her! A door in the wall opened; the Adventurer
thrust in his hand, drew out a package, and, leaning around, slipped it
quickly into the bottom of the washstand, where, with its little doors,
there was a most convenient and very commodious apartment. He turned
again then, seemed to take something from his pocket and place it in the
opening in the wall, and then the panel closed.

It had taken scarcely more than a second.

Rhoda Gray brushed her hand across her eyes. No, it wasn't a phantasm!
She had misjudged the Adventurer--quite misjudged him! The Adventurer,
even with one of the gang present--to furnish an unimpeachable alibi
for him!--was plucking the gang's fruit again for his own and undivided
enrichment!

Pinkie Bonn's voice came in a guarded whisper from the doorway.

"I don't hear nothin'!" said Pinkie Bonn anxiously.

The Pug tiptoed across the room, and joined his companion. She could not
see them now, but apparently they stood together by the door listening.
They stood there for a long time. Occasionally she heard them whisper to
each other; and then finally the Pug spoke in a less guarded voice.

"All right," he said. "I guess me nerves are gettin' de creeps. Shoot de
light on again, an' let's get back on de job. An' youse can take a turn
dis time pushin' de knots, Pinkie; mabbe youse'll have better luck."

The light went on again. Both men came back across the room, and now
Pinkie Bonn knelt at the wall while the Pug leaned over the washstand
watching him. Pinkie Bonn was not immediately successful; the Pug's
nerves, of which he had complained, appeared shortly to get the better
of him.

"Fer Gawd's sake, hurry up!" he urged irritably. "Or else lemme take
another crack at it, Pinkie, an'..."

A low, triumphant exclamation came from Pinkie Bonn, as the small door
in the wall swung suddenly open.

"There she is, my bucko!" he grinned. "Some nifty vault, eh? The old
guy-" He stopped. He had thrust in his hand, and drawn it out again. His
fingers gripped a sheet of notepaper--but he was seemingly unconscious
of that fact. He was leaning forward, staring into the aperture. "It's
empty!" he choked.

"Wot's dat?" cried the Pug, and sprang to his companion's side.
"Youse're crazy, Pinkie!" He thrust his head toward the opening--and then
turned and stared for a moment helplessly at Pinkie Bonn. "So help me!"
he said heavily. "It's--it's empty." He shook his fist suddenly. "De
Crab's handed us one, dat's