tered the driveway. She
walked quickly, and as she emerged into the courtyard itself she saw a
light in the window of the junk shop.

Rhoda Gray nodded her head. It was still quite early, still almost
twilight--not more than eight o'clock. Back there, on that squalid
doorstep where the old woman and the old man had stood, it had still
been quite light. The long summer evening had served at least to sear,
somehow, those two faces upon her mind. It was singular that they should
intrude themselves at this moment! She had been thinking, hadn't she,
that at this hour she might naturally expect to find Shluker still in
his shop? That was why she had come so early--since she had not cared to
come in full daylight. Well, if that light meant anything, he was there.

She felt her pulse quicken perceptibly as she crossed the courtyard, and
reached the shop. The door was open, and she stepped inside. It was
a dingy place, filthy, and littered, without the slightest attempt at
order, with a heterogeneous collection of, it seemed, every article one
could think of, from scraps of old iron and bundles of rags to cast-off
furniture that was in an appalling state of dissolution. The light, that
of a single and dim incandescent, came from the interior of what was
apparently the "office" of the establishment, a small, glassed-in
partition affair, at the far end of the shop.

Her first impression had been that there was no one in the shop, but
now, from the other side of the glass partition, she caught sight of
a bald head, and became aware that a pair of black eyes were fixed
steadily upon her, and that the occupant was beckoning to her with his
hand to come forward.

She scuffled slowly, but without hesitation, up the shop. She intended
to employ the vernacular that was part of the disguise of Gypsy Nan.
If Shluker, for that was certainly Shluker there, gave the slightest
indication that he took it amiss, her explanation would come glibly and
logically enough--she had to be careful; how was she supposed to know
whether there was any one else about, or not!

"'Ello!" she said curtly, as she reached the doorway of the little
office, and paused on the threshold. Shifty little black eyes met hers,
as the bald head fringed with untrimmed gray hair, was lifted from a
battered desk, and the wizened face of an old man was disclosed under
the rays of the tin-shaded lamp. He grinned suddenly, showing discolored
teeth--and instinctively she dre