e Adventurer. "But, at that,
it is extremely well done." He held out the torn piece of paper to Rhoda
Gray.

"If"--he smiled significantly--"if, by any good fortune, you see the
White Moll again, please give her this and let her decide for herself.
It is a telephone number. She can always reach me there by asking
for--the Adventurer." He was still extending the piece of paper.
"Quick!" he whispered, as the door knob rattled.

V. A SECOND VISITOR

Mechanically Rhoda Gray thrust the paper into the pocket of her skirt.
The door swung open. A tall man, well dressed, as far as could be seen
in the uncertain light, a slouch hat pulled far down over his eyes,
stood on the threshold, surveying the interior of the garret.

The Adventurer rose composedly to his feet--and moved slightly back out
of the direct radius of the candlelight.

There was silence for a moment, and then the man in the doorway laughed
unpleasantly.

"Hello!" he flung out harshly. "Who's the dude, Nan?"

Rhoda Gray, on the edge of the bed, shrugged her shoulders. The
Adventurer was standing quite at his ease, his soft hat tucked under his
right arm, his hand thrust into the side pocket of his coat. She could
no longer see his face distinctly.

"Well?" There was a snarl in the man's voice as he advanced from the
doorway. "You heard me, didn't you? Who is he?"

"Why don't youse ask him yerself?" inquired Rhoda Gray truculently. "I
dunno."

"You don't, eh?" The man had halted close to where the candle stood on
the floor between himself and the Adventurer. "Well, then, I guess we'll
find out!" He was peering in the Adventurer's direction, and now there
came a sudden savage scowl to his face. "It seems to me I've seen those
clothes somewhere before, and I guess now we'll take a look at your face
so that there won't be any question about recognition the next time we
meet."

The Adventurer laughed softly.

"There will be none on my part," he said calmly. "It's Danglar, isn't
it? I am surely not mistaken. Parson Danglar, alias--ah! Please don't do
that!"

It seemed to Rhoda Gray that it happened in the space of time it might
take a watch to tick: The newcomer stooping to the floor, and lifting
the candle with the obvious intention of thrusting it into the
Adventurer's face--a glint of metal, as the Adventurer whipped a
revolver from the side pocket of his coat--and then, how they got there
she could not tell, it was done so adroitly and swiftl