the greater portion of
his days behind prison bars. That was what the love that had come into
her life held as its promise to her! It was terrible enough without her
agency being the means of placing him there!

She did not want to think about it. She forced her mind into other
channels, though they were scarcely less disquieting. Why was it that
during the day just past there had been not a sign from Danglar or any
one of the gang, when every plan of theirs had gone awry last night, and
she had failed to keep her appointment in the role of Danglar's wife?
Why was it? What did it mean? Surely Danglar would never allow what had
happened to pass unchallenged, and--was that some one now?

She halted suddenly by the door to listen, her hand going instinctively
to the wide, voluminous pocket of her greasy skirt for her revolver.
Yes, there was a footstep in the hall below, but it was descending
now to the ground floor, not coming up. She even heard the street door
close, but still she hung there in a strained, tense way, and into her
face there came creeping a gray dismay. Her pocket was empty.

The revolver was gone! Its loss, pregnant with a hundred ominous
possibilities, seemed to bring a panic fear upon her, holding her for a
moment inert--and then she rushed frantically to the cot. Perhaps it had
fallen out of her pocket during the hours she had lain there asleep.
She searched the folds of the soiled and crumpled blanket, that was the
cot's sole covering, then snatched the blanket completely off the cot
and shook it; and then, down on her knees, she searched the floor under
the cot. There was no sign of the revolver.

Rhoda Gray stood up, and stared in a stunned way about her. Was this,
then, the explanation of her having seemingly been left undisturbed
here all through the day? Had some one, after all, been here, and--? She
shook her head suddenly with a quick, emphatic gesture of dissent.
The door was still locked, she could see the key on the inside; and,
besides, as a theory, it wasn't logical. They wouldn't have taken her
revolver and left her placidly asleep!

The loss of the revolver was a vital matter. It was her one safeguard;
the one means by which she could first gain and afterwards hold the
whip-hand over Danglar in the interview she proposed to have with him;
the one means of escape, the last resort, if she herself were cornered
and fell into his power. It had sustained her more than once, that
resolu