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She was going to Shluker's now. Rhoda Gray halted suddenly, and stared wonderingly a little way up the block ahead of her. As though by magic a crowd was collecting around the doorway of a poverty-stricken, tumble-down frame house that made the corner of an alleyway.
From Shluker's viewpoint, whether Gypsy Nan was in the habit of mingling with or visiting the other members of the gang or not a matter upon which she could not even hazard a guess her visit to-night must appear entirely logical.
"How long ago was it?" prodded Pinkie. "I dunno," she answered. "I just went to Shluker's, an' den we comes over here. Youse can figure it fer yerself." And then Rhoda Gray stared at the other with sudden misgiving. Pinkie Bonn's face was suddenly wreathed in smiles. "I'll answer you now, Shluk," he grinned. "What do you think? That we're nuts, me an' Pug? Well, forget it!
For the rest, it was a room she had seen a thousand times before carpetless, unfurnished save for the barest necessities, dirt everywhere, unkempt. Pinkie Bonn broke in abruptly upon her inspection. "That's all right!" he announced airily. "We'll let Nan in on it, too. The Pug an' me figures she can give us a hand." Shluker's wizened little face seemed suddenly to go purple.
It's just a couple of crooks that won't dare open their yaps to the bulls, 'cause what we're after 'll be what they'll have pinched themselves. See?" Shluker's face lost some of its belligerency, and in its place a dawning interest came. "What's that?" he demanded cautiously. "What crooks?" "French Pete an' Marny Day," said Pinkie and grinned. "Oh!" Shluker's eyebrows went up.
Apart from Danglar, there was Shluker, who must of necessity be one of them; and Skeeny, the man who had been with Danglar in Shluker's room; and the Cricket, whom she had never seen; and besides these, there were those who were mentioned in the cipher message to-night, and detailed to the performance of the various acts and scenes that were to lead up to the final climax which, she supposed, was the object and reason for the cipher message, in order that even those not actually employed might be thoroughly conversant with the entire plan, and ready to act intelligently if called upon.
The small crack under the partition that had been impressed into service as a letter-box had remained empty. There had been no messages nothing only a sinister, brooding isolation. Since the night Rhoda Gray had left Danglar, balked, almost a madman in his fury, in the little room over Shluker's junk shop, Danglar had not been seen nor the Adventurer nor even Rough Rorke.
She had reached the narrow driveway that led in, between the two blocks of down-at-the-heels tenements, to the courtyard at the rear that harbored Shluker's junk shop. And now, unlike that other night when she had first paid a visit to the place, she made no effort at concealment as she entered the driveway.
True, she knew by name and sight scarcely more than three of this crime clique, but at least she had a starting point from which to work. There was Shluker's junk shop where she had turned the tables on Danglar and Skeeny on the night they had planned to make the Sparrow their pawn. It was obvious, therefore, that Shluker himself, the proprietor of the junk shop, was one of the organization.
But faces were showing now above the level of the floor, and there was suddenly an increased uproar from further back in the rear until it seemed that pandemonium itself were loosed. "It's the police! The police behind us!" she heard Shluker's voice shriek out. She jumped to her feet. Two of the gang had reached the landing and were smashing at the Adventurer.
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