ray, unconscious even that she still held the
clothing in her hands, rose mechanically to her feet. There was a sudden
weariness in her eyes as she stared unseeingly about her. Yes, the
flashlight and the keys were here--but the revolver was not! Her brain
harked back in lightning flashes over the events of the preceding night.
She must have lost it somewhere, then. Where? She had had it in the
automobile, that she knew positively; but after that she did not
remember, unless--yes, it must have been that! When she had jumped from
the car and flung herself down at the roadside! It must have fallen out
of her pocket then.

Her heart seemed to stand still. Suppose they had found it! They would
certainly recognize it as belonging to Gypsy Nan! They were not fools.
The deduction would be obvious--the identity of the White Moll would
be solved. Was that why no one had apparently come near her? Were they
playing at cat-and-mouse, watching her before they struck, so that she
would lead them to those jewels under the flooring here that were worth
a king's ransom? They certainly believed that the White Moll had them.
The Adventurer's note, so ironically true, that he had intended as an
alibi for himself, and which he had exchanged for the package in old
Luertz's place, would have left no doubt in their minds but that the
stones were in her possession. Was that it? Were they--She held her
breath. It seemed as though suddenly her limbs were refusing to support
her weight. In the soft earth outside she had heard no step, but she saw
now a shadow fall athwart the half-open door-way. There was no time to
move, even had she been capable of action. It seemed as though even
her soul had turned to stone, and, with the White Moll's clothes in her
hands, she stood there staring at the doorway, and something that was
greater than fear, because it mingled horror, ugly and forbidding,
fell upon her. It was still just light enough to see. The shadow moved
forward and came inside. She wanted to scream, to rush madly in retreat
to the farthest corner of the shed; but she could not move. It was
Danglar who was standing there. He seemed to sway a little on his feet,
and the dark, sinister face seemed blotched, and he seemed to smile as
though possessed of some unholy and perverted sense of humor.

She was helpless, at his mercy, unarmed, saved for her wits. Her wits!
Were wits any longer of avail? She could believe nothing else now except
that he h