out into a
back yard. Five minutes later she was blocks away, and hurrying rapidly
back toward the deserted shed in the lane behind Gypsy Nan's garret.

Her lips formed into a tight little curve as she went along. There was
still work to do to-night--if this package really contained the stolen
legacy of gems left by Angel Jack. She had first of all to reach a place
where she could examine the package with safety; then a place to hide it
where it would be secure; and then--Danglar!

She gained the lane, stole along it, and disappeared into the shed
through the broken door that hung, partially open, on sagging hinges.
Here she sought a corner, and crouched down so that her body would
smother any reflection from her flashlight. And now, eagerly,
feverishly, she began to undo the package; and then, a moment later, she
gazed, stupefied and amazed, at what lay before her. Precious stones,
scores of them, nestled on a bed of cotton; they were of all colors and
of all sizes--but each one of them seemed to pulsate and throb, and from
some wondrous, glorious depth of its own to fling back from the white
ray upon it a thousand rays in return, as though into it had been
breathed a living and immortal fire.

And Rhoda Gray, crouched there, stared--until suddenly she grew afraid,
and suddenly with a shudder she wrapped the package up again. These were
the stones for whose fabulous worth the woman whose personality she,
Rhoda Gray, had usurped, had murdered a man; these were the stones which
were indirectly the instrumentality--since but for them Gypsy Nan would
never have existed--that made her, Rhoda Gray, to-night, now, at this
very moment, a hunted thing, homeless, friendless, fighting for her very
life against police and underworld alike!

She rose abruptly to her feet. She had no longer any need of a
flashlight. There was even light of a sort in the place--she could
see the stars through the jagged holes in the roof, and through one of
these, too, the moonlight streamed in. The shed was all but crumbling
in a heap. Underfoot, what had once been flooring, was now but rotting,
broken boards. Under one of these, beside the clothing of Gypsy Nan
which she had discarded but a little while before, she deposited the
package; then stepped out into the lane, and from there to the street
again.

And now she became suddenly conscious of a great and almost overpowering
physical weariness. She did not quite understand at first, unless