andle down upon the chair and began to pace restlessly, three or four
steps each way, up and down in front of the bed.

Rhoda Gray, from the edge of the bed, shifted back until her shoulders
rested against the wall. Danglar, too, was dressed like a gentleman--but
Danglar's face was not appealing. The little round black eyes were
shifty, they seemed to possess no pupils whatever, and they roved
constantly; there was a hard, unyielding thinness about the lips, and
the face itself was thin, almost gaunt, as though the skin had had to
accommodate itself to more than was expected of it, and was elastically
stretched over the cheek-bones.

"Well, I'm listening!" jerked out the man abruptly. "You knew our game
at Skarbolov's was queered. You got the 'seven-three-nine,' didn't you?"

"Yes, of course, I got it," answered Rhoda Gray. "What about it?"

"For two weeks now, yes, more than two weeks"--the man's voice rasped
angrily--"things have been going wrong, and some one has been butting in
and getting away with the goods under our noses. We know now, from last
night, that it must have been the White Moll, for one, though it's not
likely she worked all alone. Skeeny dropped to the fact that the police
were wise about Skarbolov's, and that's why we called it off, and the
'seven-three-nine' went out. They must have got wise through shadowing
the White Moll. See? Then they pinch her, but she makes her get-away,
and comes here, and, if the dope I've got is right, you hand Rough
Rorke one, and help her to beat it again. It looks blamed funny--doesn't
it?--when you come to consider that there's a leak somewhere!"

"Is that so!" Rhoda Gray flashed back. "And did you know before last
night that it was the White Moll who was queering our game?"

"If I had," the man gritted between his teeth, "I'd--"

"Well, then, how did you expect me to know it?" demanded Rhoda Gray
heatedly. "And if the White Moll happens to know Gypsy Nan, as she knows
everybody else through her jellies and custards and fake charity, and
happens to be near here when she gets into trouble, and beats it for
here with the police on her heels, and asks for help, what do you expect
Gypsy Nan's going to do if she wants to stand any chance of sticking
around these parts--as Gypsy Nan?"

The man paused in his walk, and, jerking back his hat, drew his hand
nervously across his forehead.

"You make me tired!" said Rhoda Gray wearily. "Do you think you could
find the do