's going to let me shed this Gypsy Nan stuff for keeps?"

"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 to-morrow or the next day, or
whenever you damned please; but to-night there ain't any more time for
scrapping. Now, listen! I handed you a rap about beating it with the
empty money-belt the night you croaked Deemer with an overdose of
knockout drops in the private dining-room 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 underworld. That puts us straight, you and me, don't it, Bertha?"

Rhoda Gray blinked at the man through her spectacles; her brain was
whirling in a mad turmoil. "I always liked you, Matty," she whispered
softly.

Danglar was lolling back in his chair, blowing smoke rings into the air.
She caught his eyes fixed quizzically upon her.

"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 half-closed
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 th