Last night had changed nothing in that respect。 To…night； as the
White Moll； she had only to find and corner Danglar as she had
planned to do last night。 She had still only to get the man alone
somewhere。
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 eleventh…hour 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； would go on to its
fulfillment！
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 ill…gotten gains was hidden … here in this attic； behind
that ingeniously contrived trap…door 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。 To…night she would not fail。 Before morning came； if it
were humanly within her power； she and Danglar would have played
out their game … to the end。
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； high…couraged
gentleman she loved； the thief she abhorred？
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 an act of
despicable ingratitude； to trap him with the rest？
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
there！
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 to pass unchallenged； and … was
that some one now？
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 way； and into her face there came creeping a gray dismay。 Her
pocket was empty。
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 left
her placidly asleep！
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 whip…hand 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 rationally and collectively again。
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 out of the car … and she had no
one of those articles now。
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 awe…struck 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
pocket then。
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 cat…and…mouse； watching her
before they struck； so that she would lead them to tho