"Close your face, Pinkie!" It was Danglar speaking, his voice hoarse with uncontrollable rage. "Go on back, then, Shluker. Quick!"
Rhoda Gray heard the hurried splashing of the oars now; and presently she felt the bumping of the boat against the wharf, and its violent rocking as the men climbed out of it again. But she did not move - save with her hand to push the folds of sailcloth a cautious inch or two away from the opening. It did not ease the agony she was suffering from her cramped position, but it gave her fresher air, and she could hear better - the ring of their boot-heels on the wharf above, for instance.
The footsteps died away. There was silence then for a moment; and then, faintly, from the direction of the shed, there came a chorus of baffled rage and execration. She smiled a little wearily to herself. It was all right. That was what she wanted to know. The Adventurer had got away.
Still she lay there. She dared not leave the boat yet; but she could change her position now. She crawled half out from under the docking, and lay with her head on the sailcloth. It was exquisite relief! They could not come back along the wharf without her hearing them, and she could retreat under the decking again in an instant, if necessary.
Voices reached her now occasionally from the direction of the shed.
Finally a silence fell. The minutes passed - ten - fifteen - twenty of them. And then Rhoda Gray climbed warily to the wharf, made her way warily past the shed, and gained the road - and three-quarters of an hour later, in another shed, in the lane behind the garret, she was changing quickly into the rags of Gypsy Nan again.
It was almost the end now. To-night, she would keep the appointment Danglar had given her - and keep it ahead of time. It was almost the end. Her lips set tightly. The Adventurer had been warned.
There was nothing now to stand in the way of her going to the police, save only the substantiation of that one point in her own story which Danglar must supply.
Her transformation completed, she reached in under the flooring and took out the package of jewels - they would help very materially when she faced Danglar! - and, though it was somewhat large, tucked it inside her blouse. It could not be noticed. The black, greasy shawl hid it effectively.
She stepped out into the lane, and from there to the street, and began to make her way across town. She did not have to search for Danglar to-night. She was to meet him at Matty's at midnight, and it was not more than halfpast eleven now. Three hours and a half!
Was that all since at eight o'clock, as nearly as she could place it, he had left her in the lane? It seemed as many years; but it was only twenty minutes after eleven, she had noticed, when she had left the subway on her return a few minutes ago. Her hand clenched suddenly. She was to meet him at Matty's - and, thereafter, if it took all night, she would not leave him until she had got him alone somewhere and disclosed herself. The man was a coward in soul. She could trust to the effect upon him of an automatic in the hands of the White Mall to make him talk.
Rhoda Gray walked quickly. It was not very far. She turned the corner into the street where Danglar's deformed brother, Matty, cloaked the executive activities of the gang with his cheap little notion store - and halted abruptly. The store was just ahead of her, and Danglar himself, coming out, had just closed the door.
He saw her, and stepping instantly to her side, grasped her arm roughly and wheeled her about.
"Come on!" he said - and a vicious oath broke from his lips.
The man was in a towering, ungovernable passion. She cast a furtive glance at his face. She had seen him before in anger; but now, with his lips drawn back and working, his whole face contorted, he seemed utterly beside himself.
"What's the matter?" she inquired innocently. "Wouldn't the Pug talk, or is it a case of 'another hour or so,' and -"
He swung on her furiously.
"Hold your cursed tongue!" he flared. "You'll snicker on the wrong side of your face this time!" He gulped, stared at her threateningly, and quickened his step, forcing her to keep pace with him. But he spoke again after a minute, savagely, bitterly, but more in control of himself. "The Pug got away. The White Moll queered us again. But it's worse than that. The game's up!
I told you to be here at midnight. It's only half past eleven yet.
