a degree.

Suppose she refused to go?

"What did you mean by 'after to-night'?" she asked again.

"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 clean-up.
To-morrow 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 friend!"

The creature flung a bitter smile at her, and lurched on.

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.

There was no longer any question as to whether she would go or not.

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 to-night--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 she possessed that revolver and, if
the need came, turned it upon herself.

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