make the round of arrests. They should be conveniently hidden across the road now, and

waiting for my signal. My idea, you see, was to allow Mrs. Danglar to enter here without having her

suspicions aroused, and to see that she did not get away again if she arrived before those who are duly

qualified which I am not to arrest her did; also, in view of what transpired earlier this evening, I must

confess I was a little anxious about those several years' accumulation of stolen funds up there in the ceiling.

As I said at the beginning, I hardly expected the luck to get you both at the same time; though we should have

"You," Rhoda Gray whispered, "you are not a thief!" Brain and soul seemed on fire. It seemed as though

she had striven to voice those words a dozen times since he had been speaking, but that she had been afraid

afraid that this was not true, this great, wonderful thing, that it could not be true. "You you are not a a

The Adventurer's face lost its immobility. He half rose from his chair, staring at her in a startled way but it

"It's a lie!" he screamed out. "It's a lie!" The man's reason appeared to be almost unhinged; a mad terror

seemed to possess him. "It's all a lie! I never heard of this rajah bunk before in my life! I never heard of

Deemer, or any jewels before. You lie! I tell you, you lie! You can't prove it; you can't "

"But I can," said Rhoda Gray in a low voice. The shawl fell from her shoulders; from her blouse she took the

package of jewels and held them out to the Adventurer. "Here are the stones. I got them from where you had

put them in old Luertz's room. I was hidden there all the time last night." She was removing her spectacles

and her wig of tangled gray hair as she spoke, and now she turned her face full upon Danglar. "I heard you

discuss Deemer's murder with your brother last night, and plan to get rid of Cloran, who you thought was the

"Great God!" The Adventurer cried out. "You Rhoda! The White Moll! I I don't understand, though I can

see you are not the woman who originally masqueraded as Gypsy Nan, for I knew her, as I said, by sight."

He was on his feet now, his face aflame with a great light. He took a step toward her.

"Wait!" she said hurriedly. She glanced at Danglar. The man's face was blanched, his body seemed to have

shriveled up, and there was a light in his eyes as they held upon her that was near to the borderland of

insanity. "That night at Skarbolov's!" she said, and tried to hold her voice in control. "Gypsy Nan, this man's

wife, died that night in the hospital. I had found her here sick, and I had promised not to divulge her secret. I

helped her get to the hospital. She was dying; she was penitent in a way; she wanted to prevent a crime that

she said was to be perpetrated that night, but she would not inform on her accomplices. She begged me to

forestall them, and return the money anonymously the next day. That was the choice I had either to allow

the crime to be carried out, or else swear to act alone in return for the information that would enable me to

keep the money away from the thieves without bringing the police into it. I I was caught. You you saved

me from Rough Rorke, but he followed me. I put on Gypsy Nan's clothes, and managed to outwit him. I had

had no opportunity to return the money, which would have been proof of my innocence; the only way I could

prove it, then, was to try and find the authors of the crime myself. I I have lived since then as Gypsy Nan,

fighting this hideous gang of Danglar's here to try and save myself, and and tonight I thought I could see

my way clear. I I knew enough at last about this man to make him give me a written statement that it was a

prearranged plan to rob Skarbolov. That would substantiate my story. And" she looked again at Danglar;

the man was still crouched there, eying her with that same mad light in his eyes "and he must be made to

"But why didn't you ask me?" cried the Adventurer. "You knew me as the Pug, and therefore must have

"Yes," she said, and turned her head away to hide the color she felt was mounting to her cheeks. "I I

thought of that. But I thought you were a thief, and and your testimony wouldn't have been much good

unless, with it, I could have handed you, too, over to the police, as I intended to do with Danglar; and and

"Rhoda! Rhoda!" There was a glad, buoyant note in the Adventurer's voice. "Yes, I see! Well, I can prove it

for you now without any of those fears on my behalf to worry you! I went to Skarbolov's myself, knowing

their plans, to do exactly what you did. I did not know you then, and, as Rough Rorke, who was there

because, as I heard later, his suspicions had been aroused through seeing some of the gang lurking around the

back door in the lane the night before, had taken the actual money from you, I contrived to let you get away,

because I was afraid that you were some new factor in the game, some member of the gang that I did not

know about, and that I must watch, too! Don't you understand? The jewels were still missing. I had not got

the general warning that was sent out to the gang that night to lay low, for at the last moment it seems that

Danglar here found out that Rough Rorke had suspicions about Skarbolov's place." He came close to her

and with the muzzle of his revolver he pushed Danglar's huddled figure back a little further against the

washstand. "Rhoda you are clear. The assistant district attorney who had your case is the one I spoke of a

few minutes ago. That night at HaydenBond's, though I did not understand fully, I knew that you were the

bravest, truest little woman into whom God had ever breathed the breath of life. I told him the next day there

was some mistake, something strange behind it all. I told him what happened at HaydenBond's. He agreed

with me. You have never been indicted. Your case has never come before the grand jury. And it never will

now! Rhoda! Rhoda! Thank God for you! Thank God it has all come out right, and "

A peal of laughter, mad, insane, horrible in its perverted mirth, rang through the garret. Danglar's hands were

creeping queerly up to his temples. And then, oblivious evidently in his frenzy of the revolver in the

Adventurer's hand, and his eye catching the weapons that lay upon the cot, he made a sudden dash in that

direction and Rhoda Gray, divining his intention, sprang for the cot, too, at the same time. But Danglar

never reached his objective. As Rhoda Gray caught up the weapons and thrust them into her pocket, she

heard Danglar's furious snarl, and whirling around, she saw the two men locked and struggling in each other's

"Show the candle at the window, Rhoda! The Sparrow is waiting for it in the yard below. Then open the door

A sudden terror and fear seized her. The Adventurer was not fit, after what he had been through tonight to

cope with Danglar. He had been limping badly even a few minutes ago. It seemed to her, as she rushed across

the garret and snatched up the candle, that Danglar was getting the best of it even now. And the Adventurer

could have shot him down, and been warranted in doing it! She reached the window, waved the candle

frantically several times across the pane, then setting the candle down on the window ledge, she ran for the

She looked back again, as she turned the key in the lock. With a crash, pitching over the chair, both men went

to the floor and the Adventurer was underneath. She cried out in alarm, and wrenched the door open and

They couldn't be coming already! The Sparrow hadn't had time even to get out of the yard. But there were

footsteps in the hall below, many of them. She stepped out on the landing; it was too dark to see, but...

A sudden yell as she showed even in the faint light of the open garret door, the quicker rush of feet, reached

"The White Moll! That's her! The White Moll!" She flung herself flat down, wrenching both the automatic

and the revolver from her pocket. She understood now! That was Pinkie Bonn's voice. It was the gang

arriving to divide up the spoils, not the Sparrow and the police. Her mind was racing now with lightning

speed. If they got her, they would get the Adventurer in there, too, before the police could intervene. She

must hold this little landing where she lay now, hold those short, ladderlike steps that the oncoming

Yells answered her. A vicious tongueflame from a revolver, another and another, leaped out at her from the

black below; the spat, spat of bullets sounded from behind her as they struck the walls.

Again she fired. They were at least more cautious now in their rush no one seemed anxious to be first upon

the stairs. She cast a wild glance through the open door into the garret at her side. The two forms in there, on

their feet again, were spinning around and around with the strange, lurching gyrations of automatons and

then she saw the Adventurer whip a terrific blow to Danglar's face and Danglar fall and lie still and the

But faces were showing now above the level of the floor, and there was suddenly an increased uproar from

She jumped to her feet. Two of the gang had reached the landing and were smashing at the Adventurer. There

seemed to be a swirling mob in riot there below. The Adventurer was fighting like a madman. It was hand to

"Oh, no, you don't!" It was Skeeny she could see the man's brutal face now. "Oh, no, you don't, you

shedevil!" he shouted, and, overreaching the Adventurer's guard, struck at her furiously with his clubbed

It struck her a glancing blow on the head, and she reeled and staggered, but recovered herself. And now it

seemed as though it were another battle that she fought and one more desperate; a battle to fight back a

horrible giddiness from overpowering her, and with which her brain was swimming, to fight it back for just a

second, the fraction of a second that was needed until until "Jump!" she cried again, and staggered over

the threshold, and, as the Adventurer leaped backward beside her, she slammed the door, and locked it and

When she regained consciousness she was lying on the cot. It seemed very still, very quiet in the garret. She

opened her eyes. It it must be all right, for that was the Sparrow standing there watching her, and shifting

nervously from foot to foot, wasn't it? He couldn't be there, otherwise. She held out her hand.

"Marty," she said, and smiled with trembling lips, "we we owe you a great deal."

"Gee, you're all right again! They said it wasn't nothin', but you had me scared worse'n down at the iron plant

when I had to do the rough act with that gent friend of yours to stop him from crawlin' after you and fightin' it

out, and queerin' the whole works. You don't owe me nothin', Miss Gray; and, besides, I'm gettin' a lot more

than is comm' to me, 'cause that same gent friend of yours there says I'm goin' to horn in on the rewards, and I

guess that's goin' some, for they got the whole outfit from Danglar down, and the stuff up in the ceiling there,

"Yes," she said. "Quite! Only I I'd like to get away from here, from this this horrible place at once, and

"Me? Sure! Of course! Sure!" said the Sparrow hurriedly, and retreated through the door.

"Yes," said the Adventurer. "But I shooed them all out, as soon as we found you were not seriously hurt. I

thought you had had enough excitement for one night. He wants to see you in the morning."

He was smiling at her. His hands reached out and took her face between them, and made her look at him.

"Rhoda," he said gently, "I knew tonight in the iron plant that you cared. I told him so. What he wants to see

you for is to tell you that he thinks I am the luckiest man in all the world. You are clear, dear. Even Rough

Rorke is singing your praises; he says you are the only woman who ever put one over on him."

She did not answer for a moment; and then with a little sob of glad surrender she buried her face on his

"It it is very wonderful," she said brokenly, "for for even we, you and I, each thought the other a a

"And so we were, thank God!" he whispered and lifted her head until now his lips met hers. "We were both

thieves, Rhoda, weren't we? And, please God, we will be all our lives for we have stolen each other's