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Updated: June 20, 2025
It would exonerate her from guilt; it would prove that, rather than having any intention of committing crime, she had taken the only means within her power of preventing one. The real Gypsy Nan, Danglar's wife, who had died that night, bad, even in eleventh-hour penitence, refused to implicate her criminal associates.
I put on Gypsy Nan's clothes, and managed to outwit him. I had had no opportunity to return the money, which would have been proof of my innocence; the only way I could prove it, then, was to try and find the authors of the crime myself. I I have lived since then as Gypsy Nan, fighting this hideous gang of Danglar's here to try and save myself, and and to-night I thought I could see my way clear.
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.
She flung herself over into the vacated seat, and snatched at the wheel barely in time to prevent the machine from mounting the curb. She looked around again through the window of the hood. The man had swung aboard Danglar's car, which was only a few yards behind. Rhoda Gray drove steadily.
Therefore Danglar, and logically enough from his viewpoint, had jumped to the conclusion that, since they had not come together, only one of them, the Adventurer, was acting in the affair to-night, and Danglar's voice was rasping in her ears. "I'm not going to stay here all night!" he snarled. "You've got one chance. I've told you what it is. You're lucky to have it.
It was poverty-stricken in appearance, bare-floored, with the scantiest and cheapest of furnishings, its one window tightly shuttered. "Maybe not," she said carelessly. "Well, then, listen, Bertha!" Danglar's voice was lowered earnestly. "We've uncovered the Nabob's stuff! Do you get me? Every last one of the sparklers!"
And terror gripped at her again, for it wasn't Nicky Viner. Those narrowed eyes, that leering, gloating face, those working lips were Danglar's. And, as from some far distance, dulled because her consciousness was dulled, she heard Danglar speak. "Perhaps you'll take your hand out of that right-hand coat pocket of yours now!" sneered Danglar. "And take it out empty!"
There was last night and, a natural corollary, her equally natural anxiety on her supposed husband's account, providing, of course, that Shluker was aware that Gypsy Nan was Danglar's wife. But even if Shluker did not know that, he knew at least that Gypsy Nan was one of the gang, and, as such, he must equally accept it as natural that she should be anxious and disturbed over what had happened.
And the reason I'm out here now is because I left some things in the pocket, amongst them" she stared at him mockingly "my marriage certificate." Danglar's face blackened. "Curse you!" he burst out angrily. "When you get your tantrums on, you've got a tongue, haven't you! You'd have been wearing your clothes now, if you'd have done as you were told. You're the one that queered things last night."
"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?"
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