the white moll-第14章

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She　wrung　her　hands　in　cruel　desperation。　　Even　to　her　own　problem
she　had　found　no　solution；　though　she　had　wrestled　with　it　all　last
night；　and　all　through　the　day；　no　solution　save　the　negative　one
of　clinging　to　this　one　refuge　that　remained　to　her；　such　as　it
was；　temporarily。　　She　had　found　no　solution　to　that；　what　solution
was　there　to　this！　　She　had　thought　of　leaving　the　city　as　Gypsy　Nan；
and　then　somewhere　far　away；　of　sloughing　off　the　character　of　Gypsy
Nan；　and　of　resuming　her　own　personality　again　under　an　assumed　name。
But　that　would　have　meant　the　loss　of　everything　she　had　in　life；
her　little　patrimony；　the　irredeemable　stamp　of　shame　upon　the　name
she　once　had　owned；　and　also　the　constant　fear　and　dread　that　at
any　moment　the　police　net；　wide　as　the　continent　was　wide；　would
close　around　her；　as；　sooner　or　later；　it　was　almost　inevitable　that
it　would　close　around　her。　　It　had　seemed　that　her　only　chance　was
to　keep　on　striving　to　play　the　role　of　Gypsy　Nan；　because　it　was
these　associates　of　Gypsy　Nan　who　were　at　the　bottom　of　the　crime
of　which　she；　Rhoda　Gray；　was　held　guilty；　and　because　there　was
always　the　hope　that　in　this　way；　through　confidences　to　a　supposed
confederate；　she　could　find　the　evidence　that　would　convict　those
actually　guilty；　and　so　prove　her　own　innocence。　　But　in　holding　to
the　role　of　Gypsy　Nan　for　the　purpose　of　receiving　those　criminal
confidences；　she　had　not　thought　of　this　…　that　upon　her　would　rest
the　moral　responsibility　of　other　crimes　of　which　she　would　have
knowledge；　and；　least　of　all；　that　she　should　be　faced　with　what
lay　before　her　now；　to…night；　at　the　first　contact　with　those　who
had　been　Gypsy　Nan's　confederates。

What　was　she　to　do？　　Upon　her；　and　upon　her　alone；　depended　a　man's
life；　and；　adding　to　her　distraction；　she　knew　the　man　…　the　Sparrow；
who　had　already　done　time；　that　was　the　vile　ingenuity　of　it　all。
And　there　would　le　corroborative　evidence；　of　course；　they　would
have　seen　to　that。　　If　the　Sparrow　disappeared　and　was　never　heard
of　again；　even　a　child　would　deduce　the　assumption　that　the　proceeds
of　the　robbery　had　disappeared　with　him。

Her　brain　seemed　to　grow　panicky。　　She　was　standing　here　helplessly。
And　time；　the　one　precious　ally　that　she　possessed；　was　slipping
away　from　her。　　She　could　not　go　to　the　police　as　Gypsy　Nan　…　and；
much　less；　as　the　White　Moll！　　She　could　not　go　to　the　police　in　any
case；　for　the　〃corroborative〃　evidence；　that　obviously　must　exist；
unless　Danglar　and　those　with　him　were　fools；　would　indubitably　damn
the　Sparrow　to　another　prison　term；　even　supposing　that　through　the
intervention　of　the　police　his　life　were　saved。　　What　was　she　to　do？

And　then；　for　a　moment；　her　eyes　lighted　in　relief。　　The　Adventurer！
She　thrust　her　hand　into　the　pocket　of　her　skirt；　and　drew　out　the
torn　piece　of　paper；　and　studied　the　telephone　number　upon　it　…　and
slowly　the　hurt　and　misery　came　back　into　her　eyes　again。　　Who　was
he？　　He　had　told　her。　　An　adventurer。　　He　had　given　her　to　understand
that　he；　if　she　had　not　been　just　a　few　minutes　ahead　of　him；　would
have　taken　that　money　from　Skarbolov's　escritoire　last　night。
Therefore　he　was　a　crook。　　Danglar　had　said　that　some　one　had　been
getting　in　ahead　of　them　lately　and　snatching　the　plunder　from　under
their　noses；　and　Danglar　now　believed　that　it　had　been　the　White
Moll。　　A　wan　smile　came　to　her　lips。　　Instead　of　the　White　Moll；　it
appeared　to　be　quite　obvious　that　it　was　the　Adventurer。　　It
therefore　appeared　to　be　quite　as　obvious　that　the　man　was　a
professional　thief；　and　an　extremely　clever　one；　at　that。　　She　dared
not　trust　him。　　To　enlist　his　aid　she　would　have　to　explain　the
gang's　plot；　and　while　the　Adventurer　might　go　to　the　Sparrow's
assistance；　he　might　also　be　very　much　more　interested　in　the
diamond　necklace　that　was　involved；　and　not　be　entirely　averse　to
Danglar's　plan　of　using　the　Sparrow　as　a　pawn；　who；　in　that　case；
would　make　a　very　convenient　scapegoat　for　the　Adventurer　…　instead
of　Danglar！　　She　dared　not　trust　the　man。　　She　could　not　absolve
her　conscience　by　staking　another's　life　on　a　hazard；　on　the
supposition　that　the　Adventurer　might　do　this　or　that。　　It　was　not
good　enough。

She　was　quick　in　her　movements　now。　　Subconsciously　her　decision
had　been　made。　　There　was　only　one　way　…　only　one。　　She　gathered　up
the　jewels　from　the　bed　and　thrust　them；　with　the　Adventurer's　torn
piece　of　paper；　into　her　pocket。　　And　now　she　reached　for　the
little　notebook　that　she　had　hidden　under　the　blanket。　　It　contained
the　gang's　secret　code；　and　she　had　found　it　in　the　cash　box　in
Gypsy　Nan's　strange　hiding　place　that　evening。　　Half　running　now；
carrying　the　candle；　she　started　toward　the　lower　end　of　the　attic；
where　the　roof　sloped　down　to　little　more　than　shoulder　high。
〃Seven…Three…Nine！〃　Danglar　had　almost　decoded　the　message　word　for
word　in　the　course　of　his　conversation。　　In　the　little　notebook；　set
against　the　figures；　were　the　words：　〃Danger。　　The　game　is　off。
Make　no　further　move。〃　　It　was　only　one　of　many；　that　arbitrary
arrangement　of　figures；　each　combination　having　its　own　special
significance；　but；　besides　these；　there　was　the　key　to　a　complete
cipher　into　which　any　message　might　be　coded；　and　…　But　why　was　her
brain　swerving　off　at　inconsequential　tangents？　　What　did　a　coder　or
code　book；　matter　at　the　present　moment？

She　was　standing　under　the　narrow　trap…door　in　the　low　ceiling　now；
and　now　she　pushed　it　up；　and　lifting　the　candle　through　the
opening；　set　it　down　on　the　inner　surface　of　the　ceiling；　which；
like　some　vast　shelf；　Gypsy　Nan　had　metamorphosed　into　that
exhaustive　storehouse　of　edibles；　of　plunder　…　a　curious　and　sinister
collection　that　was　eloquent　of　a　gauntlet　long　flung　down　against
the　law。　　She　emptied　the　pocket　of　her　skirt；　retaining　only　the
revolver；　and　substituted　the　articles　she　had　removed　with　the　tin
box　that　contained　the　dark　compound　Gypsy　Nan；　and　she　herself；　as
Gypsy　Nan；　had　used　to　rob　her　face　of　youthfulness；　and　give　it　the
grimy；　dissolute　and　haggard　aspect　which　was　so　simple　and　yet　so
efficient　a　disguise。

She　worked　rapidly　now；　changing　her　clothes。　　She　could　not　go；　or
act；　as　Gypsy　Nan；　and　so　she　must　go　in　her　own　character；　go　as
the　White　Moll　…　because　that　was　the　lesser　danger；　the　one　that
held　the　only　promise　of　success。　　There　wasn't　any　other　way。　　She
could　not　very　well　refuse　to　risk　her　capture　by　the　police；　could
she；　when　by　so　doing　she　might　save　another's　life？　　She　could　not
balance　in　cowardly　selfishness　the　possibility　of　a　prison　term　for
herself；　hideous　as　that　might　be；　against　the　penalty　of　death
that　the　Sparrow　would　pay　if　she　remained　inactive。　　But　she　could
not　leave　here　as　the　White　Moll。　　Somewhere；　somewhere　out　in　the
night；　somewhere　away　from　this　garret　where　all　connection　with　it
was　severed；　she　must　complete　the　transformation　from　Gypsy　Nan　to
the　White　Moll。　　She　could　only　prepare　for　that　now　as　best　she
could。

And　there　was　not　a　moment　to　lose。　　The　thought　made　her　frantic。
Over　her　own　clothes　she　put　on　again　Gypsy　Nan's　greasy　skirt；　and
drew　on　again；　over　her　own　silk　ones；　Gypsy　Nan's　coarse　stockings。
She　put　on　Gypsy　Nan's　heavy　and　disreputable　boots；　and　threw　the
old　shawl　again　over　her　head　and　shoulders。　　And　then；　with　her
hat　…　for　the　small　shape　of　which　she　breathed　a　prayer　of
thankfulness！　…　and　her　own　shoes　under　her　arm　and　covered　by　the
shawl；　she　took　the　candle　again；　closed　the　trap…door；　and　stepped
over　to　the　washstand。　　Here；　she　dampened　a　rag；　that　did　duty　as
a　facecloth；　and　thrust　it　into　her　pocket；　then；　blowing　out　the
candle；　she　groped　her　way　to　the　door；　locked　it　behind　her；　and
without　any　attempt　at　secrecy　made　her　way　downstairs。


VI。　　THE　RENDEZVOUS

Rhoda　Gray's　movements　were　a　little　unsteady　as　she　stepped　out
on　the　sidewalk。　Gypsy　Nan's　accepted　inebriety　was　not　without
its　compensation。　　It　enabled　her；　as　she　swayed　for　a　moment；　to
scrutinize　the　street　in　all　directions。　　Were　any　of　Rough　Rorke's
men　watching　the　house？　　She　did　not　know；　she　only　knew