the　rings　and　brooches　in　hand；　so　fiercely　that　the　settings
  pricked　into　the　flesh；　if　her　face　mirrored　in　any　way　the　cold；
  sick　misery　that　had　suddenly　taken　possession　of　her　soul。　　The
  Sparrow！　　She　knew　the　Sparrow；　she　knew　the　Sparrow's　sick　mother。
  That　part　of　it　was　true。　　The　Sparrow　did　have　an　old　mother　who
  was　sick。　　A　fine　old　lady　…　finer　than　the　son　…　Finch；　her　name
  was。　　Indirectly；　she　knew　old　Hayden…Bond；　the　millionaire；　and
  …　Almost　subconsciously　she　was　aware　that　Danglar　was　speaking
  again。
  〃I　guess　luck's　breaking　our　way　again；〃　he　grinned。　　〃The　old　boy
  paid　a　hundred　thousand　cold　for　that　necklace。　　You　know　how　long
  we've　been　waiting　to　get　our　hooks　on　it；　and　we've　never　had　our
  eyes　off　his　house　for　two　months。　　Well；　it　pays　to　wait；　and　it
  pays　to　do　things　right。　　It　broke　our　way　at　last　to…night；　all
  right；　all　right！　　To…day's　Saturday　…　and　the　safety　deposit　vaults
  aren't　open　on　Sunday。　　Mrs。　Hayden…Bond's　been　away　all　week
  visiting；　but　she　comes　back　to…morrow；　and　there's　some　swell
  society　fuss　fixed　for　to…morrow　night；　and　she　wants　her　necklace
  to　make　a　splurge；　so　she　writes　Mr。　H…hyphen…B；　and　out　it　comes
  from　the　safety　deposit　vault；　and　into　the　library　safe。　　The　old
  man　isn't　long　on　social　stunts；　and　he's　got　pretty　well　set　in
  his　habits；　one　of　those　must…have…nine…hours'…sleep　bugs；　and　he's
  always　in　bed　by　ten　…　when　his　wife'll　let　him。　　She　being　away
  to…night；　the　boys　were　able　to　get　to　work　early。　　They　ought　to
  be　able　to　crack　that　box　without　making　any　noise　about　it　in　an
  hour　and　a　half　at　the　outside。〃　　He　pulled　out　his　watch…and
  whistled　low　under　his　breath。　　〃It's　a　quarter　after　eleven　now；〃
  he　said　hurriedly；　and　moved　abruptly　toward　the　door。　　〃I　can't
  stick　around　here　any　longer。　　I've　got　to　be　on　deck　where　they
  can　slip　me　the　'white　ones；'　and　then　there's　Skeeny　waiting　for
  the　word　to　bump　off　the　Sparrow。〃　　He　jerked　his　hand　suddenly
  toward　the　jewels　in　her　lap。　　〃Salt　those　away　before　any
  more　adventurers　blow　in！〃　he　said；　half　sharply；　half　jocularly。
  〃And　don't　let　the　White　Moll　slip　you　…　at　any　cost。　　Remember！
  She's　bound　to　come　to　you　again。　　Play　her　…　and　send　out　the
  call。　　You　understand；　don't　you？　　There's　never　been　a　yip　out
  of　the　police。　　Our　methods　are　too　good　for　that。　　Look　at　the
  Sparrow　to…night。　　Where　there's　no　chance　taken　of　suspicion
  going　anywhere　except　where　we　lead　it；　there's　no　chance　of　any
  trouble　…　for　us！　　But　this　cursed　she…fiend's　another　story。
  We're　not　planting　plum　trees　for　her　to　pick　any　more　of　the　fruit。
  Understand？〃
  She　answered　him　mechanically。
  〃Yes；〃　she　said。
  〃All　right；　then；　that　end　of　it　is　up　to　you；〃　he　said　significantly。
  〃You're　clever；　clever　as　the　devil；　Bertha。　　Use　your　brains　now
  …　we　need　'em。　　Good…night；　old　girl。　　See　you　later。〃
  〃Good…night；〃　said　Rhoda　Gray　dully。
  The　door　closed。　　The　short；　ladder…like　steps　to　the　hallway　below
  creaked　once；　and　then　all　was　still。　　Danglar　did　have　on
  rubber…soled　shoes。　　She　sat　upright；　her　hands；　clenched　now；
  pressed　hard　against　her　throbbing　temples。　　It　wasn't　true！　　None
  of　this　was　true　…　this　hovel　of　a　place；　those　jewels　glinting
  like　evil　eyes　in　her　lap；　her　existence　itself　wasn't　true；　it　was
  only　her　brain　now；　sick　like　her　soul；　that　conjured　up　these　ugly
  phantoms　with　horrible；　plausible　ingenuity。　　And　then　an　inner
  voice　seemed　to　answer　her　with　a　calmness　that　was　hideous　in　its
  finality。　　It　was　true。　　All　of　it　was　true。　　Those　words　of　Danglar；
  and　their　bald　meaning；　were　true。　　Men　did　such　things；　men　made　in
  the　image　of　their　Maker　did　such　things。　　They　were　going　to　kill
  a　man　to…night　…　an　innocent　man　whom　they　had　made　their　pawn。
  She　swept　the　jewels　from　her　lap　to　the　blanket；　and　rising；　seized
  the　candle；　went　to　the　door；　looked　out；　and；　holding　the　candle
  high　above　her　head；　peered　down　the　stairs。　　Yes；　he　was　gone。
  There　was　no　one　there。
  She　locked　the　door　again；　returned　to　the　bed；　set　the　candle　down
  upon　the　chair；　and　stood　there；　her　face　white　and　drawn；　staring
  with　wide；　tormented　eyes　about　her。　　Murder。　　Danglar　had　spoken
  of　it　with　inhuman　callousness　…　and　had　laughed　at　it。　　They　were
  going　to　take　a　man's　life。　　And　there　was　only　herself；　already
  driven　to　extremity；　already　with　her　own　back　against　the　wall　in
  an　effort　to　save　herself；　only　herself　to　carry　the　burden　of　the
  responsibility　of　doing　something…to　save　a　man's　life。
  It　seemed　to　plumb　the　depths　of　irony　and　mockery。　　She　could　not
  make　a　move　as　Gypsy　Nan。　　It　would　only　result　in　their　turning
  upon　her；　of　the　discovery　that　she　was　not　Gypsy　Nan　at　all；　of
  the　almost　certainty　that　it　would　cost　her　her　own　life　without
  saving　the　Sparrow's。　　That　way　was　closed　to　her　from　the　start。
  As　the　White　Moll；　then？　　Outside　there　in　the　great　city；　every
  plain…clothes　man；　every　policeman　on　every　beat；　was　staring　into
  every　woman's　face　he　met　…　searching　for　the　White　Moll。
  She　wrung　her　hands　in　cruel　desperation。　　Even　to　her　own　problem
  she　had　found　no　solution；　though　she　had　wrestled　with　it　all　last
  night；　and　all　through　the　day；　no　solution　save　the　negative　one
  of　clinging　to　this　one　refuge　that　remained　to　her；　such　as　it
  was；　temporarily。　　She　had　found　no　solution　to　that；　what　solution
  was　there　to　this！　　She　had　thought　of　leaving　the　city　as　Gypsy　Nan；
  and　then　somewhere　far　away；　of　sloughing　off　the　character　of　Gypsy
  Nan；　and　of　resuming　her　own　personality　again　under　an　assumed　name。
  But　that　would　have　meant　the　loss　of　everything　she　had　in　life；
  her　little　patrimony；　the　irredeemable　stamp　of　shame　upon　the　name
  she　once　had　owned；　and　also　the　constant　fear　and　dread　that　at
  any　moment　the　police　net；　wide　as　the　continent　was　wide；　would
  close　around　her；　as；　sooner　or　later；　it　was　almost　inevitable　that
  it　would　close　around　her。　　It　had　seemed　that　her　only　chance　was
  to　keep　on　striving　to　play　the　role　of　Gypsy　Nan；　because　it　was
  these　associates　of　Gypsy　Nan　who　were　at　the　bottom　of　the　crime
  of　which　she；　Rhoda　Gray；　was　held　guilty；　and　because　there　was
  always　the　hope　that　in　this　way；　through　confidences　to　a　supposed
  confederate；　she　could　find　the　evidence　that　would　convict　those
  actually　guilty；　and　so　prove　her　own　innocence。　　But　in　holding　to
  the　role　of　Gypsy　Nan　for　the　purpose　of　receiving　those　criminal
  confidences；　she　had　not　thought　of　this　…　that　upon　her　would　rest
  the　moral　responsibility　of　other　crimes　of　which　she　would　have
  knowledge；　and；　least　of　all；　that　she　should　be　faced　with　what
  lay　before　her　now；　to…night；　at　the　first　contact　with　those　who
  had　been　Gypsy　Nan's　confederates。
  What　was　she　to　do？　　Upon　her；　and　upon　her　alone；　depended　a　man's
  life；　and；　adding　to　her　distraction；　she　knew　the　man　…　the　Sparrow；
  who　had　already　done　time；　that　was　the　vile　ingenuity　of　it　all。
  And　there　would　le　corroborative　evidence；　of　course；　they　would
  have　seen　to　that。　　If　the　Sparrow　disappeared　and　was　never　heard
  of　again；　even　a　child　would　deduce　the　assumption　that　the　proceeds
  of　the　robbery　had　disappeared　with　him。
  Her　brain　seemed　to　grow　panicky。　　She　was　standing　here　helplessly。
  And　time；　the　one　precious　ally　that　she　possessed；　was　slipping
  away　from　her。　　She　could　not　go　to　the　police　as　Gypsy　Nan　…　and；
  much　less；　as　the　White　Moll！　　She　could　not　go　to　the　police　in　any
  case；　for　the　〃corroborative〃　evidence；　that　obviously　must　exist；
  unless　Danglar　and　those　with　him　were　fools；　would　indubitably　damn
  the　Sparrow　to　another　prison　term；　even　supposing　that　through　the
  intervention　of　the　police　his　life　were　saved。　　What　was　she　to　do？
  And　then；　for　a　moment；　her　eyes　lighted　in　relief。　　The　Adventurer！
  She　thrust　her　hand　into　the　pocket　of　her　skirt；　and　drew　out　the
  torn　piece　of　paper；　and　studied　the　telephone　number　upon　it　…　and
  slowly　the　hurt　and　misery　came　back　into　her　eyes　again。　　Who　was
  he？　　He　had　told　her。　　An　adventurer。　　He　had　given　her　to　understand
  that　he；　if　she　had　not　been　just　a　few　minutes　ahead　of　him；　would
  have　taken　that　money　from　Skarbolov's　escritoire　last　night。
  Therefore　he　was　a　crook。　　Danglar　had　said　that　some　one　had　been
  getting　in　ahead　of　them　lately　and　snatching　the　plunder　from　under
  their　noses；　and　Danglar　now　believed　that　it　had　been　the　White
  Moll。　　A　wan　smile　came　to　her　lips。　　Instead　of　the　White　Moll；　it
  appeared　to　be　quite　obvious　that　it　was　the　Adventurer。　　It
  therefore　appeared　to　be　quite　as　obvious　that　the　man　was　a
  professional　thief；　and　an　extremely　clever　one；　at　that。　　She　dared
  not　trust　him。　　To　enlist　his　aid　she　would　have　to　explain　the
  gang's　plot；　and　while　the　Adventurer　might　go　to　the　Sparrow's
  assistance；　he　might　also　be　very　much　more　interested　in　the
  diamond　necklace　that　was　involved；　and　not　be　entirely　averse　to
  Danglar's　plan　of　using　the　Sparrow　as　a　pawn；　who；　in　that　case；
  would　make　a　very　convenient　scapegoat　for　the　Adventurer　…　instead
  of　Danglar！　　She　dared　not　trust　the　man。　　She　could　not　absolve
  her　conscience　by　staking　another's　life