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Updated: June 20, 2025
She saw the Adventurer spring, quick as a panther, at the other, and saw him whip blow after blow with terrific force full into Danglar's face; she heard a rush of feet coming from the corridor behind her; and she flung herself forward into the inner room, and, panting, snatched at the door and slammed it shut, and groping for the bolt, found it, and shot it home in its grooves.
There was a click as a cuff was snapped over Danglar's wrist, another as the other cuff was snapped shut around the iron hand-railing of the fire escape. The act seemed to arouse Danglar, both mentally and physically. He tore and wrenched at the steel links now, and burst suddenly, raving, into oaths.
Gypsy Nan, in her proper person, had murdered a man named Deemer in an effort to secure Danglar's voice came again: "Well, to-night we'll get that stuff, all of it it's worth a cool half million; and to-night we'll get Mr. House-Detective Cloran for keeps bump him off. That cleans everything up. How does that strike you, Bertha?" Rhoda Gray's hands under her shawl locked tightly together.
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.
Under the studied insult Danglar's face had grown a mottled red. "Damn you!" he snarled. "I'll take it away when I get good and ready; and by that time I'll have you talking out of the other side of your mouth! See? Do you know what you're up against, you slick dude?" "I have a fairly good imagination," replied the Adventurer smoothly. "You have, eh?" mimicked Danglar wickedly.
If it takes the last dollar of to-night's haul, and five years to do it, I'll get her, and get " "Sure!" mumbled Rhoda Gray hurriedly. "But you needn't get excited! I was only thinking of her because she's queered us till I've got my fingers crossed, that's all. Go on about Cloran." Danglar's composure did not return on the instant. He gnawed at his lips for a moment before he spoke.
Had what she had been listening to here, the horror of it, indeed turned her brain and robbed her of her wits to the extent that she should invite exposure? Danglar's face had gone a mottled purple; the misshapen thing at Danglar's side was leering at her most curiously.
She forced her mind into other channels, though they were scarcely less disquieting. Why was it that during the day just past there had been not a sign from Danglar or any one of the gang, when every plan of theirs had gone awry last night, and she had failed to keep her appointment in the role of Danglar's wife? Why was it? What did it mean?
It was an old face, much older than Danglar's, and it was white and pinched and drawn; and in the dark eyes, as they suddenly darted a glance at her, she read a sullen, bitter brooding and discontent. She turned her head away. It was not a pleasant face; it struck her as being both morbid and cruel to a degree. Suppose she refused to go? "What did you mean by 'after to-night'?" she asked again.
And the fact that the woman who had originally masqueraded as Gypsy Nan as she, Rhoda Gray, was masquerading now was Danglar's wife, proved it a thousandfold more. She could no longer remain passive, arguing with herself that it took all her wits and all her efforts to maintain herself in the role of Gypsy Nan, which temporarily was all that stood between her and prison bars.
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