or without too much trouble?"

Danglar resumed his pacing back and forth, but more slowly now.

"Oh, I know! I know, Bertha!" he burst out heavily. "I'm talking through
my hat. You've got the roughest job of any of us, old girl. Don't mind
what I'm saying. Something's badly wrong, and I'm half crazy. It's
certain now that the White Moll's the one that's been doing us, and what
I really came down here for to-night was to tell you that your job from
now on was to get the White Moll. You helped her last night. She doesn't
know you are anybody but Gypsy Nan, and so you're the one person in New
York she'll dare try to communicate with sooner or later. Understand?
That's what I came for, not to talk like a fool--but that fellow I found
here started me off. Who is he? What did he want?"

"He wanted the White Moll, too," said Rhoda Gray, with a short laugh.

"Oh, he did, eh!" Danglar's lips twisted into a sudden, merciless smile.
"Well, go on! Who is he?"

"I don't know who he is," Rhoda Gray answered a little impatiently. "He
said he was an adventurer--if you can make anything out of that. He said
he got the White Moll away from Rough Rorke last night, after Rorke had
arrested her; and then he doped the rest out the same as you have--that
he could find the White Moll again through Gypsy Nan. I don't know what
he wanted her for."

"That's better!" snarled Danglar, the merciless smile still on his lips.
"I thought she must have had a pal, and we know now who her pal is. It's
open and shut that she's sitting so tight she hasn't been able to get
into touch with him, and that's what's worrying Mr. Adventurer."

Rhoda Gray, save for a nod of her head, made no answer.

Danglar laughed suddenly, as though in relief; then, coming closer to
the bed, plunged his hand into his coat pocket, and tossed handful of
jewelry carelessly into Rhoda Gray's lap.

"I feel better than I did!" he said, and laughed again. "It's a cinch
now that we'll get them both through you, and it s a cinch that the
White Moll won't cut in to-night. Put those sparklers away with the rest
until we get ready to 'fence' them."

Rhoda Gray did not speak. Mechanically, as though she were living
through some hideous nightmare, she began to scoop up the gems from her
lap and allow them to trickle back through her fingers. They flashed and
scintillated brilliantly, even in the meager light. They seemed alive
with some premonitory, baleful fire.

"Yes, there's so