adder-like steps to the garret. He groped in the aperture
under the partition for the key, opened the door, and stepped inside.
Rhoda Gray, following, removed the key, inserted it on the inside of
the door, and, as she too entered, locked the door behind her. It was
pitch-black here in the attic. Her face was set now, her lips firm. She
had been waiting for this, hadn't she? It was near the end at last.
She had Danglar--alone. But not in the darkness! He was too tricky! She
crossed the garret to where the candle-stub, stuck in the neck of the
gin bottle, stood on the rickety washstand.

"Come over here and light the candle," she said. "I can't find my
matches."

Her hand was in the pocket of her skirt now, her fingers tight-closed on
the stock of her automatic, as he shuffled his way across the attic to
her side. A match spurted into flame; the candle wick flickered, then
steadied, dispersing little by little, as it grew brighter, the nearer
shadows--and there came a startled cry from Danglar--and Rhoda Gray, the
weapon in her pocket forgotten, was staring as though stricken of her
senses across the garret. The Adventurer was sitting on the edge of
the cot, and a revolver in his hand held a steady bead upon Danglar and
herself..

XXI. THE RECKONING

It was the Adventurer who spoke first.

"Both of you! What charming luck!" he murmured whimsically. "You'll
forgive the intrusion won't you? A friend of mine, the Sparrow by
name--I think you are acquainted with him, Danglar--was good enough
to open the door for me, and lock it again on the outside. You see, I
didn't wish to cause you any alarm through a premature suspicion that
you might have a guest!" His voice hardened suddenly as he rose from the
cot, and, though he limped badly, stepped quickly toward them. "Don't
move, Danglar--or you, Mrs. Danglar!" he ordered sharply--and with a
lightning movement of his hand felt for, and whipped Danglar's revolver
from the latter's pocket. "Pardon me!" he said--and his hand was in and
out of Rhoda Gray's pocket. He tossed the two weapons coolly over onto
the cot. "Well, Danglar," he smiled grimly, "there's quite a change in
the last few hours, isn't there?"

Danglar made no answer. His face was ashen; his little black eyes, like
those of a cornered rat, and as though searching for some avenue of
escape, were darting hunted glances all around the garret.

Rhoda Gray, the first shock of surprise gone, leaned back agains