of　Danglar！　　She　dared　not　trust　the　man。　　She　could　not　absolve
  her　conscience　by　staking　another's　life　on　a　hazard；　on　the
  supposition　that　the　Adventurer　might　do　this　or　that。　　It　was　not
  good　enough。
  She　was　quick　in　her　movements　now。　　Subconsciously　her　decision
  had　been　made。　　There　was　only　one　way　…　only　one。　　She　gathered　up
  the　jewels　from　the　bed　and　thrust　them；　with　the　Adventurer's　torn
  piece　of　paper；　into　her　pocket。　　And　now　she　reached　for　the
  little　notebook　that　she　had　hidden　under　the　blanket。　　It　contained
  the　gang's　secret　code；　and　she　had　found　it　in　the　cash　box　in
  Gypsy　Nan's　strange　hiding　place　that　evening。　　Half　running　now；
  carrying　the　candle；　she　started　toward　the　lower　end　of　the　attic；
  where　the　roof　sloped　down　to　little　more　than　shoulder　high。
  〃Seven…Three…Nine！〃　Danglar　had　almost　decoded　the　message　word　for
  word　in　the　course　of　his　conversation。　　In　the　little　notebook；　set
  against　the　figures；　were　the　words：　〃Danger。　　The　game　is　off。
  Make　no　further　move。〃　　It　was　only　one　of　many；　that　arbitrary
  arrangement　of　figures；　each　combination　having　its　own　special
  significance；　but；　besides　these；　there　was　the　key　to　a　complete
  cipher　into　which　any　message　might　be　coded；　and　…　But　why　was　her
  brain　swerving　off　at　inconsequential　tangents？　　What　did　a　coder　or
  code　book；　matter　at　the　present　moment？
  She　was　standing　under　the　narrow　trap…door　in　the　low　ceiling　now；
  and　now　she　pushed　it　up；　and　lifting　the　candle　through　the
  opening；　set　it　down　on　the　inner　surface　of　the　ceiling；　which；
  like　some　vast　shelf；　Gypsy　Nan　had　metamorphosed　into　that
  exhaustive　storehouse　of　edibles；　of　plunder　…　a　curious　and　sinister
  collection　that　was　eloquent　of　a　gauntlet　long　flung　down　against
  the　law。　　She　emptied　the　pocket　of　her　skirt；　retaining　only　the
  revolver；　and　substituted　the　articles　she　had　removed　with　the　tin
  box　that　contained　the　dark　compound　Gypsy　Nan；　and　she　herself；　as
  Gypsy　Nan；　had　used　to　rob　her　face　of　youthfulness；　and　give　it　the
  grimy；　dissolute　and　haggard　aspect　which　was　so　simple　and　yet　so
  efficient　a　disguise。
  She　worked　rapidly　now；　changing　her　clothes。　　She　could　not　go；　or
  act；　as　Gypsy　Nan；　and　so　she　must　go　in　her　own　character；　go　as
  the　White　Moll　…　because　that　was　the　lesser　danger；　the　one　that
  held　the　only　promise　of　success。　　There　wasn't　any　other　way。　　She
  could　not　very　well　refuse　to　risk　her　capture　by　the　police；　could
  she；　when　by　so　doing　she　might　save　another's　life？　　She　could　not
  balance　in　cowardly　selfishness　the　possibility　of　a　prison　term　for
  herself；　hideous　as　that　might　be；　against　the　penalty　of　death
  that　the　Sparrow　would　pay　if　she　remained　inactive。　　But　she　could
  not　leave　here　as　the　White　Moll。　　Somewhere；　somewhere　out　in　the
  night；　somewhere　away　from　this　garret　where　all　connection　with　it
  was　severed；　she　must　complete　the　transformation　from　Gypsy　Nan　to
  the　White　Moll。　　She　could　only　prepare　for　that　now　as　best　she
  could。
  And　there　was　not　a　moment　to　lose。　　The　thought　made　her　frantic。
  Over　her　own　clothes　she　put　on　again　Gypsy　Nan's　greasy　skirt；　and
  drew　on　again；　over　her　own　silk　ones；　Gypsy　Nan's　coarse　stockings。
  She　put　on　Gypsy　Nan's　heavy　and　disreputable　boots；　and　threw　the
  old　shawl　again　over　her　head　and　shoulders。　　And　then；　with　her
  hat　…　for　the　small　shape　of　which　she　breathed　a　prayer　of
  thankfulness！　…　and　her　own　shoes　under　her　arm　and　covered　by　the
  shawl；　she　took　the　candle　again；　closed　the　trap…door；　and　stepped
  over　to　the　washstand。　　Here；　she　dampened　a　rag；　that　did　duty　as
  a　facecloth；　and　thrust　it　into　her　pocket；　then；　blowing　out　the
  candle；　she　groped　her　way　to　the　door；　locked　it　behind　her；　and
  without　any　attempt　at　secrecy　made　her　way　downstairs。
  VI。　　THE　RENDEZVOUS
  Rhoda　Gray's　movements　were　a　little　unsteady　as　she　stepped　out
  on　the　sidewalk。　Gypsy　Nan's　accepted　inebriety　was　not　without
  its　compensation。　　It　enabled　her；　as　she　swayed　for　a　moment；　to
  scrutinize　the　street　in　all　directions。　　Were　any　of　Rough　Rorke's
  men　watching　the　house？　　She　did　not　know；　she　only　knew　that　as
  far　as　she　had　been　able　to　discover；　she　had　not　been　followed
  when　she　had　gone　out　that　afternoon。　　Up　the　street；　to　her　right；
  there　were　a　few　pedestrians；　to　her　left；　as　far　as　the　corner；
  the　block　was　clear。　　She　turned　in　the　latter　direction。　　She
  had　noticed　that　afternoon　that　there　was　a　lane　between　Gypsy　Nan's
  house　and　the　corner；　she　gained　this　and　slipped　into　it　unobserved。
  And　now；　in　the　comparative　darkness；　she　hurried　her　steps。
  Somewhere　here　in　the　lane　she　would　make　the　transformation　from
  Gypsy　Nan　to　the　White　Moll　complete；　it　required　only　some　place
  in　which　she　could　with　safety　leave　the　garments　that　she　discarded；
  and　…　Yes；　this　would　do！　　A　tumble…down　old　shed；　its　battered　door
  half　open；　ample　proof　that　the　place　was　in　disuse；　intersected
  the　line　of　high　board　fence　on　her　right。
  She　stole　inside。　　It　was　utterly　dark；　but　she　had　no　need　for
  light。　　It　was　a　matter　of　perhaps　three　minutes；　and　then；　the
  revolver　transferred　to　the　pocket　of　her　jacket；　the　stains　removed
  from　her　face　by　the　aid　of　the　damp　cloth；　her　hands　neatly　gloved
  in　black　kid；　the　skirt；　boots；　stockings；　shawl；　spectacles　and
  wig　of　Gypsy　Nan　carefully　piled　together　and　hidden　in　a　hole　under
  the　rotting　boards　of　the　floor；　behind　the　door；　she　emerged　as　the
  White　Moll；　and　went　on　again。
  But　at　the　end　of　the　lane；　where　it　met　a　cross　street；　and　the
  street　lamp　flung　out　an　ominous　challenge；　and；　dim　though　it　was；
  seemed　to　glare　with　the　brightness　of　daylight；　she　faltered　for
  a　moment　and　drew　back。　　She　knew　where　Shluker's　place　was；　because
  she　knew；　as　few　knew　it；　every　nook　and　cranny　in　the　East　Side；
  and　it　was　a　long　way　to　that　old　junk　shop；　almost　over　to　the　East
  River；　and　…　and　there　would　be　lights　like　this　one　here　that　barred
  her　exit　from　the　lane；　thousands　of　them；　lights　all　the　way；　and
  …　and　out　there　they　were　searching　everywhere；　pitilessly；　for　the
  White　Moll。
  And　then；　with　her　lips　tightened；　the　straight　little　shoulders
  thrown　resolutely　back；　she　slipped　from　the　lane　to　the　sidewalk；
  and；　hugging　the　shadows　of　the　buildings；　started　forward。
  She　was　alert　now　in　mind　and　body；　every　faculty　strained　and　in
  tension。　　It　was　a　long　way；　and　it　would　take　a　great　while　…　by
  wide　detours；　by　lanes　and　alleyways；　for　only　on　those　streets　that
  were　relatively　deserted　and　poorly　lighted　would　she　dare　trust
  herself　to　the　open。　　And　as　she　went　along；　now　skirting　the　side
  of　a　street；　now　through　some　black　courtyard；　now　forced　to　take
  a　fence；　and　taking　it　with　the　agility　born　of　the　open；　athletic
  life　she　had　led　with　her　father　in　the　mining　camps　of　South
  America；　now　hiding　at　the　mouth　of　a　lane　waiting　her　chance　to
  cross　an　intersecting　street　when　some　receding　footstep　should　have
  died　away；　the　terror　of　delay　came　gripping　at　her　heart　with　an
  icy　clutch；　submerging　the　fear　of　personal　peril　in　the　agony　of
  dread　that；　with　her　progress　so　slow；　she　would；　after　all；　be　too
  late。　　And　at　times　she　almost　cried　out　in　her　vexation　and　despair；
  as　once；　when　crouched　behind　a　door…stoop；　a　policeman；　not　two
  yards　from　her；　stood　and　twirled　his　night　stick　under　the　street
  lamp　while　the　minutes　sped　and　raced　themselves　away。
  When　she　could　run；　she　ran　until　it　seemed　her　lungs　must　burst；
  but　it　was　slow　progress　at　best；　and　always　the　terror　grew　upon
  her。　　Had　Danglar　met　the　men　yet　who　had　looted　the　millionaire's
  safe？　　Had　he　already　joined　Skeeny　in　that　old　room　behind　Shluker's
  place？　　Had　the　Sparrow　…　She　would　not　let　her　mind　frame　that
  question　in　concrete　words。　　The　Sparrow！　　His　real　name　was　Martin；
  Martin　Finch　…　Marty；　for　short。　　Times　without　number　she　had
  visited　the　sick　and　widowed　mother　…　while　the　Sparrow　had　served
  a　two…years'　sentence　for　his　first　conviction　in　safe…breaking。
  The　Sparrow；　from　a　first…class　chauffeur　mechanic；　had　showed　signs
  of　becoming　a　first…class　cracksman；　it　was　true；　but　the　Sparrow
  was　young；　and　she　had　never　believed　that　he　was　inherently　bad。
  Her　opinion　had　been　confirmed　when；　some　six　months　ago；　on　his
  release；　listening　both　to　her　own　pleadings　and　to　those　of　his
  mother；　the　Sparrow　had　sworn　that　he　would　stick　to　the　〃straight
  and　narrow。〃　　And　Hayden…Bond；　the　millionaire；　referred　to　by　a
  good　many　people　as　eccentric；　had　further　proved　his　claims　to
  eccentricity　in　the　eyes　of　a　good　many　people　by　giving　a　prison
  bird　a　chance　to　make　an　honest　living；　and　had　engaged　the　Sparrow
  as　his　chauffeur。　　It　was　a　vile　and　an　abominable　thing　that　they
  were　doing；　even　if　they　had　not　planned　to　culminate　it　with　murder。
  What　chance　would　the　Sparrow　have　had！
  It　had　taken　a　long　time。　　She　did　not　know　how　long；　as；　at　last；
  she　stole　unnoticed　into　a　black　and　narrow　driveway　that　led　in；
  between　two　blocks　of　down…at…the…heels　tenements；　to　a　courtyard
  in　the　rear。　　Shluker　had　his　junk　shop　here。　　Her　lips　pursed　up
  as　though　defiant　of　a　tinge　of　perplexi