The　garret！　　The　garret　again　…　and　Gypsy　Nan！　　Her　surroundings
  seemed　to　become　a　blank　to　her；　her　actions　to　be　prompted　by　some
  purely　mechanical　sense。　　She　was　conscious　only　that　finally；　after
  an　interminable　time；　she　was　in　New　York　again；　and　after　that；
  long；　long　after　that；　dressed　as　Gypsy　Nan；　she　was　stumbling　up
  the　dark；　ladder…like　steps　to　the　attic。
  How　her　footsteps　dragged！　　She　opened　the　door；　staggered　inside；
  locked　the　door　again；　and　staggered　toward　the　cot；　and　dropped
  upon　it；　and　the　gray　dawn　came　in　with　niggardly　light　through
  the　grimy　little　window　panes；　as　though　timorously　inquisitive
  of　this　shawled　and　dissolute　figure　prone　and　motionless；　this
  figure　who　in　other　dawns　had　found　neither　sleep　nor　rest　…　this
  figure　who　lay　there　now　as　one　dead。
  XVIII。　　THE　OLD　SHED
  Rhoda　Gray　opened　her　eyes；　and；　from　the　cot　upon　which　she　lay；
  stared　with　drowsy　curiosity　around　the　garret　…　and　in　another
  instant　was　sitting　bolt　upright；　alert　and　tense；　as　the　full　flood
  of　memory　swept　upon　her。
  There　was　still　a　meager　light　creeping　in　through　the　small；　grimy
  window　panes；　but　it　was　the　light　of　waning　day。　　She　must　have
  slept；　then；　all　through　the　morning　and　the　afternoon；　slept　the
  dead；　heavy　sleep　of　exhaustion　from　the　moment　she　had　flung
  herself　down　here　a　few　hours　before　daybreak。
  She　rose　impulsively　to　her　feet。　　It　was　strange　that　she　had　not
  been　disturbed；　that　no　one　had　come　to　the　garret！　　The　recollection
  of　the　events　of　the　night　before　were　crowding　themselves　upon　her
  now。　　In　view　of　last　night；　in　view　of　her　failure　to　keep　that
  appointment　in　the　role　of　Danglar's　wife；　it　was　very　strange
  indeed　that　she　had　been　left　undisturbed！
  Subconsciously　she　was　aware　that　she　was　hungry；　that　it　was　long
  since　she　had　eaten；　and；　almost　mechanically；　she　prepared　herself
  something　now　from　the　store　the　garret　possessed；　but；　even　as　she
  ate；　her　mind　was　far　from　thoughts　of　food。　　From　the　first　night
  she　had　come　here　and　self…preservation　had　thrust　this　miserable
  role　of　Gypsy　Nan　upon　her；　from　that　first　night　and　from　the
  following　night　when；　to　save　the　Sparrow；　she　had　been　whirled
  into　the　vortex　of　the　gang's　criminal　activities；　her　mind　raced
  on　through　the　sequence　of　events　that　seemed　to　have　spanned　some
  vast；　immeasurable　space　of　time　until　they　had　brought　her　to
  …　last　night。
  Last　night！　　She　had　thought　it　was　the　end　last　night；　but　instead
  …　　The　dark　eyes　grew　suddenly　hard　and　intent。　　Yes；　she　had
  counted　upon　last　night；　when；　with　the　necessary　proof　in　her
  possession　with　which　to　confront　Danglar　with　the　crime　of　murder；
  she　could　wring　from　the　man　all　that　now　remained　necessary　to
  substantiate　her　own　story　and　clear　herself　in　the　eyes　of　the　law
  of　that　robbery　at　Skarbolov's　antique　store　of　which　she　was　held
  guilty　…　and　instead　she　had　barely　escaped　with　her　life。　　That
  was　the　story　of　last　night。
  Her　eyes　grew　harder。　　Well；　the　way　was　still　open；　wasn't　it？
  Last　night　had　changed　nothing　in　that　respect。　　To…night；　as　the
  White　Moll；　she　had　only　to　find　and　corner　Danglar　as　she　had
  planned　to　do　last　night。　　She　had　still　only　to　get　the　man　alone
  somewhere。
  Rhoda　Gray's　hands　clenched　tightly。　　That　was　all　that　was　necessary
  …　just　the　substantiation　of　her　own　story　that　the　plot　to　rob
  Skarbolov　lay　at　the　door　of　Danglar　and　his　gang；　or；　rather；　perhaps；
  that　the　plot　was　in　existence　before　she　had　ever　heard　of　Skarbolov。
  It　would　prove　her　own　statement　of　what　the　dying　woman　had　said。
  It　would　exonerate　her　from　guilt；　it　would　prove　that；　rather　than
  having　any　intention　of　committing　crime；　she　had　taken　the　only　means
  within　her　power　of　preventing　one。　　The　real　Gypsy　Nan；　Danglar's
  wife；　who　had　died　that　night；　bad；　even　in　eleventh…hour　penitence；
  refused　to　implicate　her　criminal　associates。　　There　was　a　crime
  projected　which；　unless　she；　Rhoda　Gray；　would　agree　to　forestall
  it　in　person　and　would　give　her　oath　not　to　warn　the　police　about
  it　and　so　put　the　actual　criminals　in　jeopardy；　would　go　on　to　its
  fulfillment！
  She　remembered　that　night　in　the　hospital。　　The　scene　came　vividly
  before　her　now。　　The　woman's　pleading；　the　woman's　grim　loyalty
  even　in　death　to　her　pals。　　She；　Rhoda　Gray；　had　given　her　oath。
  It　became　necessary　only　to　substantiate　those　facts。　　Danglar
  could　be　made　to　do　it。　　She　had　now　in　her　possession　the　evidence
  that　would　convict　him　of　complicity　in　the　murder　of　Deemer；　and
  for　which　murder　the　original　Gypsy　Nan　had　gone　into　hiding；　she
  even　had　in　her　possession　the　missing　jewels　that　had　prompted　that
  murder；　she　had；　too；　the　evidence　now　to　bring　the　entire　gang　to
  justice　for　their　myriad　depredations；　she　knew　where　their　secret
  hoard　of　ill…gotten　gains　was　hidden　…　here　in　this　attic；　behind
  that　ingeniously　contrived　trap…door　in　the　ceiling。　　She　knew　all
  this；　and　this　information　placed　before　the　police；　providing
  only　it　was　backed　by　the　proof　that　the　scheme　to　rob　Skarbolov
  was　to　be　carried　out　by　the　gang；　as　she；　Rhoda　Gray；　would　say
  the　dying　woman　had　informed　her；　would　be　more　than　enough　to
  clear　her。　　She　had　not　had　this　proof　on　that　first　night　when
  she　had　snatched　at　the　mantle　of　Gypsy　Nan　as　the　sole　means　of
  escape　from　Rough　Rorke；　of　headquarters；　she　did　not　have　it
  now　…　but　she　would　have　it；　stake　all　and　everything　in　life　she
  had　to　have　it；　for　it；　in　itself；　literally　meant　everything　and
  all　…　and　Danglar　would　make　a　written　confession；　or　else　…　or
  else　…　　She　smiled　mirthlessly。　　That　was　all！　　Last　night　she　had
  failed。　　To…night　she　would　not　fail。　　Before　morning　came；　if　it
  were　humanly　within　her　power；　she　and　Danglar　would　have　played
  out　their　game　…　to　the　end。
  And　now　a　pucker　came　and　gathered　her　forehead　into　little　furrows；
  and　anxiety　and　perplexity　crept　into　her　eyes。　　Another　thought
  tormented　her。　　In　the　exposure　that　was　to　come　the　Adventurer；
  alias　the　Pug；　was　involved。　　Was　there　any　way　to　save　the　man　to
  whom　she　owed　so　much；　the　splendidly　chivalrous；　high…couraged
  gentleman　she　loved；　the　thief　she　abhorred？
  She　pushed　the　remains　of　her　frugal　meal　away　from　her；　stood　up
  abruptly　from　the　rickety　washstand　at　which　she　had　been　seated；
  and　commenced　to　pace　nervously　up　and　down　the　stark；　bare　garret。
  Where　was　the　line　of　demarcation　between　right　and　wrong？　　Was　it
  a　grievous　sin；　or　an　infinitely　human　thing　to　do；　to　warn　the
  man　she　loved；　and　give　him　a　chance　to　escape　the　net　she　meant
  to　furnish　the　police？　　He　was　a　thief；　even　a　member　of　the　gang
  …　though　he　used　the　gang　as　his　puppets。　　Did　ethics　count　when
  one　who　had　stood　again　and　again　between　her　and　peril　was　himself
  in　danger　now？　　Would　it　be　a　righteous　thing；　or　an　act　of
  despicable　ingratitude；　to　trap　him　with　the　rest？
  She　laughed　out　shortly。　　Warn　him！　　Of　course；　she　would　warn　him！
  But　then　…　what？　　She　shivered　a　little；　and　her　face　grew　drawn　and
  tired。　　It　was　the　old；　old　story　of　the　pitcher　and　the　well。　　It　was
  almost　inevitable　that　sooner　or　later；　for　some　crime　or　another；
  the　man　she　loved　would　be　caught　at　last；　and　would　spend　the
  greater　portion　of　his　days　behind　prison　bars。　　That　was　what　the
  love　that　had　come　into　her　life　held　as　its　promise　to　her！　　It　was
  terrible　enough　without　her　agency　being　the　means　of　placing　him
  there！
  She　did　not　want　to　think　about　it。　　She　forced　her　mind　into　other
  channels；　though　they　were　scarcely　less　disquieting。　　Why　was　it
  that　during　the　day　just　past　there　had　been　not　a　sign　from　Danglar
  or　any　one　of　the　gang；　when　every　plan　of　theirs　had　gone　awry　last
  night；　and　she　had　failed　to　keep　her　appointment　in　the　role　of
  Danglar's　wife？　　Why　was　it？　　What　did　it　mean？　　Surely　Danglar
  would　never　allow　what　had　happened　to　pass　unchallenged；　and　…　was
  that　some　one　now？
  She　halted　suddenly　by　the　door　to　listen；　her　hand　going
  instinctively　to　the　wide；　voluminous　pocket　of　her　greasy　skirt
  for　her　revolver。　　Yes；　there　was　a　footstep　in　the　hall　below；　but
  it　was　descending　now　to　the　ground　floor；　not　coming　up。　　She　even
  heard　the　street　door　close；　but　still　she　hung　there　in　a　strained；
  tense　way；　and　into　her　face　there　came　creeping　a　gray　dismay。　　Her
  pocket　was　empty。
  The　revolver　was　gone！　　Its　loss；　pregnant　with　a　hundred　ominous
  possibilities；　seemed　to　bring　a　panic　fear　upon　her；　holding　her
  for　a　moment　inert　…　and　then　she　rushed　frantically　to　the　cot。
  Perhaps　it　had　fallen　out　of　her　pocket　during　the　hours　she　had
  lain　there　asleep。　　She　searched　the　folds　of　the　soiled　and
  crumpled　blanket；　that　was　the　cot's　sole　covering；　then　snatched
  the　blanket　completely　off　the　cot　and　shook　it；　and　then；　down　on
  her　knees；　she　searched　the　floor　under　the　cot。　　There　was　no　sign
  of　the　revolver。
  Rhoda　Gray　stood　up；　and　stared　in　a　stunned　way　about　her。　　Was
  this；　then；　the　explanation　of　her　having　seemingly　been　left
  undisturbed　here　all　through　the　day？　　Had　some　one；　after　all；
  been　here；　and　…？　　She　shook　her　head　suddenly　with　a　quick；
  emphatic　ges