re now. He's nicely gagged, and tied, and
quite safe. The plant's been shut down for the last two months, and
there's only the watchman there, and he's 'squared.' We gave the Pug two
hours of solitary confinement to think it over and come across. We just
asked him for the White Moll's address, so's we could get her and the
sparklers she swiped at Old Luertz's place last night."

Still Rhoda Gray did not speak for a moment. She seemed to be held in
thrall by both terror and a sickening dismay. It did not seem real,
her surroundings here, this man, and the voice that was gloatingly
pronouncing the death sentence upon the man who had come unbidden into
her life, and into her heart, the man she loved. Yes, she understood!
Danglar's words had been plain enough. The Adventurer had been
trapped--not through Danglar's cunning, or lack of cunning on the
Adventurer's own part, but through force of circumstances that had
caused him to fling all thought of self-consideration to the winds in
an effort to save another's life. Her hands, hidden in the folds of her
skirt, clenched until they hurt. And it was another self, it seemed,
subconsciously enacting the role of Gypsy Nan, alias Danglar's wife, who
spoke at last.

"You are a fool! You are all fools!" she cried tempestuously. "What do
you expect to gain by that? Do you imagine you can make the Pug come
across with any information by a threat to kill him if he doesn't? You
tried that once. You had him cold, or at least you thought you had, and
so did he, that night in old Nicky Viner's room, and he laughed at you
even when he expected you to fire the next second. He's not likely to
have changed any since then, is he?"

"No," said Danglar, with a vicious chuckle; "and that's why I'm not
trying the same game twice. That's why we've got him over in the old
iron plant now."

There was something she did not like in Danglar's voice, something of
ominous assurance, something that startled her.

"What do you mean?" she demanded sharply.

"It's a lonely place," said Danglar complacently. "There's no one around
but the watchman, and he's an old friend of Shluker's; and it's so roomy
over there that no one could expect him to be everywhere at once. See?
That let's him out. He's been well greased, and he won't know anything.
Don't you worry, old girl! That's what I came here for--to tell you that
everything is all right, after all. The Pug will talk. Maybe he wouldn't
if he just had his