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Updated: May 19, 2025
Rhoda Gray had first found the original Gypsy Nan; and, Danglar leading, mounted the dark, narrow stairway to the hall above, and from there up the short, ladder-like steps to the garret. He groped in the aperture under the partition for the key, opened the door, and stepped inside.
As I said at the beginning, I hardly expected the luck to get you both at the same time; though we should have got you, Danglar, and every one of the rest of the gang before morning, and " "You," Rhoda Gray whispered, "you are not a thief!" Brain and soul seemed on fire.
Where the "leak" was, as Danglar called it, that supplied the Adventurer with foreknowledge of the gang's movements, she had no idea, save that perhaps the Adventurer and some traitor in the gang were in collusion for their own ends and that certainly did not lift the Adventurer to any higher plane, or wash from him the stigma of thief. She clenched her hands.
She crept forward now, hugging the rear wall, reached a door-the one, obviously, through which Danglar had disappeared, and which she had heard as it was closed tried the door, found it unlocked, and, noiselessly, inch by inch, pushed it open; and a moment later, stepping over the threshold, she closed it softly behind her.
Danglar there, too, though if she will permit me to say it in a more becoming costume than she is now wearing!" Once more he shrugged his shoulders as Danglar snarled. "Yes, yes; I will hurry. I am almost through.
There was only one way, just one to go herself, to reach the Adventurer herself before Danglar returned there and had an opportunity of putting his worse than murderous intentions into effect. Well, she was going there, wasn't she? And if she lost no time she should be there easily ahead of them, and her chances would be excellent of releasing the Adventurer with very little risk.
And then, somehow, Danglar and the gang had discovered that the old, seedy, stoop-shouldered, bearded, down-at-the-heels Nicky Viner was not all that he seemed; that he was a miser, and had a hoard of fifty thousand dollars and Danglar and the gang had set out to find that hoard and appropriate it. Only they had not succeeded.
Danglar made his way over to the rickety washstand, found the candle that was stuck in the neck of the gin bottle, lighted it, held the candle above his head, and stared around the garret. "Why the devil don't you get another lamp?" he grumbled and started toward the rear of the garret. Rhoda Gray watched him silently.
It was Angel Jack, alias the Gimp." "How do you know?" Rhoda Gray demanded. "Because," said Danglar, and lighted another cigarette, "he died yesterday afternoon up in Sing Sing." She could afford to show her frank bewilderment. Her brows knitted into furrows, as she stared at Danglar. "You you mean he confessed?" she said. "The Angel? Never!" Danglar laughed grimly, and shook his head.
At dawn that morning when the gray had come creeping into the miserable attic through the small and dirty window panes, she had fallen on her knees and thanked God she had been spared that footstep. It was strange! She had poured out her soul in passionate thankfulness then that Danglar had not come and now she was deliberately on her way to seek Danglar himself!
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