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Updated: June 21, 2025
And then her eyes shifted, and widened as they rested on a huddled form that she could see by looking under and beyond the table, and that lay sprawled out against the far wall of the room. Skeeny pushed the peak of his cap back with the point of his knife-blade. "What's the haul size up at?" he demanded. "Anything in the safe besides the shiners?" "A few hundred dollars," Danglar replied.
They would take her at face value as one who not only knew how to use that revolver, but as one who would not hesitate an instant to do so. From the room she heard Skeeny whistle low under his breath, as though in sudden and amazed delight and then she was standing full in the open doorway, and her revolver in her outflung, gloved hand covered the two men at the table.
Two men sat, side face to her, one at each end of a rough, deal table Danglar, and an ugly, pock-marked, unshaven man, in a peaked cap that was drawn down over his eyes, who whittled at a stick with a huge jack-knife. The latter was Skeeny, obviously; and the jack-knife and the stick, quite as obviously, explained Danglar's facetious reference to wood-carving.
And a little way up, panic fear seized upon her again, and her heart stood still, and she turned a miserable face in the darkness back toward the door below, and fought against the impulse to retreat again. And then she heard Danglar speak, and from her new vantage point his words came to her distinctly this time: "Good work, Skeeny! You've got the Sparrow nicely trussed up, I see.
There seemed to be a swirling mob in riot there below. The Adventurer was fighting like a madman. It was hand to hand now. "Quick! Quick!" she cried to the Adventurer. "Jump back through the door." "Oh, no, you don't!" It was Skeeny she could see the man's brutal face now.
Skeeny, over the scraping of his chair legs, cursed in a sort of unnerved abandon, as he obeyed her. "Thank you!" said Rhoda Gray pleasantly and calmly tucked the necklace into her bodice. The act seemed to rouse Danglar to the last pitch of fury. The blood rushed in an angry tide to his face, and, suffusing, purpled his cheeks. "This isn't the first crack you've made!" he flung out hoarsely.
It was not Danglar, or the Cricket, or Skeeny, or any of the band who had forestalled her it was the Adventurer. That was the Adventurer standing in there now, side face to her, in Nicky Viner's inner room! Rhoda Gray moved quietly, inch by inch, along the side of the wall to gain a point of vantage more nearly opposite the lighted doorway. And then she stopped again.
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