r, to be the one who had of late
profited by the gang's plans to the gang's discomfiture; and the
Adventurer was ranked but little lower in the scale of hatred, since
they counted him to be the White Moll's accomplice. Knowing this,
therefore, the first thing the Adventurer would naturally do would be to
destroy the clew, in the shape of that telephone number, that would lead
to his whereabouts, and which he of course believed he had put into the
gang's hands when he had confided in Gypsy Nan. Had he not told her, no
later than last night, that Gypsy Nan was her worst enemy? He did not
know, did he, that Gypsy Nan and the White Moll were one! And so that
telephone had been disconnected--and to-night, now, just when she needed
help at a crucial moment, when she had counted upon the Adventurer to
supply it, there was no Adventurer, no means of reaching him, and no
means any more of knowing where he was!

Rhoda Gray walked on along the street, her lips tight, her face drawn
and hard. Failing the Adventurer, there remained--the police. If she
telephoned the police and sent them to the Pug's room, they would of a
certainty recover the money, and with equal certainty restore it to its
rightful owners. She had already thought of that when she had been with
Pinkie and the Pug, and had been loath even then to take such a step
because it seemed to spell ruin to her own personal plans; but now there
was another reason, and one far more cogent, why she should not do
so. There had been murder committed back there in that underground
drug-dive, and of that murder Pinkie Bonn was innocent; but if Pinkie
were found in possession of that money, and French Pete, to save his own
skin from the consequences of a greater crime, admitted to its original
theft, Pinkie would be convicted out of hand, for there were the others
in that dive, who had come running along the passage, to testify that
an attack had been made on the door of French Pete and Marny Day's
room, and that the thieves and murderers had fled through the cellar and
escaped.

Her lips pressed harder together. And so there was no Adventurer upon
whom she could call, and no police, and no one in all the millions in
this great pulsing city to whom she could appeal; and so there remained
only--herself.

Well, she could do it, couldn't she? Not as Gypsy Nan, of course--but as
the White Moll. It would be worth it, wouldn't it? If she were sincere,
and not a moral hypocrite in her s