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 to-night. 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 she-fiend's another
story. We're not planting plum trees for her to pick any more of the
fruit. Understand?"

She answered him mechanically.

"Yes," she said.

"All right, then; that end of it is up to you," he said significantly.
"You're clever, clever as the devil, Bertha. Use your brains now--we
need 'em. Good-night, old girl. See you later."

"Good-night," said Rhoda Gray dully.

The door closed. The short, ladder-like steps to the hallway below
creaked once, and then all was still. Danglar did have on rubber-soled
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 were
going to kill a man to-night--an innocent man whom they had made their
pawn.

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
there.

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