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 that, no more!

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 top of her voice:

"Run, dearie, run! Run!" She was scuffling with her feet, clattering the
chair, as she wrenched the door open. And then, in her own voice: "Nan,
I won't! I won't let you stand for this, I--"

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 the absence of flying footers on the stairs. "Run, dearie, run!
Run!"

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.

"The key! Give me that key!" he roared.

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 beside himself with rage.

"Damn you, if I had time, I'd wring your neck for this, you she-devil!"
he bawled-and raced back, evidently for the candle on the washstand.

Rhoda Gray, sprawled on the floor where he had thrown her, did not
move-except to take the revolver from the pocket of her dress. She was
crooning queerly to herself, as she watched Rough Rorke light the candle
and grope around on the floor:

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

She sat up suddenly, snarling. Rorke had found the key, left the bottle
with the short stub of guttering candle standing on the floor, and was
back again.

"By God!" he gritted through his teeth, as he jabbed the key with
frantic haste into the lock. "I'll fix you for this!" He made a clutch
at her throat, as he swung the door open.

She jerked herself backwar