the white moll-第7章
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did not like the thought of entering the back door of a store in
the middle of the night like a thief； and； like a thief； taking away
that hidden money。 She knew she was going to be afraid； horribly
afraid … it frightened her now … but she could not let that fear
make a moral coward of her。
Her hands clenched at her sides。 She would not allow herself to
dwell upon that phase of it！ She was going to Skarbolov's； and
that was all there was to it。 The only thing she really had to
fear was that she should lose even a single unnecessary moment in
getting there。 Halfpast one； Gypsy Nan had said。 That should give
her ample time； but the quicker she went； the wider the； margin of
safety。
Her thoughts reverted to Gypsy Nan。 What had the woman meant
by her last few wandering words？ They had nothing to do with
Skarbolov's； that was certain； but the words came back now
insistently。 〃Seven…three…nine。〃 What did 〃seven…three…nine〃
mean？ She shook her head helplessly。 Well； what did it matter？
She dismissed further consideration of it。 She repeated to herself
Gypsy Nan's directions for finding the spring of the secret drawer。
She forced herself to think of anything that would bar the entry
of that fear which stood lurking at the threshold of her mind。
From time to time she consulted her watch … and each time hurried
the faster。
It was five minutes past one when； stealing silently along a black
lane； and counting against the skyline the same number of buildings
she had previously counted on the street from the corner； she
entered an equally black yard； and reached the back door of
Skarbolov's little store。 She felt out with her hands and found
the padlock； and her fingers pressed on the link in the chain that
Gypsy Nan had described。 It gave readily。 She slipped it free；
and opened the door。 There was faint； almost inaudible； protesting
creak from the hinges。 She caught her breath quickly。 Had anybody
heard it？ It … it had seemed like a cannon shot。 And then her lips
curled in sudden self…contempt。 Who was there to hear it？
She stepped forward； closed the door silently behind her； and drew
out her flashlight。 The ray cut through the blackness。 She was
in what seemed like a small； outer storeroom； that was littered
with an untidy collection of boxes； broken furniture； and odds and
ends of all sorts。 Ahead of her was an open door； and； through
this； the flashlight disclosed the shop itself。 She switched off
the light now as she moved forward…there were the front windows；
and； used too freely； the light might by some unlucky chance be
noticed from the street。
And now； in the darkness again； she reached the doorway of the
shop。 She had not made any noise。 She assured herself of that。
She had never known that she could move so silently before … and
… and … Yes； she would fight down this panic that was seizing her！
She would！ It would only take a minute now … just another minute
… if … if she would only keep her head and her nerve。 That was
what Gypsy Nan had said。 She only needed to keep her nerve。 She
had never lost it in the face of many a really serious danger when
with her father … why should she now； when there was nothing but
the silence and the darkness to be afraid of！
The flashlight went on again； its ray creeping inquisitively now
along the rear wall of the shop。 It held finally on an escritoire
over in the far corner at her right。
Once more the light went out。 She moved swiftly across the floor；
and in a moment more was bending over the escritoire。 And now；
with her body hiding the flashlight's rays from the front windows；
she examined the desk。 It was an old…fashioned； spindle…legged
affair； with a nest of pigeonholes and multifarious little drawers。
One of the drawers； wider than any of the others； and in the center；
was obviously the one to which Gypsy Nan referred。 She pulled out
the drawer； and in the act of reaching inside； suddenly drew back
her hand。 What was that？ Instinctively she switched off the
flashlight； and stood tense and rigid in the darkness。
A minute passed…another。 Still she listened。
There was no sound … unless … unless she could actually hear the
beating of her heart。 Fancy！ Imagination！ The darkness played
strange tricks！ It … it wasn't so easy to keep one' s nerve。 She
could have sworn that she had heard some sort of movement back
there down the shop。
Angry with herself； she thrust her hand into the opening now and
felt hurriedly around。 Yes； there it was！ Her fingers touched
what was evidently a little knob or button。 She pressed upon it。
There was a faint； answering click。 She turned on the flashlight
again。 What had before appeared to be nothing but one of the wide；
pearl inlaid partitions between two of the smaller drawers； was
protruding invitingly outward now by the matter of an inch or so。
Rhoda Gray pulled it open。 It was very shallow； scarcely
three…quarters of an inch in depth； but it was quite long enough；
and quite wide enough for its purpose！ Inside； there lay a little
pile of banknotes； banknotes of very large denomination … the one
on top was a thousand…dollar bill。
She reached in and took out the money…and then from Rhoda Gray's
lips there came a little cry； the flashlight dropped from her hand
and smashed to the floor； and she was clinging desperately to the
edge of the escritoire for support。 The shop was flooded with light。
Over by the side wall； one hand still on the electric…light switch；
the other holding a leveled revolver； stood a man。
And then the man spoke … with an oath … with curious amazement：
〃My God … a woman！〃
She did not speak； or stir。 It seemed as though not fear； but
horror now； held her powerless to move her limbs。 Her first swift
brain…flash had been that it was one of Gypsy Nan's accomplices
here ahead of the appointed time。 That would have given her cause；
all too much of cause； for fear； but it was not one of Gypsy Nan's
accomplices； and； far worse than the fear of any physical attack
upon her； was the sense of ruin and disaster that the realization
of a quite different and more desperate situation brought her now。
She knew the man。 She had seen those square； heavy； clamped jaws
scores of times。 Those sharp； restless black eyes under
over…hanging； shaggy eyebrows were familiar to the whole East Side。
It was Rorke … 〃Rough〃 Rorke； of headquarters。
He came toward her； and halfway across the room another exclamation
burst from his lips； but this time it held a jeer； and in the jeer
a sort of cynical and savage triumph。
〃The White Moll！〃
He was close beside her now； and now he snatched from her hand the
banknotes that； all unconsciously； she had still been clutching
tightly。
〃So this is what all the sweet charity's been about； eh？〃 he
snapped。 〃The White Moll； the Little Saint of the East Side； that
lends a helping hand to the crooks to get 'em back on the straight
and narrow again！ The White Moll…hell！ You crooked little devil！〃
Again she did not answer。 Her mind was clear now； brutally clear；
brutally keen； brutally virile。 What was there for her to say？
She was caught here at one o'clock in the morning after breaking
into the place； caught red…handed in the very act of taking the
money。 What story could she tell that would clear her of that！
That she had taken it so that it wouldn't be stolen； and that she
was going to give it back in the morning？ Was there anybody in the
world credulous enough to believe anything like that！ Tell Gypsy
Nan's story； all that had happened to…night？ Yes； she might have
told that to…morrow； after she had returned the money； and been
believed。 But now…no！ It would even make her appear in a still
worse light。 They would credit her with being a member of this
very gang to which Gypsy Nan belonged； one in the secrets of an
organized band of criminals； who was trying to clear her own skirts
at the expense of her confederates。 Everything； every act of hers
to…night； pointed to that construction being placed upon her story；
pointed to duplicity。 Why had she hidden the identity of Gypsy Nan？
Why had she not told the poli
