the white moll-第10章

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the　rings　and　brooches　in　hand；　so　fiercely　that　the　settings
pricked　into　the　flesh；　if　her　face　mirrored　in　any　way　the　cold；
sick　misery　that　had　suddenly　taken　possession　of　her　soul。　　The
Sparrow！　　She　knew　the　Sparrow；　she　knew　the　Sparrow's　sick　mother。
That　part　of　it　was　true。　　The　Sparrow　did　have　an　old　mother　who
was　sick。　　A　fine　old　lady　…　finer　than　the　son　…　Finch；　her　name
was。　　Indirectly；　she　knew　old　Hayden…Bond；　the　millionaire；　and
…　Almost　subconsciously　she　was　aware　that　Danglar　was　speaking
again。

〃I　guess　luck's　breaking　our　way　again；〃　he　grinned。　　〃The　old　boy
paid　a　hundred　thousand　cold　for　that　necklace。　　You　know　how　long
we've　been　waiting　to　get　our　hooks　on　it；　and　we've　never　had　our
eyes　off　his　house　for　two　months。　　Well；　it　pays　to　wait；　and　it
pays　to　do　things　right。　　It　broke　our　way　at　last　to…night；　all
right；　all　right！　　To…day's　Saturday　…　and　the　safety　deposit　vaults
aren't　open　on　Sunday。　　Mrs。　Hayden…Bond's　been　away　all　week
visiting；　but　she　comes　back　to…morrow；　and　there's　some　swell
society　fuss　fixed　for　to…morrow　night；　and　she　wants　her　necklace
to　make　a　splurge；　so　she　writes　Mr。　H…hyphen…B；　and　out　it　comes
from　the　safety　deposit　vault；　and　into　the　library　safe。　　The　old
man　isn't　long　on　social　stunts；　and　he's　got　pretty　well　set　in
his　habits；　one　of　those　must…have…nine…hours'…sleep　bugs；　and　he's
always　in　bed　by　ten　…　when　his　wife'll　let　him。　　She　being　away
to…night；　the　boys　were　able　to　get　to　work　early。　　They　ought　to
be　able　to　crack　that　box　without　making　any　noise　about　it　in　an
hour　and　a　half　at　the　outside。〃　　He　pulled　out　his　watch…and
whistled　low　under　his　breath。　　〃It's　a　quarter　after　eleven　now；〃
he　said　hurriedly；　and　moved　abruptly　toward　the　door。　　〃I　can't
stick　around　here　any　longer。　　I've　got　to　be　on　deck　where　they
can　slip　me　the　'white　ones；'　and　then　there's　Skeeny　waiting　for
the　word　to　bump　off　the　Sparrow。〃　　He　jerked　his　hand　suddenly
toward　the　jewels　in　her　lap。　　〃Salt　those　away　before　any
more　adventurers　blow　in！〃　he　said；　half　sharply；　half　jocularly。
〃And　don't　let　the　White　Moll　slip　you　…　at　any　cost。　　Remember！
She's　bound　to　come　to　you　again。　　Play　her　…　and　send　out　the
call。　　You　understand；　don't　you？　　There's　never　been　a　yip　out
of　the　police。　　Our　methods　are　too　good　for　that。　　Look　at　the
Sparrow　to…night。　　Where　there's　no　chance　taken　of　suspicion
going　anywhere　except　where　we　lead　it；　there's　no　chance　of　any
trouble　…　for　us！　　But　this　cursed　she…fiend's　another　story。
We're　not　planting　plum　trees　for　her　to　pick　any　more　of　the　fruit。
Understand？〃

She　answered　him　mechanically。

〃Yes；〃　she　said。

〃All　right；　then；　that　end　of　it　is　up　to　you；〃　he　said　significantly。
〃You're　clever；　clever　as　the　devil；　Bertha。　　Use　your　brains　now　
…　we　need　'em。　　Good…night；　old　girl。　　See　you　later。〃

〃Good…night；〃　said　Rhoda　Gray　dully。

The　door　closed。　　The　short；　ladder…like　steps　to　the　hallway　below
creaked　once；　and　then　all　was　still。　　Danglar　did　have　on
rubber…soled　shoes。　　She　sat　upright；　her　hands；　clenched　now；
pressed　hard　against　her　throbbing　temples。　　It　wasn't　true！　　None
of　this　was　true　…　this　hovel　of　a　place；　those　jewels　glinting
like　evil　eyes　in　her　lap；　her　existence　itself　wasn't　true；　it　was
only　her　brain　now；　sick　like　her　soul；　that　conjured　up　these　ugly
phantoms　with　horrible；　plausible　ingenuity。　　And　then　an　inner
voice　seemed　to　answer　her　with　a　calmness　that　was　hideous　in　its
finality。　　It　was　true。　　All　of　it　was　true。　　Those　words　of　Danglar；
and　their　bald　meaning；　were　true。　　Men　did　such　things；　men　made　in
the　image　of　their　Maker　did　such　things。　　They　were　going　to　kill
a　man　to…night　…　an　innocent　man　whom　they　had　made　their　pawn。

She　swept　the　jewels　from　her　lap　to　the　blanket；　and　rising；　seized
the　candle；　went　to　the　door；　looked　out；　and；　holding　the　candle
high　above　her　head；　peered　down　the　stairs。　　Yes；　he　was　gone。
There　was　no　one　there。

She　locked　the　door　again；　returned　to　the　bed；　set　the　candle　down
upon　the　chair；　and　stood　there；　her　face　white　and　drawn；　staring
with　wide；　tormented　eyes　about　her。　　Murder。　　Danglar　had　spoken
of　it　with　inhuman　callousness　…　and　had　laughed　at　it。　　They　were
going　to　take　a　man's　life。　　And　there　was　only　herself；　already
driven　to　extremity；　already　with　her　own　back　against　the　wall　in
an　effort　to　save　herself；　only　herself　to　carry　the　burden　of　the
responsibility　of　doing　something…to　save　a　man's　life。

It　seemed　to　plumb　the　depths　of　irony　and　mockery。　　She　could　not
make　a　move　as　Gypsy　Nan。　　It　would　only　result　in　their　turning
upon　her；　of　the　discovery　that　she　was　not　Gypsy　Nan　at　all；　of
the　almost　certainty　that　it　would　cost　her　her　own　life　without
saving　the　Sparrow's。　　That　way　was　closed　to　her　from　the　start。
As　the　White　Moll；　then？　　Outside　there　in　the　great　city；　every
plain…clothes　man；　every　policeman　on　every　beat；　was　staring　into
every　woman's　face　he　met　…　searching　for　the　White　Moll。

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　disgu