the white moll-第44节
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The garret！ The garret again … and Gypsy Nan！ Her surroundings
seemed to become a blank to her； her actions to be prompted by some
purely mechanical sense。 She was conscious only that finally； after
an interminable time； she was in New York again； and after that；
long； long after that； dressed as Gypsy Nan； she was stumbling up
the dark； ladder…like steps to the attic。
How her footsteps dragged！ She opened the door； staggered inside；
locked the door again； and staggered toward the cot； and dropped
upon it； and the gray dawn came in with niggardly light through
the grimy little window panes； as though timorously inquisitive
of this shawled and dissolute figure prone and motionless； this
figure who in other dawns had found neither sleep nor rest … this
figure who lay there now as one dead。
XVIII。 THE OLD SHED
Rhoda Gray opened her eyes； and； from the cot upon which she lay；
stared with drowsy curiosity around the garret … and in another
instant was sitting bolt upright； alert and tense； as the full flood
of memory swept upon her。
There was still a meager light creeping in through the small； grimy
window panes； but it was the light of waning day。 She must have
slept； then； all through the morning and the afternoon； slept the
dead； heavy sleep of exhaustion from the moment she had flung
herself down here a few hours before daybreak。
She rose impulsively to her feet。 It was strange that she had not
been disturbed； that no one had come to the garret！ The recollection
of the events of the night before were crowding themselves upon her
now。 In view of last night； in view of her failure to keep that
appointment in the role of Danglar's wife； it was very strange
indeed that she had been left undisturbed！
Subconsciously she was aware that she was hungry； that it was long
since she had eaten； and； almost mechanically； she prepared herself
something now from the store the garret possessed； but； even as she
ate； her mind was far from thoughts of food。 From the first night
she had come here and self…preservation had thrust this miserable
role of Gypsy Nan upon her； from that first night and from the
following night when； to save the Sparrow； she had been whirled
into the vortex of the gang's criminal activities； her mind raced
on through the sequence of events that seemed to have spanned some
vast； immeasurable space of time until they had brought her to
… last night。
Last night！ She had thought it was the end last night； but instead
… The dark eyes grew suddenly hard and intent。 Yes； she had
counted upon last night； when； with the necessary proof in her
possession with which to confront Danglar with the crime of murder；
she could wring from the man all that now remained necessary to
substantiate her own story and clear herself in the eyes of the law
of that robbery at Skarbolov's antique store of which she was held
guilty … and instead she had barely escaped with her life。 That
was the story of last night。
Her eyes grew harder。 Well； the way was still open； wasn't it？
Last night had changed nothing in that respect。 To…night； as the
White Moll； she had only to find and corner Danglar as she had
planned to do last night。 She had still only to get the man alone
somewhere。
Rhoda Gray's hands clenched tightly。 That was all that was necessary
… just the substantiation of her own story that the plot to rob
Skarbolov lay at the door of Danglar and his gang； or； rather； perhaps；
that the plot was in existence before she had ever heard of Skarbolov。
It would prove her own statement of what the dying woman had said。
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。 There was a crime
projected which； unless she； Rhoda Gray； would agree to forestall
it in person and would give her oath not to warn the police about
it and so put the actual criminals in jeopardy； would go on to its
fulfillment！
She remembered that night in the hospital。 The scene came vividly
before her now。 The woman's pleading； the woman's grim loyalty
even in death to her pals。 She； Rhoda Gray； had given her oath。
It became necessary only to substantiate those facts。 Danglar
could be made to do it。 She had now in her possession the evidence
that would convict him of complicity in the murder of Deemer； and
for which murder the original Gypsy Nan had gone into hiding； she
even had in her possession the missing jewels that had prompted that
murder； she had； too； the evidence now to bring the entire gang to
justice for their myriad depredations； she knew where their secret
hoard of ill…gotten gains was hidden … here in this attic； behind
that ingeniously contrived trap…door in the ceiling。 She knew all
this； and this information placed before the police； providing
only it was backed by the proof that the scheme to rob Skarbolov
was to be carried out by the gang； as she； Rhoda Gray； would say
the dying woman had informed her； would be more than enough to
clear her。 She had not had this proof on that first night when
she had snatched at the mantle of Gypsy Nan as the sole means of
escape from Rough Rorke； of headquarters； she did not have it
now … but she would have it； stake all and everything in life she
had to have it； for it； in itself； literally meant everything and
all … and Danglar would make a written confession； or else … or
else … She smiled mirthlessly。 That was all！ Last night she had
failed。 To…night she would not fail。 Before morning came； if it
were humanly within her power； she and Danglar would have played
out their game … to the end。
And now a pucker came and gathered her forehead into little furrows；
and anxiety and perplexity crept into her eyes。 Another thought
tormented her。 In the exposure that was to come the Adventurer；
alias the Pug； was involved。 Was there any way to save the man to
whom she owed so much； the splendidly chivalrous； high…couraged
gentleman she loved； the thief she abhorred？
She pushed the remains of her frugal meal away from her； stood up
abruptly from the rickety washstand at which she had been seated；
and commenced to pace nervously up and down the stark； bare garret。
Where was the line of demarcation between right and wrong？ Was it
a grievous sin； or an infinitely human thing to do； to warn the
man she loved； and give him a chance to escape the net she meant
to furnish the police？ He was a thief； even a member of the gang
… though he used the gang as his puppets。 Did ethics count when
one who had stood again and again between her and peril was himself
in danger now？ Would it be a righteous thing； or an act of
despicable ingratitude； to trap him with the rest？
She laughed out shortly。 Warn him！ Of course； she would warn him！
But then … what？ She shivered a little； and her face grew drawn and
tired。 It was the old； old story of the pitcher and the well。 It was
almost inevitable that sooner or later； for some crime or another；
the man she loved would be caught at last； and would spend the
greater portion of his days behind prison bars。 That was what the
love that had come into her life held as its promise to her！ It was
terrible enough without her agency being the means of placing him
there！
She did not want to think about it。 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？ Surely Danglar
would never allow what had happened to pass unchallenged； and … was
that some one now？
She halted suddenly by the door to listen； her hand going
instinctively to the wide； voluminous pocket of her greasy skirt
for her revolver。 Yes； there was a footstep in the hall below； but
it was descending now to the ground floor； not coming up。 She even
heard the street door close； but still she hung there in a strained；
tense way； and into her face there came creeping a gray dismay。 Her
pocket was empty。
The revolver was gone！ Its loss； pregnant with a hundred ominous
possibilities； seemed to bring a panic fear upon her； holding her
for a moment inert … and then she rushed frantically to the cot。
Perhaps it had fallen out of her pocket during the hours she had
lain there asleep。 She searched the folds of the soiled and
crumpled blanket； that was the cot's sole covering； then snatched
the blanket completely off the cot and shook it； and then； down on
her knees； she searched the floor under the cot。 There was no sign
of the revolver。
Rhoda Gray stood up； and stared in a stunned way about her。 Was
this； then； the explanation of her having seemingly been left
undisturbed here all through the day？ Had some one； after all；
been here； and …？ She shook her head suddenly with a quick；
emphatic ges
