Classic Audiobook Collection - The White Moll by Frank L. Packard ~ Full Audiobook [thriller]

Episode Date: October 17, 2022

The White Moll by Frank L. Packard audiobook. Genre: thriller Frank Lucius Packard (February 2, 1877 – February 17, 1942) born in Montreal, Quebec, was a Canadian novelist. Packard is credited with bridging the gap from the “cozy” style mysteries to the more gritty, hard-boiled style of such writers as Dashiell Hammet and Raymond Chandler. Packard also wrote a series of novels, beginning in 1917, featuring Jimmie Dale. A wealthy playboy by day, at night, Jimmie becomes a crimefighter “The Gray Seal” complete with mask and secret hide-out, “The Sanctuary”. This character certainly influenced later crime-fighting characters such as Batman and The Shadow. In The White Moll (1920) Rhoda Gray, “The White Moll”, an angel of mercy who spends her time helping the poor in the slums of New York City, is drawn into the criminal world when she attempts to help Gypsy Nan, who is not what she seems. Accused of a crime and on the run from the police, she must battle the most nefarious criminal gang in the New York underworld to prove her innocence. Populated by such characters as Pierre Dangler, the Pug, Pinkie Bonn, Skeeny, the Sparrow and above all “the Adventurer”, this story contains shoot-outs, car chases, adventure and enough suspense and deception to satisfy the most avid mystery lover. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 1 (00:24:55) Chapter 2 (00:53:55) Chapter 3 (01:22:05) Chapter 4 (01:40:28) Chapter 5 (02:05:26) Chapter 6 (02:27:49) Chapter 7 (02:58:33) Chapter 8 (03:27:26) Chapter 9 (03:48:38) Chapter 10 (04:21:52) Chapter 11 (04:49:48) Chapter 12 (05:17:22) Chapter 13 (05:38:56) Chapter 14 (05:58:14) Chapter 15 (06:19:43) Chapter 16 (06:46:39) Chapter 17 (07:03:13) Chapter 18 (07:37:48) Chapter 19 (08:04:08) Chapter 20 (08:20:34) Chapter 21 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The White Mall by Frank L. Packard Chapter 1 Night in the Underworld It was like some shadowy pantomime. The dark mouth of the alleyway, thrown into murky relief by rays of a distant street lamp, the swift forward leap of a skulking figure, a girl's form swaying and struggling in the man's embrace. Then a pantomime no longer. There came a half-threatening, half-trient.

infant oath, and then the girl's voice, quiet, strangely contained, almost imperious. Now, give me back that purse, please, instantly. The man, already retreating into the alleyway, paused to fling back a jeering laugh. Say, you's got your nerve, ain't you's? The girl turned her head, so the rays of the street lamp, faint as they were, fell upon her, disclosing a sweet, oval face, out of which the dark, eyes gazed steadily at the man. And suddenly, the man leaned forward, staring for an instant, and then his hand went awkwardly to touch his cap.

De White Mall, he mumbled deferentially. He pulled the peak of his cap down over his eyes in a sort of shame-faced way, as though to avoid recognition, and, stepping nearer, returned the purse. "'Excuse me, miss,' he said uneasily. "'I didn't know it was use, honest to God. I didn't. Excuse me, miss. Good night. For a moment, the girl stood motionless, looking down the alleyway after the retreating figure. From somewhere in the distance came the rumble of an elevated train. It drowned out the pound of the man's speeding footsteps. It died away itself, and now there was no other sound. A pucker, strangely wistful,

curiously perturbed, came and furrowed her forehead into little wrinkles, and then she turned and walk slowly on along the deserted street. The White Mall. She shook her head a little. The attack had not unnerved her. Why should it? It was simply that the man had not recognized her at first in the darkness. The White Mall here at night in one of the loneliest, as well as one of the most vicious and abandoned quarters of New York, was as safe and inviolate as—she shook her head again. Her mind did not instantly suggest a comparison that seemed wholly adequate. The Pucker deepened, but the sensitive, delicate, chiseled lips parted now in a smile. Well, she was safer here than anywhere else in the world. That was all. It was the first time that anything like this had happened, and for the very

reason that it was unprecedented, it seemed to stir her memory now and awaken a dormant train of thought. The White Mall. She remembered the first time she was a first time she was a she had been called by that name. It took her back almost three years, and since that time, here in this soared realm of crime and misery, the name of Rhoda Gray, her own name, her actual identity, seemed to have become lost, obliterated in that of the white mall. A dip had given it to her, and the underworld, quick and trench it in its monikers, had instantly ratified it. There was not a crook, or denizen of crime land, probably, who did not know the white mall. There was probably not one to-day who knew, or cared, that she was Rhoda Gray.

She went on, traversing block after block, entering a less deserted, though now less unsavory neighborhood. Here, a saloon flung a sudden glow of yellow light athwart the sidewalk as its swinging doors jerked apart, and a form lurched out into the night. There, from a dance hall, came the rattle of a tinny piano, the squeak of a raspy violin, a high-pitched, hectic burst of laughter, while flanking the street on each side, like interjected inanimate blotches, rows of squalid tenements, and cheap, tumbled-down-frame houses silhouetted themselves in broken, jagged points against the skyline. And now and then a man spoke to her, his untrained fingers,

fumbling in clumsy homage at the brim of his hat. How strange a thing memory was! How strange, too, the coincidences that sometimes roused it into activity. It was a man, a thief, just like the man to-night, who had first brought her into this shadowland of crime. That was just before her father died. Her father had been a mining engineer, and though an American had been for many years a resident in South America,

as the representative of a large english concern he had been an ill health for a year down there when acting on his physician's advice he had come to new york for a consultation and she had accompanied him they had taken a little flat the engineer had placed himself in the hands of a famous specialist and an operation had been decided upon and then a few days prior to the date set for the operation and before her father who was still able to be able to be the operation and before her father who was still able to be about had entered the hospital the flat had been broken into during the early morning hours. The thief, obviously not counting on the engineer's wakefulness, had been caught red-handed. At first, defiant, the man had finally broken down and told a miserable story. It was hackneyed, possibly, the same story told by a thousand others as a last defense in the hope of inducing leniency through an appeal to pity, but some of the same story told by a thousand others, as a last defense in the hope of inducing leniency, through an appeal to pity, but some somehow to her that night the story had rung true pete magee alias the buzzard the man had said his name was he couldn't get any work there was a shadow of a long abode in sing sing that lay upon him as a curse a job here to-day his record discovered to-morrow and the next day out on the street again

it was very old very threadbare that story there were even the sick wife the hungry unclothed children but to her it had rung true her father had not placed the slightest faith in it and but for her intervention the buzzard would have been incontinently consigned to the mercies of the police her face softened suddenly now as she walked along she remembered well that scene when at the end she had written down the address the man had given her father is going to let you go mcgee because i ask him to she had said and to-morrow morning i will go to this address and if i find your story as true as i believe it is i will see what i can do for you it's true miss so help me god the man had answered brokenly you's come and see i'll be there and god bless you's miss and so they had let the man go free and her father with a whimsical tolerant smile had shaken his head at her you'll never find that address rhoda or our friend the buzzard either but she had found both the buzzard and the address and destitution and squalor unspeakable pathetic still but the vernacular of the underworld were men called their women by no more gracious names than malls and skirts no longer strange to her ears there came to her again now the buzzard's words in which she had paid her tribute on that morning long ago and with which he had introduced her to a shrunken form that lay upon a dirty cot in a bare-floored room meet de maul i was telling you's about mag she's white all de way up she's white mag she's a white maule take it for me the white the firm little chin came suddenly upward but into the dark eyes unbidden came a sudden film and missed her father's health had been too far undermined and he had been unable to withstand the shock of the operation and he had died in the hospital

there weren't any relatives except distant ones on her mother's side somewhere out in california whom she had never seen she and her father had been all in all to each other chums pals comrades since her mother's death many years ago she had gone everywhere with him save when the demands of her education had necessarily kept them apart she had hunted with him in south america ridden with him in sections where civilization was still in the making shared the crude rough life of mining camps with him and it had seemed as though her life too had gone out with his she brushed her hand hastily across her eyes there hadn't been any friends either apart from a few of her father's casual business acquaintances, no one else except the buzzard. It was very strange. Her reward for that one friendly act had come in a manner little expected, and it had come very quickly. She had sought, and found a genuine relief from her own sorrow in doing what she could to alleviate the misery in that squalid one-room home. And then the sphere of her activities had broadened, slowly at first, not through any preconceived intention on her part, but naturally, and as an almost inevitable corollary

consequent upon her relations with the Buzzard and his ill-fortune family. The Buzzard's circle of intimates was amongst those who lay outside the law, those who gambled for their livelihood by staking their wits to win against the toils of the police. And so, more and more, she had come into close and intimate contact with the criminal element of New York. until to-day throughout its length and breadth she was known and she had reason to believe was loved and trusted by every crook in the underworld it was a strange eulogy self-pronounced but it was none the less true then she had been rhoda gray now even the buzzard doubtless had forgotten her name in the one with which he himself at that queer baptismal font of crime land had christened her the white maul it even went further than that it embraced what might be called the entourage of the underworld the police and the social workers with whom she inevitably came in contact these two had long known her as the white mall and had come since she had volunteered no further information tacitly to accept her as such and nothing more

again she shook her head it wasn't altogether a normal life she was only a woman with all the aspirations of a woman with all the yearning of youth for its measure of gaiety and pleasure true she had not made a recluse of herself outside her work but equally on the other hand she had not made any intimate friends in her station in life she had never proposed continuing indefinitely the work she was doing Nor did she now, but little by little, it had focused its claims upon her until those claims were not easy to ignore. Even though the circumstances in which her father had left her were barely more than sufficient for a modest little flat-up town, there was still always a little surplus, and that surplus counted in certain quarters for very much indeed. But it wasn't only that. The small amount of money that she was able to spend in that way, had little to do with it.

The bonds which linked her to the soared surroundings that she had come to know so well were stronger far than that. There wasn't any money involved in this visit, for instance, that she was going now to make to Gypsy Nan. Gypsy Nan was, Rhoda Gray halted before the doorway

of a small hovel-like two-story building that was jammed in between two tenements, which, relatively in their own class, were even more disrepearlation, than was the little frame house itself. A second-hand clothes store occupied the ground floor and housed the proprietor and his family as well, permitting the rooms on the second floor to be rented out. The garret above was the abode of Gypsy Nan. There was a separate entrance, apart from that into the second-hand clothes store, and she pushed this door open and stepped forward into an absolutely

black and musty-smelling hallway. By feeling with her hands along the wall, she reached the stair and began to make her way upward. She had found Gypsy Nan last night huddled in the lower doorway, and apparently in a condition that was very much the worse for wear. She had stopped and helped the woman up to her garret, whereupon Gypsy Nan, in language far more fervent than elegant had ordered her to be gone and slammed the door in her face. Rhoda Gray smiled a little wearily, as on the second floor now, she groped her way to the rear and began to mount a short, ladder-like flight of steps to the attic. Gypsy Nan's lack of cordiality did not absolve her, Rhoda Gray, from coming back to

night to see how the woman was, to crowd one more visit on her already over-expanded list. She had never had any personal knowledge of Gypsy Nan before, but in a sense the woman was no stranger to her. Gypsy Nan was a character known far and wide in the underworld as possessing an insatiable and unquenchable thirst. As to who she was, or what she was, or where she got the money for the gin she bought, it was not in the ethics of the badlands to inquire. She was just Gypsy Nan. so that she did not obtrude herself too obviously upon their notice, the police suffered her. So that she gave the underworld no reason for complaint, the underworld accepted her at face value as one of their own.

There was no hallway here at the head of the ladder-like stairs, just a sort of narrow platform in front of the attic door. Rhoda Gray, groping out with her hands again, felt for the door, and knocked softly upon it. There was no answer. She knocked again, and, opening it, stood for an instant on the threshold. A lamp, almost empty, ill-trimmed and smoking badly, stood on a chair beside a cheap iron bed. It threw a dull yellow glow about its immediate vicinity, and threw the remainder of the garret into deep, impenetrable shadows.

But it also disclosed the motionless form of a woman on the bed. Rhoda Gray's eyes darkened as she closed the door behind her, and stepped quickly. forward to the bedside. For a moment she stood looking down at the recumbent figure, at the matted tangle of gray-streaked brown hair that strangled across the pillow which was none too clean, at the heavy-lensed, old-fashioned, steel-bowed spectacles, awry now, that were still grotesquely perched on the woman's nose, at the sallow face, streaked with grime and dirt, as though it had not been washed for months. At the hands, as ill-carriage of, and, and the hands, as ill-carriage, for, which lay exposed on the torn blanket that did duty for a counterpane, at the dirty shawl that

enveloped the woman's shoulders, and which was tightly fastened around Gypsy Nan's neck, and from the woman her eyes shifted to an empty bottle on the floor that protruded from under the bed. Nan, she called sharply, and stooping over, she shook the woman's shoulder. Nan, she repeated. There was something about the woman's breathing that she did not like. something in the queer pinched condition of the other's face that suddenly frightened her nan she called again gypsy nan opened her eyes stared for a moment dully then in a curiously quick desperate way jerked herself up on her elbow yous get to hell out of here she croaked get out i'm going to said rhoda gray evenly and i'm going at once she turned abruptly and i'm going at once she turned abruptly and watched

toward the door. I'm going to get a doctor. You've gone too far this time, Nan, and— No, use don't, gypsy Nan's voice rose to a sudden scream. She sat bolt upright in the bed, and pulled a revolver from under the covers. Yous don't bring no doctor here. See, you's put a finger on that door, and it won't be the door you'll be going out by. Rhoda Gray didn't move. Nan, put that revolver down, she ordered quietly. You don't know what you're doing. Don't, leered Gypsy Nan, the revolver held, swaying a little unsteadily on Rhoda Gray. There was silence for a moment, then Gypsy Nan spoke again, evidently through dry lips,

for she wet them again and again with her tongue. Say, use her to white mall, ain't you? Yes, said Rhoda Gray. Gypsy Nan appeared to ponder this for an instant. Well, then, come back here, and sit down on to fly. "'Put it to bed,' she commanded, finally. "'Rota Gray obeyed without hesitation. "'There was nothing to do but humor the woman in her present state,

"'a state that seemed one bordering on delirium, "'and a complete collapse. "'Nan, she said, you— "'De white mall,' mumbled gypsy Nan. "'I wonder if de dope de hands out about use is all on de level. "'My God, I wonder if what they says is true. "'What do they say?' asked Rhoda Gray, gently. gypsy nan lay back on her pillow as though her strength overtaxed had failed her her hand though it still clutched the revolver seemed to have been dragged down by the weapon's weight and now rested upon the blanket

they say said gipsy nan slowly that euse knows more on de inside than anybody else tings you's got from de spacers malls and from de dips dem themselves when you was linden dem a hand they say ter ain't many euse couldn't send up de river just by lifting your finger, but that use are straight, and that you have kept your map closed, and that use are safe. Rhoda Gray's dark eyes softened, as she leaned forward, and laid a gentle hand over the one of Gypsy Nan that held the revolver. It couldn't be any other way, could it, Nan? she said simply. What you're after? demanded Gypsy Nan, with sudden mockery. Degun? Well, take it. She let go her hold on the weapon.

But don't kid yourself, did yous her kidd me and de given it to use, because you's got a pretty smile and a sweet voice. Savvy? I—she choked, suddenly, and caught at her throat. I guess use her the only chance I got. That's all. That's better, said Rhoda Gray encouragingly, and now you'll let me go and get a doctor, won't you, Nan? Wait, said Gypsy Nan, hoarsely. Use her the only chance I got. Will you, you'll be a good. We'll You swear you won't trow me down if I tells you something? I got no other way. Will you swear you'll see me through? Of course, Nan, said Rhoda Gray soothingly. Of course I will, Nan. I promise. Jipsy Nan came up on her elbow. That ain't good enough, she cried out. A promise ain't good enough. For God's sake, come across all the way. Swear you'll keep mum and see me through. Yes, Nan, Rhoda Gray's eye.

smiled reassurance. I swear it. But you will be all right again in the morning. Will I? You think so, do you? Well, I can only say that I wish I did. Rota Gray leaned sharply forward, staring in amazement at the figure on the bed. The woman's voice was the same. It was still hoarse, still heavy, and the words came with painful effort, but the English was suddenly perfect now. Nan, what is it? I don't understand, she said, tensely. What do you mean? You think you know what's the matter with me. There was a curious, mocking in the weak voice.

You think I've drunk myself into a state. You think I'm on the verge of the DTs now. That empty bottle under the bed proves it, doesn't it? And anybody around will tell you that Gypsy Nan has thrown enough empties out of the window to stock a bottle factory for years, some of them on the flat roof just outside the window, some of them on the roof of the shed below, some of them down into the yard,

just depending upon how drunk she was, and how far she could throw. And that proves it, too, doesn't it? Well, maybe it does. That's what I did it for, but I never touched this stuff, not a drop of it, from the day I came here. I didn't dare touch it.

I had to keep my wits. Last night you thought I was drunk when you found me in the doorway downstairs? I wasn't. I was too sick and weak to get up here. I almost told you then, only I was afraid, and—and I thought that perhaps I'd be all right today. Oh, I didn't know, Rhoda Gray was on her knees beside the bed. There was no room to question the truth of the woman's words. It was in Gypsy Nan's eyes, in the struggling, labored voice. Yes, Gypsy Nan clutched. the shawl around her neck and shivered.

I thought I might be all right today, and I thought I'd get better, but I didn't. And now I've got about a chance in a hundred. I know. It's my heart. You mean you've been here alone, sick since last night? Why didn't you call someone? Why did you even hold me back a few minutes ago, when you admit yourself that you need immediate medical assistance so badly?

Because, said Gypsy Nan, if I've got a chance, at all. I'd finish it for keeps if a doctor came here. I'd rather go out this way than in that horrible thing they call the chair. Oh my God, don't you understand that? I've seen pictures of it. It's a horrible thing. A horrible thing. Horrible. Nan, Rota Gray steadied her voice. You're delirious. You do not know what you're saying. There isn't any horrible thing to frighten you. Now, just like quietly here, I'll only be a few. minutes and she stopped abruptly as her wrist was suddenly imprisoned in a frantic grip you swore it gypsy nan whispered feverishly you swore it they say the white mall never snitched that's the one chance i've got and i'm going to take it i'm not delirious not yet i wish to god it was nothing more than that look with a low startled cry rhoda was on her feet gypsy nan was on her feet gypsy nan was gone. A sweep of the woman's hand, and the spectacles were off. The gray streaked hair,

a tangled wig upon the pillow, and Rhoda Gray found herself staring in a numbed sort of way at a dark-haired woman who could not have been more than thirty, but whose face, with its streaks of grime and dirt, looked grotesquely and incongruously old. End of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 of the White Mall This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visitlibrovox.org.

The White Mall By Frank L. Packard Chapter 2 7.3.9 For a moment, neither spoke. Gypsy Nan broke the silence with a bitter laugh. She threw back the bedcloth. clothes, and gripping at the edge of the bed sat up. The white mall, the words rattled in her throat.

A fleck of blood showed on her lips. Well, you know now. You're going to help me, aren't you? I—I've got to get out of here. Get to a hospital. Rota Gray laid her hands firmly on the other shoulders. Get back into bed, she said steadily. Do you want to make yourself worse? You'll kill yourself. Gypsy Nan pushed her away. Don't make me use what little strength I've got left in talking, she cried out piteously and suddenly wrung her hands together. I'm wanted by the police. If I'm caught, it's—it's that chair.

I couldn't have a doctor brought here, could I? How long would it be before he saw that Gypsy Nan was a fake? I can't let you go and have an ambulance say, Come and get me, can I? Even with the disguise hidden, they'd say this is where Gypsy Nan lives. There's something queer. Where is Gypsy Nan? I've got to get away from here. Away from Gypsy Nan. Don't you understand? It's death one way. Maybe it is the other. Maybe it'll finish me to get out of here. But it's the only thing left to do.

I thought someone, someone I could trust, never mind who, would come today. But no one came and, and maybe it's too late. But there's just the one chance, and I've got to take it. Gypsy Nan tore at the shawl around her throat, as though it choked her, and flung it from her shoulders. Her eyes were gleaming with unhealthy, feverish light. Don't you see? We get out on the street. I collapse. You find me. I tell you my name is Charlotte Green.

That's all you know. There isn't much chance that anybody at the hospital were recognized. me. I've got money. I take a private room. Don't you understand? Rhoda Gray's face had gone white. There was no doubt about the woman's serious condition, and yet, and yet. She stood there hesitant. There must be some other way. It was not likely even that the woman had strength enough to walk down the stairs to begin with. Strange things had come to her in this world of shadow, but none before like this. If the law got the woman, it would cost the woman her life.

If the woman did not receive immediate and adequate medical assistance, it would cost the woman her life. Over and over in her brain, like a jangling refrain, that thought repeated itself. It was not like her to stand hesitant before any emergency, no matter what the emergency might be. She had never done it before, but now... For God's sake, Gypsy Nan implored,

don't stand there looking at me. Can't you understand? If I'm caught, I go out. Do you think I'd have lived in this filthy hole if there had been any other way to save my life? Are you going to let me die here like a dog? Get me my clothes. Oh, for God's sake, get them, and give me the one chance that's left. A queer little smile came to Rhoda Gray's lips, and her shoulders straightened back. "'Where are your clothes?' she asked. "'God bless you. The tears were suddenly streaming down the grimy face. "'God bless the white mall. It's true. It's true. All they said about her. The woman had lost control of herself. Nan, keep your nerve,' ordered Rhoda Gray, almost brutally.

"'It was the white mall in another light now. Cool, calm, collected, efficient. Her eyes swept Gypsy Nan. The woman, who had obviously flung herself down on the bed fully dressed the night before, was garbed in coarse, heavy boots, the cheapest of stockings which were also sadly in need of repair, a tattered and crumpled skirt of some rough material, and previously hidden by the shawl, a soiled, greasy and spotted black blouse. Rhoda Gray's forehead puckered into a frown. What about your hands and face?

They go with the clothes, don't they? It'll wash off, whispered Gypsy Nan. It's just some stuff I keep in a box over there. The ceiling. Her voice trailed off weekly, then with a desperate effort, strengthened again. The door. I forgot the door. It isn't locked.

Lock the door first. Lock the door. Then you take the candle over there on the washstand, and I'll show you. You—you get the things while you— I'm undressing, I... I can't help myself that much. Rota Gray crossed quickly to the door, turned the key in the lock, and retraced her steps to the washstand that stood in the shadows against the wall on the opposite side of the bed, and near the far end of the garret. Here she found the short stub of a candle that was stuck

in the mouth of a gin bottle, and matches lay beside it. She lighted the candle, and turned inquiringly to Gypsy Nan. The woman pointed to the end of the garret where the the roof sloped sharply down until at the wall itself it was scarcely four feet above the floor. Go down there, right to the wall, in the center, instructed Gypsy Nan weakly, and then, as Rhoda Gray obeyed, now push up that wide board in the ceiling. Rota Gray, already in a stooped position, reached up and pushed at the rough unplained board. It swung back without a sound, like a narrow trap door, until it rested in the upright position against the outer frame of the house, disclosing an aperture through which, by standing erect, Rhoda Gray easily thrust her head and shoulders.

She raised the candle through the opening, and suddenly her dark eyes widened in amazement. It was a hiding place, not only ingenious, but exceedingly generous in expanse. As far as one could reach, the ceiling metamorphized itself into a most convenient shelf, and it had been well utilized. It held a most astounding collection of things. There was a cash box, but the cash box was apparently wholly inadequate. There must have been thousands of dollars in those piles of bank notes that were stacked beside it. There was a large tin box the cover off, containing some black paste-like substance, the stuff, presumably, that Gypsy Nan used on her face and hands. There was a bunch of curiously formed keys, several boxes of revolver cartridges, an electric flashlight,

and a great quantity of the choicest brands of tinned and bottled fruits and provisions, and a little to the side evidently kept ready for instant use, a suit of excellent material, underclothing, silk stockings, shoes, and hat were neatly piled together. Rhoda Gray took the clothing and went back to the bedside. "'Gy Nann had made little progress in disrobing. "'It seemed about all the woman could do "'to cling to the edge of the cot and sit upright. "'What does all this mean, Nan?' she asked, tensely.

"'All those things up there, that money!' "'Jipsy Nann forced a twisted smile. "'It means I know how bad I am, "'or I wouldn't have let you see what I have,' she answered heavily. "'It means that there isn't any other way. "'Hurry, get these things off. Get me dressed. But it took a long time.

Gypsy Nan seemed with every moment to grow weaker. The lamp on the chair went out for want of oil. There was only the guttering candle in the gym bottle to give light. It threw weird, flickering shadows across the garret. It seemed to enhance the already death-like pallor of the woman, as using the pitcher of water and the basin from the washstand now, Rhoda Gray, removed the grime from Gypsy Nan's face and hands. It was done at last, and where there had once been Gypsy Nan, hag-like, and repulsive,

there was now a stylishly, even elegantly dressed woman of well under middle age. The transformation seemed to have acted as a stimulant upon Gypsy Nan. She laughed with nervous hilarity. She even tried valiantly to put on a pair of new black kid gloves, but, failing this, pushed them unsteadily into the pocket of the coat. I'm all right, she asserted fiercely as Rhoda Gray, pausing in the act of gathering up the discarded garments, regarded her anxiously. Bring me a package of that money after you've put those things away. Yes, and you'll find a flashlight there. We'll need it going down the stairs.

Rhoda Gray made no answer. There was no hesitation now in her actions. As to the piling of the clothes in her arms, she added the revolver that lay on the blanket, and returning to the little trapdoor in the ceiling, hid them away. But her brain was whirling again in a turmoil of doubt. This was madness, utter, stark, blind madness, this thing that she was doing. It was suicide, literally that, nothing less than suicide for one in Gypsy Nann's condition to attempt this thing. But the woman would certainly die here, too, without medical assistance. Only there was the police. Rhoda Gray's face, as she stood upright in the little aperture again,

throwing the wavering candle rays around her, seemed suddenly to have grown pinched and won. The police. The police. It was her conscience, then, that was gnawing at her because of the police. What was that? Well, there was also then another side. Could she turn informer, traitor, become a female, Judas to a dying woman who had sobbed and thanked her maker because she had found someone whom she believed

she could trust. That was a hideous and an abominable thing to do. You swore it. You swore you'd see me through. The words came and rang instantly in her ears. The sweet, a quaint little face set in hard, determined lines. Mechanically she picked up the flashlight and a package of banknotes, lowered the board in the ceiling into place, and returned to Gypsy Nan. I'm ready, if there is no other way, she said soberly, as she watched the other tuck the money inside or waist. I said I would see you through, and I will. But I doubt if you are strong enough, even with what help I can give you, to get down the stairs. And even if you can, I am afraid with all my soul of the consequences to you, and—jipsy Nan blew out the candle and staggered to her feet. There isn't any other way.

She leaned heavily on Rhoda Gray's arm. Can't you see that? Don't you think I know? Haven't you seen enough here to convince you of that? I'm just spilling the dice for, for perhaps the last time. But it's the only chance. The only chance. Go on.

She urged, tremulously. Shoot the glim and get me to the door. And, and for the love of God, don't make a sound. It's all up if we're seen going out. The flashlight's ray danced in crazy gyrations as the two figures swayed and crept across the garret. Rhoda Gray unlocked the door, and as they passed out, locked it again on the outside. Hide the key, whispered Gypsy Nan. See? That crack in the floor under the partition.

Slip it in there. The flashlight guiding her, Rhoda Gray stooped down to where, between the rough attic flooring and the equally rough boarding of the garret partition, there was a narrow space. She pushed the key in, out of sight, and then, with her arm around Gypsy Nann's waist, and with the flashlight at cautious intervals winking ahead of her, through the darkness, she began to descend the stairs. It was slow work, desperately slow, both because they dare not make the slightest noise, and, because, too, as far as strength was concerned, Gypsy Nan was close to the end of her endurance.

Down one flight, and then the other they went, resting at every few steps, leaning back against the wall, black shadows that merged with the blackness around them. The flashlight used only when necessity compelled it, lest its glean might attract the attention of some other occupant of the house. And at times, Gypsy Nan's head lay cheek to Rhoda Grays, and the other's body grew limp and became a great weight, so that it seemed she could no longer support it.

They gained the street door, hung there tensely for a moment to make sure that they were not observed by any chance passer-by, then stepped out on the sidewalk. Gypsy Nan spoke, then. I can't go much further, she faltered. But it doesn't matter now we're out of the house. It doesn't matter where you find me.

Only let's try a few steps more. Rhoda Gray had slipped the flashlight inside her blouse. Yes, she said. Her breath coming heavily. It's all right, Nan. I understand. They walked on a little way up the block, and then Gypsy Nan's grasp suddenly tightened on Rhoda Gray's arm. Play the game, Gypsy Nan's voice said scarcely audible. You'll play the game, won't you? You'll see me through. That's a good name. As good as any, Charlotte Green. That's all you know. But don't leave me alone with them. You—you'll come to the hospital with me, won't you? I—Gy Nann collapsed in a heap on the sidewalk. Rota Gray glanced swiftly around her. In the squalid tenement before which she stood, there would be no help of the kind that was needed.

There would be no telephone in there, by means of which she could summon an ambulance. And then her glance rested on a figure far up the block under a street lamp. A policeman. She bent hurriedly over the prostrate woman, whispered. a word of encouragement and ran in the officer's direction. As she drew closer to the policeman, she called out to him. He turned and came running toward her, and as he reached her, after a sharp glance into her face, touched his helmet respectfully. What's wrong with the white mall tonight?

He asked pleasantly. There's a woman down there, Rhoda Gray was breathless from her run, on the sidewalk. She needs help at once. "'Drunk?' inquired the officer, laconically. "'No, I'm sure it's anything but that,' Rota Gray answered quickly. "'She appears to be very sick. "'I think you had better summon an ambulance without delay.' "'All right,' agreed the officer.

"'There's a patrol box down there in the direction you came from. "'We'll have a look at her on the way.' "'He started briskly forward with Rota Gray beside him. "'Who is she, do you know?' he asked. "'She said her name. name was Charlotte Green, Rota Gray replied. That's all she could or would say about herself. Then she ain't a regular around here, or I guess you'd know her, grunted the policeman. Rota Gray made no answer. They reached Gypsy Nan. The officer bent over her, then picked her up

and carried her to the tenement doorway. I guess you're right, all right. She's bad. I'll send in a call, he said, and started on the run down the street. Gypsy Nan had lost consciousness. Rhoda Gray settled herself on the doorstep, supporting the woman's head in her lap. Her face had set again in grim, hard, perplexed lines. There seemed nothing unnatural, and something mincingly weird,

something even uncanny about it all. Perhaps it was because it seemed as though she could so surely foresee the end. Gypsy Nan would not live through the night. Something told her that. woman's masquerade for whatever purpose it had been assumed was over. You'll play the game, won't you? You'll see me through. There seemed something painfully futile about those words now. The officer returned. It's all right, he said. How's she seen?

Rota Gray shook her head. A passerby stopped, asked what was the matter, and lingered curiously. Another and another did the same. A little crowd. A little crowd. collected. The officer kept them back. Came then the strident clang of a gong and the rapid beat of horses' hooves. A white-coated figure jumped from the ambulance, pushed his way forward, and bent over the form in Rhoda Gray's lap. A moment more, and they were carrying Gypsy Nan to the ambulance. Rhoda Gray spoke to the officer. I think perhaps I had better go with her. Sure, said the officer. She caught snatches of the officer's words as he made a report to the doctor. Found her here in the street.

Charlotte Green, nothing else. The white mall. Straight as God makes them. She'll see the woman through. He turned to Rhoda Gray. You can get in there with them, miss. It took possibly ten minutes to reach the hospital, but before that time, Gypsy Nan, responding in a measure to the stimulants,

had regained consciousness. She insisted on clinging to Rhoda Gray's hand as they carried in the stretcher. Don't leave me, she pleaded. And then, for the first time, Gypsy Nan's nerve seemed to fail her. I—oh, my God, I—I don't want to die, she cried out. But a moment later, inside the hospital, as the admitting officer began to ask questions of Rhoda Gray, Gypsy Nan had apparently recovered her grip upon herself. Ah, let her alone, she broke in.

She doesn't know me any more than you do. She found me on the street. But she was good to me, God bless her. Your name's Charlotte Green? Yes, the man nodded. Where do you live? Wherever I like, Gypsy Nan was snarling trellately now. What's it matter where I live? Don't you ever have anyone come here without a letter from the pastor of her church? She pulled out the package of banknotes. You aren't going to get stuck. This will see you through whatever happens. "'Give me a—a private room, and—' Her voice was weakening rapidly.

And—' There came a bitter, facetious laugh. The best you've got!' Her voice was weakening rapidly. They carried her upstairs. She still insisted on clinging to Rhoda Gray's hand. "'Don't leave me,' she pleaded again as they reached the door of a private room, and Rhoda Gray disengaged her hand gently.

"'I'll stay outside here,' Roda Gras. Ray promised. I won't go away without seeing you again. Rhoda Gray sat down on a settee in the hall. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was five minutes to eleven. Doctors and nurses came and went from the room. Then a great quiet seemed to settle down around her. A half hour passed. A doctor went into the room and presently came out again. She intercepted him as he came along the corridor. He shook his head. did not understand his technical explanation. There was something about a clot and blood stoppage. But as she resumed her seat, she understood very fully that the end was near.

The woman was resting quietly now, the doctor had said, but if she, Rhoda Gray, cared to wait, she could see the other before leaving the hospital. And so she waited. She had promised Gypsy nan she would. The minutes dragged along. A quarter of an hour passed. Still another. midnight came fifteen minutes morrow went by and then a nurse came out of her room and standing near the door beckoned to rhoda gray she's asking for you the nurse said please do not stay more than a few minutes i shall be outside here and if you notice the strangest change call me instantly rhoda gray nodded i understand she said the door closed softly behind her she was smiling cheerily as she crossed the room and bent over Gypsy Nan. The woman stretched out her hand. The white mall, she whispered.

He told the truth. That bull did. Straight as they make them and— Don't try to talk, Rhoda Gray interrupted gently. Wait until you're a little stronger. Stronger? Jipsy Nan shook her head. Don't try to kid me.

I know. They told me. I'd have known it anyway. I'm going out. Rota Gray found no end. for a moment. A great lump had risen in her throat. Neither would she have needed to be told. She, too, would have known it anyway. It was stamped in the gray pallor of the woman's face. She pressed Gypsy Nan's hand. And then Gypsy Nan spoke again, a queer, yearning,

hesitancy in her voice. Do you believe in God? Yes, said Rhoda Gray simply. Gypsy Nan closed her eyes. Do you think there's a chance, even at the last, if, if, without throwing down one's pals, one tries to make good? Yes, said Rhoda Gray again. Is the door closed? Gypsy Nan attempted to raise herself on her elbow, as though to see for herself. Rhoda Gray forced the other gently back upon the pillows.

It is closed, she said. You need not be afraid. "'What time is it?' demanded Gypsy Nan. "'Roda Gray looked at her watch. "'Twenty-five minutes after twelve,' she answered. "'There's time yet, then,' whispered Gypsy Nan. "'There's time yet.' She lay silent for a moment.

Then her hand closed tightly around Rhoda Gray's. "'Listen,' she said. "'There's more about—about why I lived like that than I told you. "'And—and I can't tell you now. I can't go out like a yellow cur. I'm not going to snitch on anybody else just because I'm through myself. But there's something on tonight that I'd like to stop. Only the police or anybody else aren't to know anything about it

because then they'd nip my friends. See? But you can do it easy. You can do it alone without anybody knowing. There's time yet. They weren't going to pull it off until half past one. and there won't be any danger to you. All you've got to do is get the money before they do,

and then see that it goes back where it belongs tomorrow. Will you? You don't want to see a crime committed tonight. If you can stop it, do you? Rhoda Grace's face was grave. She hesitated for a moment. I'll have to know more about it before I can answer you, Nan, she said. It's the only way to stop it, Gypsy Nan whispered, feverishly.

I won't split on my pals. I won't. I won't. But I trust you. Will you promise not to snitch if I tell you how to stop it, even if you don't go there yourself? I'm offering you a chance to stop a $20,000 hall. If you don't promise, it's got to go through, because I've got to stand by the ones that were in it with me. I'd like to make good, just once. But I can't do it any other way. For God's sakes, you see that. don't you yes said rhoda gray in a low voice but the promise you ask for is the same as though i promised to try and get the money you speak of if i knew what was going on and did nothing i would be an accomplice to the crime and guilty myself but you can't do anything else gypsy nan was speaking with great difficulty i won't get those that were with me in wrong i won't you can prevent a crime to-night if you will You can help me to make good. Rhoda Gray's lips tightened. Will you give me your word that I can do what you suggest? That it is feasible, possible? Yes, said Gypsy Nan.

You can do it easily, and it's safe. It only wants a little nerve, and you've got that. I promise, then, said Rhoda Gray. Thank God, Gypsy Nan pulled. fiercely at Rhoda Gray's wrist. Come nearer, nearer. You know Scarbelov? Old Scarbelov, who keeps the antique store, on the street, around the corner from my place. Rode Gray nodded. He's rich, whispered Gypsy Nan. Think of it. Him. Rich. But he gets the best of the Fifth Avenue crowd, because he keeps his joint in that rotten hole. They think they're getting the real thing in antiques.

he's a queer old fool afraid people would know he had money if he kept it in the bank afraid of a bank too understand we found out that every once in a while he'd change a lot of small bills for a big one five hundred dollar bills thousand dollar bills that put us wise we began to watch him it took months to find where he hit it we spent night after night searching through his shop you can get it you can get it easily. There's no one there. Upstairs is just a storage place for his extra stock. There's a big padlock on the back door, but there's a false link in the chain. Count three links to the right from the padlock. We put it there, and... Gypsy Nan's voice became almost inaudible. She pulled at Rhoda Gray's wrist again, urging her closer. Listen, quick! I... My strength, she panted. And Anne he never sells. Old escrotue against rear wall. Secret drawer. Take out wide middle drawer. Reach in and rub your hand along the top. You'll feel the spring. We waited to get

counterfeits. Put counterfeits there, understand? Then he'd never know he'd been robbed. Not for a long time anyway. Discovered perhaps when he was dead. Old wife. Suffer then. I got to make good. Make good. I... She came up suddenly on both elbows, the dark eyes staring wildly. Yes, yes, she whispered.

739. Look out. Her voice rang with sudden terror, rising almost to a scream. Look out! Can't you understand? You fool? I told you.

739. 7.3. Rita Gray's arms had gone around the other's shoulders. She heard the door open and then a quick light step. There wasn't any other sound now. She made way mechanically for the nurse. And then, after a moment, she rose from her knees. The nurse answered her unspoken question.

Yes, it's over. End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 of the White Mall. This is a Librava. recording all libravox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit librivox dot org reading by rowdy delaney idaho u s a the white mall by frank l packard chapter three alias gypsy nan rhoda gray went slowly from the room in a curiously stunned sort of way she reached the street and for a few blocks walked along scarcely conscious of the direction she was taking. Her mind was in turmoil. The night seemed to have been one of harrowing hallucination. It seemed as though it were

utterly unreal, like one dreaming that one is dreaming. And then, suddenly, she looked at her watch, and the straight little shoulders squared resolutely back. The hallucination, if she chose to call it that, was not yet over. It was twenty minutes of one, and there was still scottable. And there was still Herbelovs. And her promise. She quickened her pace. She did not like this promise that she had made, but, on the other hand, she had not made it either lightly or impulsively. She had no regrets on that score. She would make it again under the same conditions. How could she have done otherwise? It would have been to stand aside and permit a crime to be committed, which she was assured was easily within her power to prevent. What excuse could she have had for that? Fear wasn't an excuse.

She did not like the thought of entering the back door of the 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 clinched at her sides. She would not allow herself to dwell upon that, phase of it. She was going to Scarbalovs, and that was all there was to it. The only thing she really had to fear was that she would lose even a single unnecessary moment in getting there. Half past one, Gypsy Nan had said. That would 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 Scarbolovs, that was certain, but the words came back now, insistently. 739. What did 739 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 through the black lane and counting against the skyline

the 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 Skarbalov'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 a faint, almost an audible protesting creak from the hinges. She caught her breath quickly. Had anybody heard it? It 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 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 would she now, when there was nothing but the silence and the darkness to be afraid of? The flashlight went on again, the ray creeping inquisitively now along the rear wall of the shop. It held finally on the escrotet 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 escrottois.

And now, with her body hiding the flashlight's ray 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, whiter than the others, and in the center, was obviously the one to which Gypsy Nan had 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 own heart. Fancy. Imagination. The darkness played strange tricks.

It wasn't so easy to keep one's nerve. She could have sworn that she 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 a 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 wide enough for its purpose. Inside there lay a little pile of banknotes, banknotes of very large denominations. 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 Esqueratois for support.

The shop was flooded with light. Over by the side wall, one hand still on the electric switch, the other, holding a leveled revolver, stood a man. And then he 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 Nans accomplices, here ahead of the appointed time. That would have given her cause, all too much cause, for fear, but it was not one of Gypsy Nans' accomplices, and, far worse, 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 overhanging, shaggy eyebrows familiar to the whole east side. It was Rourke, rough Rourke, of headquarters. He came toward her, and halfway across the room, another exclamation burst from his lips. this time it held a jeer and in the jeer a sort of cynical and savage triumph the white mall he was close beside her now and now he snatched from her hand the bank-notes 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 mole the little saint of the east side that lends a helping hand to the crooks to get em back on the straight and arrow the white mull the little saint of the east side that lends a helping hand to the crooks to get em back on the straight and arrow the white Oh, 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 Nann's story, all that had happened tonight. Yes, she might have told that tomorrow, 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 Nann belonged, one in the secrets of the organized band of criminals, who was trying to clear her own skirt. at the expense of her confederates. Everything, every act of hers tonight, 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 police that a crime was to be committed

and left it to the police to frustrate it? It would fit in with the story, of course, but the story was the result of having been caught in the act of stealing $20,000 in cash. What was there to be? say, and, above all, to this man, whose reputation for callous brutality in the handling of those who fell into his hands had earned him the sobriquet of rough rourke. Sick at heart, desperate, with her hands clenched now, she stood there, while the man felt unceremoniously over her

clothing for a concealed weapon. Finding none, he stooped, picked up the flashlight, tested it, and found it broken from its fall. Too bad you bust this. We'll have to go out in the dark after I switch off the light, he said, with unpleasant facetiousness. I didn't have one with me, or time to get one. When I was tipped off, there was something doing here to-night. He caught her urgently by the arm. Well, come along, my pretty lady. This'll make a stir, this will, the white mall. He led her to the electric light switch, turned off the light, and, with his grasp tied upon her, made for the front door. He chuckled in a sinister manner. Say, your prize you are. And pretty clever, too, aren't you? I wasn't

looking for a woman to pull this? The white mall, some saint. Rota Gray shivered. Disgrace, ruin stared her in the face. A sea of faces in a courtroom, morbid faces, hideous faces, leered at her. Gray walls rose up before her, walls that shut out sunshine and hope, pitiless, cold things that seemed to freeze the blood in her veins. And tonight, in just a few minutes more, a cell. From the street outside came the sound of someone making a cheery, but evidently a somewhat inebriated attempt to whistle some ragtime air. It seemed to enhance her misery, to enhance by contrast in its carefree cheeriness, the despair and misery that was eating into her soul. Her hands clenched and unclinched. If there were only only only, she was a little bit of her, shearingness, if

there were only a chance, somewhere, somehow. If only she were not a woman. If she could only fight this hulking form that gripped her so brutally at her arm. Ruff Rourke opened the door and pulled her out onto the street. She shrank back instinctively. It was quite light here from a nearby street lamp, and the owner of the whistle, a young man, fashionably dressed, decidedly unsteady on his legs, and just opposite the door as they came out, had stopped both his whistling and his progress along the street to stare at them owlishly. "'Allo,' said the young man, thickly. "'What's all this about, eh?

What's you doing in that place this time or night, eh?' "'Beat it,' ordered Ruff Rourke curtly. "'That's all right,' the young man came nearer. He balanced himself with difficulty, but upon him there appeared to have descended suddenly a vast dignity. "'I'm—' law, a Biden citizen. Gotta know. Gotta show me. Damn funny. Coming out of there this time of night, eh? What's the idea? Rough Rourke, with his free hand, grabbed the young man by the shoulder,

angrily. Mind your own business, or you'll get into trouble, he rasp out. I'm an officer and this woman is under arrest. Beat it. Do you hear? Beat it. Or I'll run you in, too. "'Is that so?' the young man's tone expressed a fuddled defiance. He rocked on his feet and stared from one to the other. "'Sheh, is that show? You will, eh? Gotta show me. How do I know you're—' "'Officer, eh? More likely, damn thief yourself. I—' The young man lurched suddenly and violently forward, breaking rough-ork's grip on Rhoda Gray,

and as his arm swept out to grasp at the detective in an apparently wild effort to preserve his balance, Rhoda Gray felt a quick, significant push upon her shoulder. For the space of time it takes a watch to tick, she stood startled and amazed, and then, like a flash, she was speeding down the street. A roar of rage, a burst of unbridled profanity went up from rough fork behind her. It was mingled with equally angry vituperation in the young man's voice. She looked behind her. The two men were swaying crazily in each other's arms. She ran on, faster than she ever had in her life. The corner was not far ahead. Her brain was working with

lightning speed. Gypsy Nan's house was just around the corner. If she could get out of sight, hide, it would— She glanced behind her again as her ears caught the pound of racing feet. The young man was sitting in the middle of the sight. walking his fist. Rough Rourke, perhaps a bear fifty yards away, was chasing her at top speed. Her face set hard. She could not outrun a man. There was only one hope for her, just one, to gain Gypsy Nann's doorway before Rourke got around the corner. A yard, another, still another. She swerved around the corner. And as she turned, she caught a glimpse of the detective. The man was nearer, much nearer.

But it was only a little way, just a little way to Gypsy Nans. Not so far as the distance between her and Rourke, and if the man didn't gain too fast, then a little cry of dismay came with a new and terrifying thought. Quite apart from Rourke, someone else might see her enter Gypsy Nans. She strained her eyes in all directions as she ran. There wasn't anyone. She didn't see anyone, only Rourke, around the corner there.

was bawling out at the top of his voice. And... And... She flung herself against Gypsy Nan's door, stumbled in and, closing it, heard work just swinging round the corner. Had he seen her? She didn't know.

She was panting, gasping for breath. It seemed as though her lungs would burst. She held her hand tightly to her bosom as she made for the stairs. She mustn't make any noise. They mustn't hear her breathing like that. They... They must not.

She didn't hear her going up the stairs. How dark it was! If she could only see, so that she would be sure not to stumble. She couldn't go fast now. She would make a noise if she did. Stair after stair she climbed stealthily. Perhaps she was safe now. It had taken her a long time to get up here to the second floor,

and there wasn't any sound yet from the street below. And now she mounted the short, ladder-like stairs to the attic, and feeling with her hand for the crack in the flooring under the partition. reached in for the key. As her fingers closed upon it, she choked back a cry. Someone had been here. A piece of paper was wrapped around the key. What did it mean?

What did all these strange, yes, sinister things that had happened to her tonight mean? Howe had Rourke known that a robbery was to be committed at Scarbolovs? Who was that man who had affected her escape? And who, she knew now, was no more drunk than she was? fast, quick, piling one upon the other, the questions raced through her mind. She fought them back. There was no time for speculation now. There was only the one question that mattered. Was she safe? She stood up, thrust the paper for safekeeping into her bosom, and unlocked the door. If, if Rourke did not know that she had entered this house here, she could remain hidden for a few hours.

It would give her time to think and— It came this time. No strength of will would hold it back, a little moan. The front door below had opened. A heavy footstep sounded in the lower hall. She couldn't see, of course. But she knew. It was Rourke. She heard him coming up the stairs. And then, in a flash it seemed, her brain responded to her despairing cry. There was still away, a desperate one, but still away, if there was time. She darted inside the garret, locked the door. found the matches and candle, and running silently to the rear wall, pushed up the board in the ceiling. In franticased, she tore off her outer garments, her stockings and shoes,

pulled on the rough stockings and coarse boots that Gypsy Nan had worn, slipped the other's greasy threadbare skirt over her head, and pinned the shawl tight about her shoulders. There was a big, voluminous pocket in the skirt, and into this she dropped Gypsy Nan's revolver, and the paper she found wrapped around the key. She could hear a commotion from below now. It was the one thing she had counted upon.

Rough Fork might know that she had entered the house, but he could not know whereabouts in the house she was, and he would naturally search each room as he came to it on the way up. She fitted the gray-streaked wig of tangled, matted hair upon her head, plunged her hand into the box that Gypsy Nan used for her makeup, and dobs some of the grime upon both her hands and face, adjusted the spectacles upon her nose, hid her own clothing, closed the narrow trap door in the ceiling, and ran back, carrying the candle to the

washstand. Here there was a small and battered mirror, and more coolly, more leisurely now, for the commotion still continued from the floor below, she spread and rubbed in as craftily as she could. The grime streaks on her face and hands. It was neither artistic nor perfect, but in the meager, flickering light, now the face of Gypsy Nan seemed to stare reassuringly back at her. it might not deceive any one in daylight she did not know and it did not matter now but with only this candle to light the garret since the lamp was empty she could fairly count on her identity not being questioned she blew out the candle left it on the war-stand because if she could help it she did not want to risk having it lighted near the bed or door and tiptoeing now she went to the door unlocked it then threw herself down upon the bed possibly a minute went by possibly two and then there was a quick step on the ladder-like stairs the door-handle was rattled violently and the door was flung open and slammed shut again rhoda gray was upright on the bed it was her wits now her wits against rough rorcks nothing else could save her she could not even make out the man's form it was so dark but as he had not moved she was quite well aware that he was standing with his back to the door evidently trying to play

places surroundings. It was Gypsy Nan, not Rhoda Gray, who spoke. "'Who's there?' she screeched. "'Do you hear Blastews? Who's there?' Ruff Rourke laughed, gratingly. "'That you, Nan, my dear?' "'Who do you's tink it is?

Me grandmother?' demanded Rota Gray, caustically. "'Who are you's?' "'Rourke,' said Rourke shortly. "'I guess you know, don't you?' "'Is that so?' "'Snorted Rota Gray. "'Well, then, you's can be it, hop it, on to jump. What to hell right have you's got busted into my room at this time of

night, eh? I ain't done nothing. Ruff Rourke, his feet scuffling to feel the way came forward. Cut it out, he snarled. I ain't the only visitor you've got. It's not you I want. It's the white mall. What's that got to do with me, Rota Gray flung back hotly. She ain't here, is she? Yes, she's here. Ruff Rourke's voice held an ugly. menace. I lost her around the corner, but a woman from a window across the street, who heard the row, saw her run into this house. She ain't downstairs, so you can figure the rest out the same as I do. The woman was kidn you's, Rota Gray, alias Gypsy Nan, cackled derisively. There ain't nobody here but me. We'll see about that, said Ruff Rourke. Strike a light.

Ah, strike it yourself, retorted Rota Gray. I ain't your servant. There's a candle over there on the washstand against the wall, if you's wants it. A match crackled and sputtered into flame. Its light fell upon the light standing on the chair beside the bed. Rough Rourke stepped toward it. There ain't any oil in dat, croaked Rhoda Gray. Didn't I tell you's the candle was over there on to washstand and... The words seemed to freeze in her throat.

The chair, the lamp, the shadowy figure of the man in the match flame, to swirl before her eyes, and a sick nausea. to come upon her soul itself. With a short, triumphant oath, Ruff Rourke stopped suddenly and reached in under the chair. And now he was dangling a new black kid glove in front of her. Caught. Yes, she was caught.

She remembered Gypsy Nann's attempt to put on her gloves. One must have fallen to the floor unnoticed by either of them when Gypsy Nann had thought to put them in her pocket. The man's voice came to her as from some great distance. "'So she's not here, ain't she? I'll teach you to lie to me. I'll—' The match was dying out. Rorke raised it higher, and with the last flicker located the washstand, and made toward it, obviously for the candle. Her wits against Rough Rorks. Nothing else could save her. Failing to find anyone here but herself, certain now the White

Mall was here, only a fool could have failed in his deduction, and Ruff Rourke was not a fool. her wits against rough rorks. There was the time left her, while the garret was still in darkness. Just that, no more. With a quick spring she leapt from the bed, seized the chair, sending the lamp to the floor, and dragging the chair after her to make as much noise and confusion as she could. She rushed for the door, screeching at the top of her voice. Run, dearie! Run! She was scuffling with her feet, clattering the chair, as she wrenched the door open, and then, in her own voice, Nan, I won't, I won't let you stand for this, I...

Then, Gypsy Nan, again, run, dearie! Don't use mind, old Nan? She banged the door shut, locked it, and whipped out the key. It had taken scarcely a second. Still, she was screeching at the top of her voice to cover the absence of flying footers on the stairs. Run, dearie, run, run! And then, in the darkness, the candle still unlighted, rough Rourke was on her like a madman. With a sweep of his arm he sent her crashing to the floor and wrenched at the door. The next instant he was on her again. The key. Give me the key, he roared.

For an answer she flung it from her. It fell with a tinkle on the floor at the far end of the garret. The man was beside himself with rage. Damn you. If I had time, I'd wring your neck for this, you she-devil, he bawled and raced back, evidently for the candle on the water. stand. Rota Gray sprawled on the floor where he had thrown her, did not move except to take the revolver from the pocket of her dress. She was crooning queerly to herself as she watched Ruff Rourke lighted the candle and grope around the floor. She was good to me, Dwight Mall was. Jellies and Ting she brought me, she did. And Gypsy Nann don't ferret. Gypsy Nand don't. She suddenly sat up snarling. Rorke had found the key, left the bottle with the short,

stub of a guttering candle standing on the floor and was back again. By God, he gritted through his teeth as he jabbed the key with frantic haste into the lock. I'll fix you for this. He made a clutch at her throat as he swung open the door. She jerked herself backwards, eluding him, her revolver leveled. Hughes keep your dirty paws off on me, she screamed. Yeah, what can yous do? What do I care? She was good to me. She was and— Rorke was gone, taking the stairs three or four at a time. Then she heard the street door slam. She rose slowly to her feet, and suddenly reached out, grasping at the door to steady herself.

It seemed as though every muscle had gone limp, as though her arms had not strength to support her. And for a moment she hung there. Then she locked the door, staggered back, sank down on the edge of the bed, and with her chin in her hands, stared at the guttering stub of candle. And presently, in an almost aimless, mechanical way. She felt in her pocket for the piece of paper that she had found wrapped around the key and drew it out. There were three figures scrawled upon it,

nothing else. Seven, three, nine. She dropped her chin in her hands again and stared again at the candle. And after a while, the candle went out. End of Chapter 3. Chapter 4 of the White Mall. This is a Librevox recording.

All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, USA. The White Mall By Frank L. Packard. Chapter 4. The Adventurer. 24 hours had passed. 24 hours.

Was it no more than that since Rota Gray in the guise of Gypsy Nan? As she sat on the edge of the disreputable poverty-stricken cot, grew suddenly tense, holding her breath as she listened, the sound reached the attic so faintly that it might be but the product solely of the imagination. No, it came again, and it defined itself now, a stealthy footstep on the lower stairs. A small, leather-bound notebook, in which she had been engrossed, was tucked instantly away under the soiled blanket, and she glanced sharply around the garret. A new candle, which she had bought in the single excursion she had ventured to make from the house during the day, was stuck in the neck of the gin bottle, and burned now on the chair beside her.

She had not bought a new lamp. It gave too much light. The old one, the pieces of it lay over there, brushed into a heap in the corner on the floor. The footstep became more audible. Her lips tightened a little. The hour was late. it must be already seven o'clock her eyes grew perturbed perhaps it was only one of the unknown tenets of the floor below going to his or her room but on the other hand no one had come near the garret since last night when that strange and yes sinister trick of fate had thrust her upon the personality of gipsy nan and it was hoping for too much to expect such seclusion to obtain much longer there were too many who must be interested vitally interested in gipsy nan there was rough rourke of headquarters he had given no sign but that did not mean he had lost interest in gipsy nan there was the death of the real gipsy nan which was pregnant with possibilities

and though the newspapers that she wrote a gray had bought and scanned with such tragic eagerness had said nothing about the death of one charlotte green in the hospital much less had given any hint that the identity gypsy nan had risked so much to hide had been discovered It did not mean that the police, with their own ends in view, might not be fully informed, and were but keeping their own counsel while they baited a trap. Also, and even more to be feared, there were those of the criminal organization to which Gypsy Nan had belonged, and to which she, wrote a gray, through a sort of hideous proxy, now belonged herself. Sooner or later they must show their hands, and the test of her identity would come. And here, her danger was the greater,

because she did not know who any of them were unless the man who had stepped in between rough rourke and herself last night was one of them which was a question that had harassed her all day the man had been no more drunk than she had been and he had obviously played the part to get her out of the clutches of rough rourke but against this he had seen her simply as herself then the white mall and what could the criminal associates of gipsy nan have cared as to what became of the white mall a newspaper to procure which had been the prime motive that had lured her out of her retreat that afternoon caught her eye now and she shivered a little as from where it lay on the floor the headlines seemed to leer at her and mock and menace her the white maul the saint of the east side exposed vicious hypocrisy lowly charity for years cloaks a consummate thief they had not spared her her lips firmed suddenly and she listened the stealthy footfall had not paused in the hall below it was on the short ladder-like steps now leading up to the garret and now it had halted outside the door and there came a low insistent knocking on the panels who's dare demanded rhoda gray alias gipsy nan in a grumbling tone as getting up from the bed she moved the chair noiselessly a few feet further away so that the bed would be beyond the immediate radius of the candle-light Then she shuffled across the floor to the door. "'Who's there?' she demanded again, and her hand,

deep in the voluminous pocket of Gypsy Nan's greasy skirt, closed tightly around the stock of Gypsy Nan's revolver. The voice that answered her expostulated in a primitive whisper, "'My dear lady, after all the trouble I have taken to reach you here without being either seen or heard?' For an instant Rhoda Gray hesitated. There seemed something familiar about the voice. Then she unlocked the door and retreated toward the bed.

The door opened and closed softly. Rhoda Gray, reaching the edge of the bed, sat down. It was the fashionably attired, immaculate young man who had saved her from rough rourke last night. She stared at him in the faint light without a word. Her mind was racing in a mad turmoil of doubt, uncertainty, fear. Was he one of the gang or not? Was she, in the role of gypsies, nancy nan supposed to know him or not did he know that the real gypsy nan too had played a part and therefore when she spoke must it be in the vernacular of the east side or not and then sudden enlightenment with its incident relief came to her

my dear lady the young man's soft felt hat was under his arm and he was plucking daintily at the fingers of his yellow gloves as he removed them i beg you to pardon the intrusion of a perfect stranger. I offer you my genuine apologies. My excuse is that I come from a—I hope I am not overstepping the bounds in using the term, mutual friend. Rota Gray snorted disdainfully. Ah, cut out to Boudoir talk, and get down to cases. She croaked. Who are yous anyway? The young man had gray eyes, and they were lighted up now humorously. Boudoir? Ah, yes, of course. "'Of course. Offily neat!' His eyes from the chair that held the candle

stared around the scandily furnished, murky garret, as though in search of a seat, and finally rested inquiringly on Rhoda Gray. "'Euskin put the candle on the floor if you's like,' she said, grudgingly. "'That's the only chair ter is.' "'Thank you,' he said. "'Rota Gray watched him with puckered brow as he placed the gin-bottle "'with its candle on the floor and appropriated the chair. He might, from his tone, have been thanking her for some priceless boon.

He wore a boot and ear, his clothes fitted like gloves. He exuded a certain studied, almost languidiousness, that was wholly out of keeping with the quick, daring, agile wit that he had exhibited the night before. She found her hand, toying unconsciously with the weapon in her pocket. She was aware that she was fencing with unbuttoned foils. How much did he know about last night? Well, why don't you spill it, she invited curtly.

Who are yous? Who am I? He lifted the lapel of his coat, carrying the boot near to his nose. My dear lady, I am an adventurer. You don't say, observed Rhoda Gray, alias Gypsy Nan. And what's that when it's at home? In my case, first of all, a gentleman I trust. He said,

pleasantly. After that, I do not quarrel with the accepted definition of the term, though it is not altogether complimentary. Rota Gray scowled. As Rhoda Gray, she might have answered him. As Gypsy Nan, it was too subtle, and she was beyond her depth. You's looked to me like a slick crook, she said bluntly. I will admit, he said, that I have at times, perhaps, taken liberties with the law. "'Well, then?' she snapped, cut out the highbrow stuff, "'and come across with what brought you's here. "'I ain't holding no reception. "'Who's de friend you's was talking about?'

"'The adventurer looked around him and lowered his voice. "'The white mall,' he said. "'Rota Gray eyed the man for a long minute. "'Then she shook her head. "'I take back what I said about you's being a slick crook,' "'she announced coolly. "'I guess use her a dick from headquarters. "'Well, use of course.

got to wrong number, see? My fingers are crossed. Try next door. The adventurer's eyes fixed on the newspaper headlines on the floor. He raised them significantly to hers. You helped her get away from rough rourke last night, he said gently. Well, so did I. I am very anxious to find the white mall, and as I know no other way except through you, I have got to make you believe me, if I can. Listen, my dear, and don't look at me so suspiciously. I have already admitted that I have taken liberties with the law. Let me add now that last night there was a little fortune of quite a few thousand dollars that I had already made up my mind was as good as in my pocket.

I was on my way to get it. The newspaper will already have given you the details when I found that I had been forestalled by the young lady who, the papers say, is known as the white mall. He smiled whimsically. Even though one might be a slick crook, as you suggest, it is no reason why he should fail in his duty to himself, as a gentleman. What other course was open to me?

I discovered a very charming lady in the grip of a hulking police brute. She also, apparently, took liberties with the law. There was a bond between us. I, uh, took it upon myself to do what I could. And besides, I was not unlawful. insensible to the fact that I was under a certain obligation to her, quixotic, as it may sound, in view of the fact that we were evidently competitors after the same game. You see, if she had not forestalled me and been caught herself,

I should most certainly have walked into the trap that our friend of headquarters had prepared. I, uh, as I say, I did what I could. She got away, but somehow rough Rorke later discovered her here in this room. understand that he was not too happy over the result, that thanks to you, she escaped again, and she has not been heard of since. Rota Gray dropped her chin into her grime's smeared hand, staring speculatively at the other. The man sat there, apparently a self-confessed crook and criminal, but also he sat there as the man to whom she owed the fact that at the present moment she was not behind prison bars. He proclaimed himself, in the same breath, both a thief,

and a gentleman, as far as she could make out. They were characteristics which, until now, she had never associated together, but now, curiously enough, they did not seem so utterly at variance. Of course they were at variance. Must, of necessity be so, but in the personality of this man, the incongruity seemed somehow lost. Perhaps it was a sense of gratitude toward him that modified her views. He looked a gentleman. There was something about him that appealed. The gray eyes seemed full of cool, confident, self-possession. And quiet as his manner was, she sensed a latent, dynamic something lurking near the surface all the time, that she was conscious she would much prefer to have enlisted on her behalf than against her. The strong, firm chin bore this out. He was not handsome,

but, with a sort of mental jerk, she forced her mind back to the stark realities of her her surroundings. She could not thank him for what he had done last night. She could not tell him that she was the white mall. She could only play out the role of Gypsy Nan until, until her hand tightened with a fierce, involuntary pressure upon her chin, until it brought a physical hurt. Until what? God alone knew what the end of this miserable, impossible horror in which he found herself engulfed would be. Her eyes sought his face again. The adventurer was tactfully engaged and carefully smoothing out the fingers of his yellow gloves. Thief and gentlemen, whatever he may be,

whatever he might choose to call himself, what exactly was it that had brought him here tonight? The white mall, he had said, but what did he want with the white mall? He answered her unspoken question now, almost as though he had read her thoughts. She is very clever, he said quietly. She must be exceedingly clever to have beaten the police

the way she has for the last few years, and, uh, I worshiped her. at the shrine of cleverness, especially if it be a woman's. The idea struck me last night that if she, and I, should, uh, pool our resources, we should not have to complain of the reward. Oh, so youse wants to work with her, eh? sniffed, rode a gray, so that's it, is it? Partially, he said. But quite apart from that, the reason I want to find her is because she is in very great danger. Clever as she is, it is a very different matter today now that the police have found her out. She has been forced into hiding, and, if alone and without any friend to help her, her situation,

to put it mildly, must be desperate in the extreme. You befriended her last night, and I honor you for the unselfishness with which you laid yourself open to the future attentions of that animal rorke, but that very fact has deprived her of what otherwise might have been a refuge and a quite secure retreat here with you. I do not wish to intrude or force myself upon her, but I believe I could be of very material help, and so I have come to you, as I have said, because you are the only source through which I can hope to find her, and because, through your act of last night, I know you to be a trustworthy, and perhaps even an intimate friend of hers. Ah, go on, said Rhoda Gray, alias Gypsy Nan, deprecatingly. That don't prove nothing. I'd have done as much for a stray can, and perhaps. I'd have done as much for a

stray cat if the bulls was chasing her. See? I told you's once you's had the wrong number. She didn't leave no address. That's flat, and that's the end of it. I'm sorry, said the adventurer gravely. Perhaps I haven't made out a good enough case. Or perhaps, even believing me, you consider that the white mall, and not yourself, should be the judge as to whether my services are acceptable or not. Yous can dope it out any ways you likes, said Rhoda Gray indifferently. me trote's gettin' crispy'er ain't nothing doin i'm sorry said the adventurer again he smiled suddenly and tucking his gloves into his pocket leaned forward and tore off a small piece from the margin of the newspaper on the floor but his head the while was now cocked in a curious listening attitude in the direction of the door you'll pardon me my dear lady if i confess that in spite of what you say i still harbor the belief that you know where to reach the white mall and so he stopped

He stopped abruptly, and she found his glance sharp and critical upon her. You are expecting a visitor, perhaps, he inquired softly. Rota Gray stared in genuine perplexity. What's to answer? she demanded. There is someone on the stairs, replied the adventurer. Rhoda Gray listened, and her perplexity deepened. She could hear nothing. You must have good ears, she scoffed.

I have, returned the adventurer coolly. My hearing is one of the resources that. that I wanted to pool with the white mall. Well, then, maybe it's rough rourke. Her tone still held its scoffing note, but her words voiced the genuine enough that had come flashing upon her. And if it is, after last night,

and he finds yous and me together, there'll be— My dear lady, interposed the adventurer calmly. If there were the remotest possibility that it could be rough rourke, I would not be here. What do you mean? She had unconsciously towered her voice.

The adventurer shrugged his shoulders, whimsically. He had laid the piece of paper on his knee, and, with a small gold pencil, which he had taken from his pocket, was writing something upon it. The fact that I can assure you that, whoever else it may be, the person outside there cannot be rough rourke, is simply a proof that if I had the opportunity, I could be of real assistance to the white mall, he said, imperturbably. Well, a grim little smile flickered suddenly across his lips. Do you hear anyone now? Quite low, but quite unmistakably, the short, ladder-like steps just outside the door were voicing a creaking protest now as someone mounted them. Rhoda Gray did not move. It seemed as though she could hear the sudden thumping of her own heart.

Who was it this time? How was she to act? What was she to say? It was so easy to make a single little slip of a word or manner that would spell ruin and disaster. rubber heels and rubber souls, murmured the adventurer. But at that, it is extremely well done. He held out the torn piece of paper to Rhoda Gray. If, he smiled significantly, if, by any good fortune, you see the white mall again, please give her this and let her decide for herself. It is a telephone number.

She can always reach me there by asking for, The adventurer. He was still extending the piece of paper. Quick, he whispered, as the doorknob rattled. End of Chapter 4. Chapter 5 of the White Mall. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, USA.

The White Mall by Frank L. Packard. Chapter 5 A Second Visitor Mechanically, Rode Gray thrust the paper into the pocket of her skirt. The door swung open. A tall man, well-dressed, as far as could be seen in the uncertain light, a slouch hat pulled down over his eyes, stood on the threshold, surveying the interior of the garret. The adventure rose composedly to his feet and moved slightly back out of the direct radius of the candlelight.

There was silence for a moment, and then the man in the doorway laughed unpleasantly. Hello, he flung out harshly. Who's the dude, Nan? Rota Gray on the edge of the bed shrugged her shoulders. The adventurer was standing quite at his ease. His soft hat tucked under his right arm, his hand thrust into the side pocket of his coat. She could no longer see his face distinctly. Well, there was a snarl in the man's voice. as he advanced from the doorway. You heard me, didn't you?

Who is he? Why don't you ask him yourself? inquired, Rota Gray, tersolently. I don't know. You don't, eh? The man halted, close to where the candle stood on the floor between him and the adventurer.

Well, then, I guess we'll find out. He was peering in the adventurer's direction, and now there came a savage scow to his face. It seems to me I've seen those clothes somewhere before, and I guess we'll take a look at your face, so that there won't be any question about recognition the next time we meet. The adventurer laughed softly. There will be none on my part, he said calmly. It's Dangler, isn't it? I am surely not mistaken. Parson Dangler? Alias, uh, please don't do that. It seemed to Rhoda Gray that it happened in the space of time

that it might take a watch to tick. The newcomer, stooping to the floor and lifting the candle with obvious intention of thrusting it into the adventurer's face. A glint of metal, as the adventurer whipped a revolver from the side pocket of his coat, and then, how they got there she could not tell, it was done so adroitly, and swiftly, the thumb and forefinger of the adventurer's left hand had closed on the candlewick, and snuffed it out, and the garret was in darkness. There was a savage oath, a snarl of rage from the man the adventurer had addressed as Dangler, then an instant of silence, and then the adventurer's voice from the doorway.

I beg you not to vent your disappointment on the lady, Dangler. I assure you that she is in no way responsible for my visit here, and, as far as that goes, never saw me before in her life. Also, it is only fair to tell you, in case you should consider leaving here too hurriedly, that I am not at all a bad shot, even in the dark. I bid you good night, Dangler, and you, my dear lady. Dangler's voice rose again in a flood of profane rage. He stumbled and moved around in the dark.

Damn it, he shouted. Where are the matches? Where's the lamp? This cursed candle put enough to the bad already. Do you hear, where's the lamp? It's over dare on the floor, bust to pieces, mumbled Rhoda Gras. You'll find a match is on to washstand, and... What's the idea? There was a sudden steel-like note dominating the angry tones. What are you handing me that hog-wash language for, eh?

It's damn queer. There's been damn queer doings around here since last night. See? What's the idea? Rhoda Gray felt her face whitened in the darkness. It was the slip she had feared. The slip that she had had to take the chance of making, and which, if not retrieved,

and instantly retrieved now that it was made meant discovery, and after that— She shivered a little. You needn't lose your head just because you've lost your temper, she said tartly, in a guarded whisper. The door into the hall is still wide open, isn't it? Oh, all right, he said, his tones a sort of sullen admission that her retort was justified. But even now your voice sounds off color. Rota Gray bridled. Does it?

She snapped at him? I've got a cold. Maybe you'd get one too, and maybe your voice would be off color. If you had to live in a dump like this, and— Oh, all right, all right, he broke in hurriedly. For heaven's sake, don't start a row. Forget it, see? Forget it.

He walked over to the door, peered out, swore savagely to himself, shut the door, held the candle up to circle the garret, and scowled as its rays. fell upon the shattered pieces of the lamp in the corner, then returning, he set the candle upon the chair, and began to pace restlessly, three or four steps each way, up and down in front of the bed. Roda Gray from the edge of the bed, shifted back until her shoulders rested against the wall. Dangler, too, was dressed like a gentleman, but Dangler's face was not appealing. The little round, black eyes were shifty. They seemed to possess no pupils whatever, and they roved constantly.

There was a hard, unyielding thinness about the lips, and the face itself was thin, almost gaunt, as though the skin had had to accommodate itself to more than was expected of it, and was elastically stretched over the cheekbones. Well, I'm listening, jerked out the man abruptly. You knew our game at Scarbolovs was queered. You got the seven-three-nine, didn't you? Yes, of course I got it, answered Rhoda Gray. What about it?

For two weeks now, yes, sir. more than two weeks, the man's voice rasped angrily, things have been going wrong, and someone has been budding in and getting away with the goods under our noses. We know now, from last night, that it must have been the white mall, for one, though it's not likely she worked all alone. Skeeney dropped to the fact that the police were wise about Scarbov's, and that's why we called it off, and the 739 went out. They must have got wise shadowing the white mall, see?

Then they pinched her, but she makes her getaway and comes here, and if I've got the dope right, you hand rough Rork one, and help her beat it again. It looks blamed funny, doesn't it? When you come to consider that there's a leak somewhere. Is that so? Rota Gray flashed back, and did you know before last night that it was the white mall who was queering our game? If I had, the man gritted between his teeth, I'd—

Well, then, how do you expect me to know it? demanded Rota Gray, heatedly. and if the white mall happens to know Gypsy Nan, as she knows everybody else through her jellies and custards and fake charity, and happens to be near here when she gets in trouble, and beats it for here with the police on her heels and asks for help, what do you expect Gypsy Nan's going to do if she wants to stand any chance of sticking around these parts, as Gypsy Nan? The man paused in his walking, and, jerking back his hat, drew his hand nervously across his forehead.

You make me tired, said Rota Gray, wearily. Do you think you can find the door without too much trouble? Dangler resumed his pacing back and forth, but more slowly now. Oh, I know, I know, Bertha, he burst out heavily. I'm talking through my hat. You've got the roughest job of any of us, old girl. Don't mind what I'm saying. Something's badly wrong, and I'm half crazy.

It's certain now that the white mall's the one that's been doing us, and what I really came down here for tonight was to tell you that your job from now on was to get the white mall. You helped her last night. She doesn't know that you're anybody but gypsy nan, so you're the one person in New York she'll dare to communicate with sooner or later. Understand? That's what I came for, not to talk like a fool, but that fellow I found here started me off. Who is he? What did he want? He wanted the white mall, too, said Rhoda Gray, with a little.

a short laugh. Oh, he did, eh? Dangler's lips twisted into a sudden, merciless smile. Well, go on. Who is he? I don't know who he is, Rode Gray answered a little impatiently. He said he was an adventurer, if you can make anything out of that. He said he got the white mall away from Rough Rourke last night after Rourke had arrested her, and then he doped the rest out the same as you have, that he could find the white mall again through Gypsy Nan. I don't know what he wanted her for. That's better, snarled Dangler, the merciless smile still on his lips. I thought she must have had a pal, and now we know who her pal is.

It's open and shut that she's sitting so tight that she hasn't been able to get into touch with him, and that's what's worrying Mr. Adventurer. Rhoda Gray, save for a nod of her head, made no answer. Dangler laughed suddenly, as though in relief, then, coming closer to the bed, plunged his hand into his coat pocket and tossed a handful of jewelry carelessly into rhoda gray's lap i feel better than i did he said and laughed again it's a cinch now that we'll get them both through you and it's a cinch that the white mall won't cut in to-night put those sparklers away with the rest until we get ready to fence them rhoda gray did not speak mechanically as though she were living through some hideous nightmare she began to scoop up the jims from her lap and allow them to trickle back through her fingers. They flashed and scintillated brilliantly, even in the meager light. They seemed alive with some premonitory baleful fire. Yes, there's some pretty slick stuff there, said Dangler, with an appealing chuckle, but there'll be something tonight that'll make all that

bunch look like chicken feed. The boys are at work now, and we'll have old Hayden Bond's necklace in another hour. Skinny's got the sparrow tied up in the old room behind Schlecker's place, and once we're sure there's no backfire anywhere, the sparrow will chirp his last chirp. He laughed out suddenly, and leaning forward, clapped Rhoda Gray, exultantly on the shoulder. It was like taking candy from a kid. The sparrow, and the old man fell for the sick mother needing her son all night stuff without batting a lid, but the sparrow hasn't been holding the old lady's hand at the bedside yet. We took care of that.

Again, Rhoda Gray made no comment. She wondered as she gripped at the rings and broaches in her hand, so fiercely that the settings pricked into the flesh if her face in any way mirroed 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 a mother who was sick. A fine old lady, finer than her son. Finch, her name was. Indirectly, she knew. old Hayden Bond, the millionaire, and— Almost subconsciously she was aware that Dangler 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. It pays to do things right. It broke our way at last to-night, all right, all right. Today'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 tomorrow,

and there's some swell society fuss fixed for tomorrow night, and she wants her necklace to make a splurge, so she writes Mr. H-H-B, and out it comes from the safety deposit box, and in to 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 will let him. She being away tonight, 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 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 mall 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 tonight. 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-feans 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 She closed the door. The short, ladder-like steps to the hallway below creaked once, and then all was still. Dangler did have on rubber-souled shoes. She sat upright, her hands, clenched now, pressed 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 those 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 Dangler 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 tonight, an innocent man whom they had made their pawn. she swept the jewels from her lap to the blanket and rising seized the candle and 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 and 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 dangler had spoken of it with an human callousness and had laughed at her 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 gipsy nan it would only result in their turning upon her of the discovery that she was not gipsy nan at all of the almost certainty that it would cost her her own life without saving the sparrows that way was closed to her from the start as the white mall then outside there in the great city every plain clothesman every policeman on every beat was staring into every woman's face he met searching for the white man mall. She wrung her hands in cruel desperation. Even to her own problem she 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 had once 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

because it was these associates of Gypsy Nan who were at the bottom of the crime 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 would be faced with what lay before her now, tonight, at the first contact with those who had been Gypsy Nann'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 be collaborative 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 there helplessly. And time, the only precious ally she possessed was slipping away from her. She could not go to the police as Gypsy Nan, and much less as the the white mall. She could not go to the police in any case, for the corroborative evidence,

that obviously must exist unless Dangler and the others 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 Scarbolov's escortoir last night. Therefore he was a crook. Dangler had said that someone had been getting in

ahead of them lately, and snatching the plunder from under their noses, and Danglour. her now believed that it had been the white mall. A wan's smile came to her lips. Instead of the white mall, 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 would have been 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 adverse to Dangler's plan of using the sparrow as a pawn, who in this case would make a very convenient scapegoat for the adventurer,

instead of Dangler. 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 adventurers 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 Nann'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. 739. Dangler 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 the complete cipher into which any message might be coded, and? But why was her brain swerving off at inconsequential tangents? What did the coder, or codebook, 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 metamorphized 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, desolate and haggard aspect, which was so simple and yet so effective a disguise. worked rapidly, changing her clothes. She could not go out or act as Gypsy Nann, and so she must go in her own character, go as the white mall, 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 the risk of 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 mall. 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 mall. She could only prepare for that 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 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 and locked it behind her, and without any attempt at secrecy made her way downstairs.

End of Chapter 5. Chapter 6 of the White Mall This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney. Idaho, USA. The White Mall by Frank L. Packard. Chapter 6.

The Rendezue Rota Gray's movements were a little unsteady as she stepped out on the sidewalk. Gipsy Nans 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 rourke's men watching the house? She did not know. She only knew that as far as she was able to discover, she had not been followed when she had gone out that afternoon. Up the street, to her right, there were a few pedestrians.

To her left, as far as the corner the block was. was clear. She turned in the latter direction. She had noticed that afternoon that there was a lane between Gypsy Nan's house and the corner. She gained this and slipped into it unobserved. And now, in the comparative darkness, she hurried her steps. Somewhere here in the lane, she would make the transformation from Gypsy Nan to the white mall complete. It only required some place in which she could, with safety, leave the garments that she discarded, and yet, Yes, this would do. A tumble-down old shed, its battered door half open, ample proof that the place was in disuse, intersected the line of a high-board fence on her right. She stole inside. It was utter darkness, but she had no need for light. It was a matter of perhaps three minutes, and then, the revolver transferred to the pocket of her jacket, the stains removed from her face with the aid of a damp cloth, her hands neatly gloved in black kidd the skirt boots stocking shawl spectacles and wig of gipsy nan carefully piled together and hidden in a hole under the rotting boards of the floor behind the door she emerged as the white mall and went on again

but at the end of the lane where it met across street and the street lamp flung out an ominous challenge and dim though it was seemed to glare with the brightness of daylight she faltered for a moment and drew back she knew where schluckers place was-and she knew where schluckers place was because she knew, as few knew it, every nook and cranny in the east side, and it was a long way to that old junk shop, almost over to the East River, and, and there would be lights like this one that barred her exit from the lane, thousands of them, lights all the way, and, and out there they were searching everywhere, piteously, for the white mall. And then, with her lips tightened, the straight little shoulders thrown back resolutely, she slipped from the lane to the sidewalk, and hugging the shadows of the buildings, started forward. She was alert now in mind and body, every faculty strained and intention. It was a long way, and it would take a great while, by wide detours, by lanes and alleyways, for only on those streets that were relatively deserted and poorly lighted would she dare trust herself to the open. And as she went along, now skirting the side of the street, now through the black courtyard, now forced to take a fence, and taking it with the agility

born of the open athletic life that she had led with her father in the mining camps of South America, now hiding in the mouth of a lane, waiting her chance to cross an intersecting street when some receding footsteps should have died away. The terror of delay came gripping at her heart with an icy clutch, submerging the fear of personal peril in an agony of dread that with her progress so slow she would, after all, be too late. At times she almost cried out in her vexation and despair, as once, when crouched behind a door-stoop, a policeman, not two yards from her, stood and twirled his nightstick under a street lamp, while the minutes sped and raced themselves away. When she could run, she ran until it seemed her lungs must burst, but it was slow progress

at best, and always the terror grew upon her. Had Dangler met the men yet who had looted the millionaire's safe? Had he already joined Skeenie in that old room behind Schluckers' place? Had the sparrow, she could not let her mind frame that question in concrete words. The sparrow. His real name was Martin, Martin Finch, Marty for short. Times without numbers she had visited his sick and widowed mother, while the sparrow had served a two-year sentence for his first conviction in safe-breaking. The sparrow, from a first-class chauffeur mechanic, had showed signs of becoming a first-class

cracksman. It was true, but the sparrow was young, and she had never believed. that he was inherently bad. Her opinion had been confirmed when six months ago, on his release, listening both to her own pleadings and those of his mother, the sparrow had sworn that he would stick to the straight and narrow. And Hayden Bond, the millionaire, referred to by a good many people as eccentric, had further proved his claims to eccentricity in the eyes of a good many people by giving a prison bird a chance to make an honest living, and had engaged the sparrow as his chauffeur. was a vile and abominable thing that they were doing, even if they had not planned to culminate it

with murder. What chance would the sparrow have had? It had taken a long time. She did not know how long, as at last she stole unnotice into the black and narrow driveway that led in between two blocks of down-at-the-heel's tenements to a courtyard in the rear. Schlucker had his junk-shop here. Her lips pursed up as though defiant of a tinge of perplexity that had suddenly taken possession of her. She did not know Schlucker, or anything about Schlucker's place except its locality, but surely the old room behind Schluckers was direction enough, and— She had just emerged from the end of the driveway now, and now startled, she turned her head quickly as she heard a brisk step turning from the street behind her. But in the darkness

she could see no one, and satisfied, therefore, that she in turn had not been seen. She moved swiftly to one side and crouched down against the rear wall of one of the tenements. A long moment that seemed an eternity passed, and then a man's form came out from the driveway, and started across the courtyard. She drew in her breath sharply, a curious mingling of relief, and a sudden panic fear upon her. It was not so dark in the courtyard as it had been in the driveway, and unless she were strangely mistaken, that form out there was danglers. She watched him as he headed back toward a small building that loomed up like a black, irregular shadow across the courtyard, and which was Schlucker's shop, watched him in a tense, fascinated way.

She was in time, then, only, only somehow her limbs seemed to have become weak and powerless. It seemed suddenly as though she craved with all her soul the protecting shadows of the tenement, and that every impulse bad her to cling there, flattened against the wall until she could make her escape. She was afraid now. She shrank from the next step. It wasn't illogical. She had set out with a purpose in view, and she had not been blind to the danger that she ran, but the perspective and mental encounter with danger did not hold the terror that the tangible, concrete, and actual presence of that peril did, and that was dangler there. She felt her face whitened, and she felt the tremor of her lips, tightly as they were drawn together. Yet,

Yes, she was afraid, afraid in every fiber of her being, but there was a difference, wasn't there, between being afraid and being a coward? Her small, gloved hands clinched, her lips parted slightly. She laughed a little now, low, without mirth. Upon what she did or did not do, upon the margin between fear and cowardice applied to herself, there hung a man's life. Dangler was disappearing around the side of Schlucker's shop. She moved out from the wall, and swiftly, silently crossed the courtyard, gained the side of the junk shop in turn, skirted it and halted, listening, peering around her as she reached the rear corner of the building. A door closed somewhere ahead of her. From above, upstairs, faint streaks of light showed through the interstice of a shuttered window. She crept forward now, hugging the rear wall, reached a door, the one obviously through which Dangler had disappeared,

and which she had heard as it was closed, tried the door, found it unlocked, and, noiselessly inch by inch pushed it open, and a moment later, stepping over the threshold, she closed it softly behind her. A dull glow of light, emanating evidently from a door above, disclosed the upper portion of a stairway over on her left, but apart from that the place was in blackness. And save that she knew, of course, she was in the rear of Schlecker's junk shop. She could form no idea of her surroundings. But she could at last hear. Voices, one of which she recognized as danglers, though she could not distinguish the words, reached her from upstairs. Slowly, with infinite care, she crossed the stairs, and on hands and knees now, lest she make a sound, began to crawl upward.

And a little way up, panic fear seized upon her again, and her heart stood still, and she turned a miserable face in the darkness back toward the door below, and fought against the impulse to retreat again. And then she heard Dangler speak, and from her new vantage point, his words came to her distinctly this time. Good work, Skeeney. You've got the sparrow nicely trussed up, I see. Well, he'll do as he is for a while there. I told the boys to hold off a bit. It's safer to wait an hour or two yet, before moving him away from here and bumping him off. Two jobs instead of one, a surly voice answered. We might just as well have finished him and slipped him away for keeps when we first got our hooks on him.

Got a little sick of your wood carving while you were stuck around by your lonesome and watched him, hey? Dangler's tones were jocular, facetious. Don't grouch, skinny. We're not killing for fun. It doesn't pay. Supposing anything had broken wrong up the avenue, eh? We wouldn't have had our friend the sparrow there for the next time we tried it. There was something abhorrently callous about the laugh that followed. It seemed to fan into flames a smoldering fire of passionate anger in Rhoda Gray's soul, and before it panic fled. Her hand felt upward for the next stair tread,

and she crept on again as a face seemed to rise before her, not the sparrow's face, a woman's face. It was a face that was crowned, with very thin white hair, and its eyes were the saddest she had ever seen, and yet they were the brave, steady eyes that had not lost their faith, nor had the old, carolined face itself, in spite of suffering, lost its gentleness and sweetness. And then suddenly it seemed to change, that face, and become wreathed in smiles, and happy tears to run coursing down the wrinkled cheeks.

Yes, she remembered. It had brought the tears to her own eyes. It was the night that the wayward sparrow, home from the penitentiary, on his knees, his head, buried in his mother's lap, had sworn that he would go straight. Fear. It seemed as though she never had known, never could know fear, that only a merciless, tigerish, unbridled fury had in her its thrall. And she went on up, step after step, as Dangler spoke again. There's nothing to it.

The sparrow there fell for the telephone. when Stevie played the doctor. An old Hayden Bond, of course, grants his prison bird chauffeur's request to spend the night with his mother, who the doctor says has taken worse, because the old guy knows that there is a mother who really is sick.

Only Mr. Hayden Bond, and the police with him, will maybe figure it a little differently in the morning when they find the safe looted, and that the sparrow, instead of going near the poor old dame, has flown the coop and can't be found. And in case there's any lingering doubt in their minds, That piece of paper with the green smudges, and the sparrow's greasy fingerprints on it, that you remember we copped a few days ago in the garage, we'll set them straight.

The cricket slipped it in among the papers he pulled out of the safe and tossed around the floor. It looks as though the tool had been wiped with it while the safe was being cracked, and that it got covered over by the stuff that was emptied out and had been forgotten. I guess they won't be long in comparing the fingerprints with the ones the sparrow kindly left with them, when they measured him for his striped suit the time they sent him up the river, eh? Rhoda Gray could see now. Her eyes were level with the landing, and diagonally across from the head of the stairs was the open doorway of the lighted room. She could not see all of the interior, but she could see quite enough.

Two men sat, sighed face to her, one at each end of a rough-deal table, dangler and an ugly pockmark unshaven man in a peaked cap that was drawn down over his eyes. who whittled at a stick with a huge jack-knife. The latter was Skeeney, obviously, and the jack-knife and the stick quite as obviously, explained Dangler's facetious reference to wood-carving. And then her eyes shifted and widened as they rested on the huddled form that she could see, looking under and beyond the table, and that lay sprawled out against the far wall of the room. Skeeney pushed the peak of his cap back with the point of his knife-blade.

What's the hall size up at, he demanded? "'Anything in the safe besides the Shiner's?' "'A few hundred dollars,' Dangler replied. "'I don't know exactly how much.' "'I told the cricket to divide it up among the boys who did the rough work. "'That's good enough, isn't it, Skeeney? "'It gives you a little extra. "'You'll get yours.'

"'Skeeny grunted compliance.' "'Well, let's have a look at the white ones then,' he said. "'Rota Gray was standing upright in the little hallway now, and now pressed closed against the wall. She edged toward the door-jam, and a queer, grim little smile came and twisted the sensitive lips as she drew her revolver from her pocket.

The merciless, pitiless way in which the newspapers had flayed the white mall was not, after all, to be wholly regretted. The cool, clever resourcefulness, the years of reckless daring attributed to the white mall, would stand her in good stead now. Everybody on the east side knew her by sight, These men knew her. It was not merely a woman ambitiously attempting to beard two men who, perhaps, holding her sex and contempt, in an adventure of this kind, might throw discretion to the winds and give scant respect to her revolver, for behind the muzzle of that revolver was the reputation of the white mall.

They would take her at face value, as one who would not only know how to use that revolver, but as one who would not hesitate, an instant to do so. room she heard Skeeney whistle low under his breath, as though in sudden and amazed delight. And then she was standing full in the open doorway, and her revolver in her outflung, gloved hand, covered the two men at the table. There was a startled cry from Skeene, a scintillating flash of light as a magnified string of diamonds fell from his hand to the table. But Dangler did not move or speak, only his lips twitched, a queer whiteness came and spread itself over his face.

Put up your hands, both of you, she ordered, in a low, tense voice. It was Skeeney who spoke, as both men obeyed her, the white mall, so help me, he mumbled, and swallowed hard. Dangler's eyes never seemed to leave her face, and they narrowed now, full of hatred, and a fury that lie made no attempt to conceal. She smiled at him coldly. She quite understood. He had already complained that.

evening that the white mall for the last few weeks had been robbing them of the fruits of their laboriously planned schemes and now again well she would not dispel his illusion he had given the white mall that role and it was the safest role to play she stepped forward now and with her free hand suddenly pulled the table toward her out of their reach and then as she picked up the necklace she appeared for the first time to become aware of the presence of the huddled form on the floor floor near the wall. She could see that the sparrow was bound and gagged, and as he squirmed now, he turned his face toward her. Why, it's the sparrow, isn't it? She exclaimed sharply, then evenly to the two men, I had no idea you were so hospitable. Push your chairs closer together. With your feet, not your hands. You are easier to watch, if you're not so far apart. Dangler complied sullenly. Skeeney, over the scraping of his chest. chair legs, cursed in a sort of unnerved abandon as he obeyed her.

Thank you, said Rhoda Gray pleasantly and calmly tucked the necklace into her bodice. The act seemed to aroused Dangler to the last pitch of fury. The blood rushed to an angry tide in his face, and suffusing purpled his cheeks. This isn't the first crack you've made, he flung out hoarsely. You've been getting wise to a whole lot lately somehow, you and that dude pal of yours, But you'll pay for it, you female devil. Understand? By God, you'll pay for it.

I promise you that you'll pray yet on your bended knees for the chance to take your own life. Do you hear? I hear, said Rhoda Gray coldly. She picked up the jackknife from the table, and keeping both men covered, stepped backward to the wall. Here, kneeling, she reached behind her with her left hand, and felt for and cut the heavy cord that bound the sparrow's arms. Then, pushing the knife into the knife. the sparrow's hands that he might free himself from the rest of his bonds, she stood up again.

A moment more in the sparrow, rubbing the circulation back into his wrists, stood beside her. There was a look on the young white face that was not good to see. He circled dry lips with the tip of his tongue, and then his thumb began to feel over the blade of the big jackknife in a sort of horribly supercritical appraisal of its edge. He spoke thickly for the gag that had been in his mouth. You dirty skates, he whispered, you were going to bump me off, were you? You planted me cold, did you? Oh, hell. His laugh, like the laugh of one insane, jangled, discordant, rang through the room. Well, it's my turn now, and— His body was coiling itself in a slow, curious, almost snake-like fashion, and Yol—wrote a gray later hand on the sparrow's arm.

"'Not that way, Marty,' she said, quite. quietly. She smiled thinly at Dangler, who, with genuinely frightened eyes now, seemed fascinated by the sparrow's movements. I wouldn't care to have anything happen to Mr. Dangler, yet. He has been invaluable to me, and I am sure he will be again. The sparrow brushed his hands across his eyes and stared at her. He licked his lips again. He appeared to be obsessed with the knife-blade in his hand, dazed in a strange way to all else. There's enough cord there for both of them, said Rhoda Gray crisply. Tie them to their chairs, Marty. For a moment the sparrow hesitated, and then, with a sort of queer reluctancy, he dropped the knife on the table and went and picked up the strands of cord from the floor.

No one spoke. The sparrow, with twitching lips as he worked, and worked not gently, first bound dangler and then Skeeney to their respective chairs. Skeeney, for the most part, kept his eyes on the floor, casting only fruit of glances at Rhoda Gras. Gray's revolver muzzle. But Dangler was smiling now. He had very white teeth. There was something of primal, insincente fury in the hard-drawn, parted lips. Somehow he seemed to remind Rhoda Gray of a beast, stung to madness, but impotent behind the bars of its cage as it showed its fangs. "'We'll go now, Marty,' she said softly, as the sparrow finished. She motioned the sparrow with an imperious little nod of her head to the door. And then, following the other, she backed to the door herself,

and halted an instant on the threshold. It has been a very profitable evening, Mr. Dangler, she said, coolly. I have to thank you for it. When your friends come, which I think I heard you say would be another hour or so, I hope you will not fail to convey to them my— You she-feaned! Dangler had found his voice again. You'll crawl for this, and I'll show you in the way.

inside of twenty-four hours what you're up against you, you. His voice broke in its fury. The veins were standing out on the sides of his neck like whip-cords. He could just move his forearms a little, and his hands reached out toward her, curved like claws. I'll— But Rhoda Gray had closed the door behind her, and, with the sparrow, was retreating down the stairs. End of Chapter 6. Chapter 7 of the White Mall. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org.

Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, USA. The White Mall by Frank L. Packard. Chapter 7. Fellow Thieves Reaching the courtyard, Rota Gray led the way without a word through the driveway, and finding the street clear, hurried on rapidly. Her mind, strangely stimulated, was working in quick, incisive flashes. Her work was not yet done. The sparrow was safe, as far as his life was concerned, but her possession of even the necklace would not save the sparrow from the law.

There was the money that was gone from the safe. She could not recover that, but, yes, dimly she began to see a way. she swerved suddenly from the sidewalk as she came to an alleyway which had been her objective and she drew the sparrow in with her out of sight of the street the sparrow gripped at her hand the white maul he whispered brokenly god bless the white maul i ain't had a chance to say it before you saved my life and i-i in the semi-darkness she leaned forward and laid her fingers gently over the sparrow's lips and there's no time but-you saved my life and i-i-i-i in the semi-darkness she leaned forward and laid her fingers gently over the sparrow's lips and there's no time time to say it now, Marty, she said quickly. You are not out of this yet. He swept his hand across his eyes. I know it, he said. I got to get those shiners back up there somehow, and I got to get that paper they planted on me. She shook her head. Even that wouldn't clear you, she said. The safe has been looted of money as well, and you can't replace that. Even with only the money

gone, who would they first naturally suspect? you are known as a safe-breaker you have served a term for it you ask for a night off to stay with your mother who's sick you left mr hayden bonds we'll say at seven or eight o'clock it's after midnight now how long would it take them to find out that between eight and midnight you had never been near your mother but could not prove an alibi of any sort if you told them the truth it would sound absurd no one in their sober senses would believe you The Sparrow looked at her miserably. My God, he faltered. He wet his lips. That's true. Marty, she said quietly,

did you read in the papers that I had been arrested last night for theft, caught with the goods on me, but had escaped? The Sparrow hesitated. Yes, I did, he said, and then, earnestly, but I don't believe it. It was true, though, Marty, all except that I wasn't a thief, she said as quietly as before. What I want to know is, in spite of that,

would you trust me with what is left to be done tonight if I tell you that I believe I can get you out of this? Sure I would, he said simply. I don't know how you got wise about all this, or how you got to know about that necklace, but any in our crowd would trust you to the limit. Sure, I'd trust you. You bet your life. Thank you, Marty, she said.

"'Well, then, how do you get into Mr. Hayden Bond's house, when, for instance, you were out late at night?' "'I've got a key to the garage,' he answered. "'The garage is attached to the house, though it opens on the side street.' She held out her hand. The sparrow fished in his pocket and extended the key without hesitation. "'It's for the small door, of course,' he explained. "'You haven't got a flashlight, I suppose,' she smiled.

Sure, there's plenty of them. Each car's got one in its tools under the back seat. She nodded. And now the library, she said. What part of the house is it in? How is it situated? It's on the ground floor at the back, he told her. The little short passage from the garage opens on the kitchen, then the pantry, and then there's a little cross hallway, and the dining room is on the left and the library on the right. but ain't i goin with you she shook her head again you're going home marty after you've sent me a taxi-cab if you were seen in that neighborhood now let alone by chance seen in the house nothing could save you you understand that don't you now listen find a taxi and send it here tell the chauffeur to pick me up and drive me to the corner of the cross street one block in the rear of mr hayden bond's residence don't mention hayden bond's name give the chauffeur simple street directions be careful that he is someone who doesn't know you tell him he will be well paid and give him this to begin with she thrust a bank-note into the sparrow's hand you're sure to find one at some all-night cabaret around here and remember when you get home afterward not a word to your mother and not a word to-morrow or ever to any one you've simply done as you told your employer you were going to do, spent the night at home.

But you, he burst out, and his words choked a little. I, I can't let you go, and—you said you would trust me, Marty, she said. And if you want to help me as well, don't waste another moment. I shall need every second I've got. Quick, hurry. But—she pushed him toward the street. Run, she said tensely. Hurry, Marty, hurry.

She drew back into the shadows. She was alone now. The Sparrow's racing footsteps died away on the pavement. Her mind reverted to the plan that she had dimly conceived. It became detailed, concrete now, as the minutes passed. And then she heard a car coming along the previously deserted street, and she stepped out on the sidewalk. It was the taxi. You know where to go, don't you? She said to the chauffeur, as the cab drew up to the curb, and the man leaned out and opened the door. Yes, him, he said. Please drive fast, then, she said as she stepped in. The taxi shot out from the curb and rattled forward at a rapid pace. Rhoda Gray settled back on the cushions.

A half-whimsical, half-weary little smile touched her lips. It was much easier and infinitely safe. safer this mode of travel than that of her early experience that evening. But earlier that evening, she had had no one to go to a cab-rank for her, and she had dared not appear in the open inhale one for herself. The smile vanished, and the lips became pursed and grim. Her mind was back on that daring, and perhaps a little dangerous plan that she meant to put into execution. Block after block was traversed. It was a long way. It was a long way. uptown, but the chauffeur's initial and generous tip was bearing fruit.

The man was losing no time. Rhoda Gray calculated that they had been a little under a half an hour in making the trip when the taxi finally drew up and stopped at a corner, and the chauffeur, again leaning out, opened the door. Wait for me, she instructed, and handed the man another tip, and with a glance about her to get her location, she hurried around the corner and headed up the cross street. She had only a block now to go to reach the Hayden Bond Mansion on the corner of Fifth Avenue ahead, less than that to reach the garage, which opened on the cross street here.

She had little fear of personal identification now. Here in this residential section, and at this hour of night, it was like a silent and deserted city, even Fifth Avenue, just ahead for all its lights, was one of the loneliest places at this hour in all New York. True. Now and then a car might race up and down the Great Thirlfare, or a belated pedestrian's footsteps ring and echo hollow on the pavement, where but a few hours before the traffic squad struggled valiantly and sometimes vainly with the congestion, but that was all. She could make out the Hayden Bond mansion on the corner ahead of her now, and now she was abreast of the rather ornate and attached little building that was obviously the garage. She drew the key from her pocket and glanced around her. There was no one in sight.

She stepped swiftly into the small door that flanked the big double ones where the cars went in and out, opened it, closed it behind her, and locked it. For a moment, her eyes unaccustomed to the darkness, she could see nothing, and then a car, taking the form of a grotesque looming shadow, showed in front of her. She moved toward it, felt her way into the top. Hano, lifted up the back seat, and, groping around, found a flashlight. She meant to hurry now. She did not mean to let that nervous dread, that fear, that was quickening her pulse now,

have time to get the better of her. She located the door that led to the house, and in a moment, the short passage behind her, she was in the kitchen, the flashlight, winking cautiously around her. She paused to listen here. There was not a sound. She went on again, through a swinging pantry door with extreme care, and into a small hall. On the right, the sparrow had said, yes, here it was, a door that opened on the rear of the library, evidently.

She listened again. There was no sound, save the silence, that seemed to grow loud now, and palpitate, and make great noises. And now, in spite of herself, her breath was coming in quick, hard little catch. and the flashlight's ray that she sent around her wavered and was not steady she bit her lips as she switched off the light why should she be afraid of this when in another five minutes she meant to invite attention she pushed the door in front of her open found it hung with a heavy portier inside brushed the portier aside stepped through into the room stood still and motionless to listen once more and then the flashlight circled inquisitively about her it was the library her eyes widened a little at her left over against the wall the mangled door of a safe stood wide open and the floor for a radius of yards around was littered with papers and documents The flashlights ray lifted, and she followed it with her eyes as it made the circuit of the walls.

Opposite the safe, and quite near the doorway in which she stood, was a window recess, portared. Diagonally across from her was another door that led, presumably, into the main hall of the house. The walls were tapestried, and hung here and there with clusters of ancient trophies, great metal shields and swords and curious arms that gave a sort of barbaric splendor to the luxurious furnishings of the apartment. She worked quickly now. In a moment she was at the window portires, and drawing these aside, she quietly raised the window and looked out. The window was on the side of the house away from the cross street, and she nodded her head reassuringly to herself as she noted that it gave on a narrow strip of grass. It could not be called lawn that separated the Hayden Bond mansion from the house next door,

that the window was little more than shoulder high from the ground, and that the avenue was within easy and inviting reach along the little strip of grass between the two houses. She left the window open and retraced her steps across the room, going now to the littered mass of papers on the floor near the safe. She began to search carefully amongst them. She smiled a little curiously, as she came. came across the plushed-line jeweler's case that had contained the necklace, and which had evidently been contemptuously discarded by the cricket and his confederates, but it took her longer to find

the paper for which she was searching, and then she came upon it, a grease smeared advertisement for some automobile appliances, a well-defined greasy fingerprint at one edge, and thrust the paper into her pocket. And now suddenly her heartbeat began to quicken, until its thumping became tumultuous. She was ready now. She looked around her, using the flashlight, and her eyes rested appraisingly on the great clusters of shields and arms that hung low down on the wall between the window and the door by which she had entered. Yes, that would do. She tightened her lips. It would have been so easy if there had not been that cash to account for. She could replace the necklace, but she could not replace the cash. And one, As far as the sparrow was concerned, was as bad as the other. But there was a way, and it was simple enough. She whispered to herself that it was not, after all, very dangerous, that the cards were all in her own hands.

She had only to pull down those shields with a clatter to the floor, which would arouse some of the household, and as that someone reached the library door and opened it, she would disappear through the window, and the necklace, as though it had slipped from her pocket or grasp in her wards. wild effort to escape would be lying behind her on the floor. They would see that it was not the sparrow, and there would be no question as to where the money was gone, since the money had not been dropped. There was the interval, of course, that must be elapsed between the accident that knocked the

shields from the wall and the time it would take for the inmates to reach the library, an interval in which a thief might reasonably be expected to have had time enough to get away without being seen. But the possibility that she had not fully accomplished. her ends when the accident occurred and that she had stayed to make frantic and desperate efforts to do so right up to the last moment would account for that she moved now to the electric light switch and turned on the light they must be able to see beyond any question of a doubt that the person escaping through the window was not the sparrow what was she afraid of now just at the last there was an actual physical discomfort in the furious thumping of that cowardly little heart of hers. It was the only way, and it was worth it, and it was not so very dangerous. People aroused out of bed could not follow her in their nightclothes, and in a matter of but a few minutes, before the police, notified by telephone, could become a factor in the affair, she would

have run a block down the avenue, and then the other block down the cross street, back to the taxi, and be whirling safely downtown. Yes, she was ready. She nodded her head sharply, as though in imperative self-command, and running back her footfalls soundless on the rich, heavy rug, she picked up the plushed-lined necklace case. She dropped this again, open on the floor, halfway between the safe and the window. With the case apparently burst open as it fell,

and the necklace also on the floor, the stage would be set. She felt inside her bodice, drew out the necklace, and as she stood there holding it, as it caught the light and flashed back its fire and life from a thousand facets. A numbness came stealing over her, a horror and a great fear, and a dismay robbed her of the power of movement, until she seemed that she was rooted to the spot, and a low, grasping cry came from her lips. Her eyes, wide with their alarm, were fixed on the window. There was a man's face there, just above the sill, and now a man's form swung through the window, and dropped.

Lopped lightly to the floor inside the room and she stared in horrified fascination and could not move It was the adventurer It's miss rhoda gray isn't it the white mall? He murmured amiably I've been trying to find you all night what corking luck You remember me don't you last night you know she did not answer his eyes had shifted from her face to the glittering river of Jenner in her hand. I see, he smiled, that you are ahead of me again. Well, it's the fortune of war, Miss Gray.

I do not complain. She found her voice at last, and, quick as a flash, as he advanced a step, she dropped the necklace into her pocket, and her revolver was in her hand. What are you doing here, she whispered? He shrugged his shoulders, expressively. I take it that we are both in the same. boat he said pleasantly in the same boat she echoed dully she remembered his conversation with her a few hours ago when he had believed he was talking to gipsy nan and now he stood before her a second time a self-confessed thief in the same boat thieves a certain cold composure came to her you mean you came to steal this necklace well you shall not have it and further

Furthermore, you have no right to class me with yourself as a thief. He had a whimsical, even engaging smile. His eyebrows lifted. Miss Gray perhaps forgets last night, he suggested. No, I do not forget last night, she said, slowly. And I do not forget that I owe you very much for what you did. And that is one reason why I warn you at once, that as far as the necklace is concerned,

it will do you no good to build any hopes on the supposition that we are fellow thieves, and that I am likely either to part with it or through gratitude share it. In spite of appearances last night, I am not a thief. And tonight, Miss Gray, in spite of appearances, he challenged? He was regarding her with eyes that, while they appraised shrewdly, held a lurking hint of irony in their depths. and somehow suddenly self-proclaimed crook that she held him to be she found herself seized with an absurd unreasonable but nevertheless passionate desire to make good her words yes and to-night too she asserted i did not steal this necklace i never mind how i i got it it was planned to put the theft on an innocent man's shoulders i was trying to thwart that plan "'Whether you believe me or not, I did not come here to steal the necklace.

"'I came here to return it.' "'Quite so. Of course,' acknowledged the adventurer softly. "'I am afraid I interrupted you, then, in the act of returning it. "'Might I suggest, therefore, Miss Gray, that as it's a bit dangerous to linger around here unnecessarily, "'you carry out your intentions, with all possible haste, and get away.' "'And you?' she queried evenly. myself of course as well he shrugged his shoulders philosophically under the circumstances as a gentleman will you let me say i prefer that word to the one that you are substituting for it what else can i do she bit her lips was he mocking her the gray eyes were inscrutable now then please do not let me detain you she said sharply and in turn let me advise you to go at once

I intend to knock one of those shields from the wall before I go in order to arouse the household. I will, however, in part payment for last night, allow you three full minutes from the time you climb out that window so that you may have ample time to get away. He stared at her in frank bewilderment. Good Lord, he gasp. You—you are joking, Miss Gray. No, I am not, she said coolly, far from it. There was money stolen that I cannot replace, and the theft of the money would be put on the same

innocent shoulders. I see no other way than the one I mentioned. If whoever runs into this room is permitted to get a glimpse of me, and is given the impression that the necklace, which I shall leave on the floor, was dropped in my haste, the supposition remains that, at least I got away with the money. I am certainly not the innocent man who was used as the pawn, and if I am recognized as the white mall, what does it matter, after last night? He took a step toward her impetuously, and stopped quite as impetuously. Her revolver had swung to level with his head. Pardon me, he said?

Not at all, she said caustically. For the first time, as she watched him warily, the adventurer appeared to lose some of his self-assurance. He shifted a little uneasily on his feet, and the corners of his eyes puckered into a of perturbed wrinkles. I say, Miss Gray, you can't mean this, he protested. You're not serious. I have told you that I am, she answered, steadily.

Those three minutes that I gave you are going fast. Then look here, he exclaimed earnestly. I'll tell you something. I said I have been trying to find you tonight. It was the truth. I went to Gypsy Nans, and might have been spared my pains. i told her about last night and that i knew you were in danger and that i wanted to help you i mentioned this so you will understand that i am not just speaking on the spur of the moment now that i have an opportunity of repeating that offer in person she looked at him impassively for a moment he neglected to state that he had also told gipsy nan he desired to enter into a partnership with her in crime

"'It is very kind of you,' she said sweetly. "'I presume, then, that you have some suggestion to make. "'Only what any, may I say it, gentlemen would suggest under the circumstances? "'It is far too dangerous a thing for a woman to attempt. "'It would be much less dangerous for me. "'I realize that you are in earnest now, "'and I will agree to carry out your plan in every detail "'once I am satisfied that you are safely away.

"'The idea being, she is, observed monotonously that being safely away and the necklace being left safely on the floor you are left safely in possession of the necklace well my answer is no his face hardened a little i'm sorry then he said for in that case insofar as your project is concerned i too must say no it was an impasse She studied his face, the strong jaw set a little now, the lips molded in sterner lines, and for all her outward show of composure she knew a sick dismay. And for a moment she neither moved nor spoke. What he would do next she did not know, but she knew quite well that he had not the slightest

intention of leaving her here undisturbed to carry out her plan, unless, unless somehow she could outwit him. She bit her lips again, and then inspiration came. She turned, and with a sudden leap gained the wall, and the next instant, holding him back with her revolver as she reached up with her left hand, she caught the great metal shield with its encircling cluster of small arms, and wrenched it from its fastenings. It crashed to the floor with a den infernal that, in the night's silence, went racking through the house like the reverberations of an explosion. My God, what have you done? he cried out, hoarsely. What I said I do, she answered.

She was white-faced, frightened at her own act, fighting to maintain her nerve. You'll go now, I imagine, she flung at him passionately. You haven't much time. No, he said. His composure was instantly at command again. No. He repeated steadily, not until after you have gone. I refuse, positively, to let you run any such risk as that.

It's far too dangerous. Yes, you will, she burst out wildly. You will. You must. You shall. I—I—I— The house itself seemed suddenly to have awakened. From above doors opened and closed.

Indistinctly there came the sound of a voice. She clenched her hands. hand in anguish desperation. Go! You, you coward, she whispered frantically. Miss Gray, for God's sake, do as I tell you, he said between his teeth. You don't realize the danger. It's not the pursuit.

They are not coming down here unarmed after that racket. I know that you came in by that door there. Go out that way. I will play the game for you. I swear it. There were footsteps, plainly audible now. out in the main hall. Quick, he urged.

Are we both to be caught? See? He backed suddenly toward the window. See? I am too far away now to touch the necklace before they get here. Throw it down and get behind the portier of the rear door. Mechanically she was retreating. They were almost at the other door now,

those footsteps outside in the main hall. With a backward spring, she reached the portier. The door handle across the room rattled. She glanced at the adventurer. He was close to the window. It was true he could not get the necklace, and at the same time hoped to escape. She whipped it from her pocket, tossed it from her to the floor near the plush-lined case, and slipped behind the portier. The door opposite to her was wrenched violently open. She could see through the corner of the portier. There was a sharp, excited exclamation, as a gray-haired man,

in pajamas, evidently Mr. Hayden Bond himself, sprang into the room. He was followed by another man in equal de Shebel, and the adventurer was leaping from the window. There was a blinding flash, the roar of a report, as the millionaire flung up a revolver and fired. It was echoed by the splatter and tinkle of falling glass. The adventurer was astride the window-sill now, his face deliberately and unmistakably in view. A foot too high, and a bit to the right, said the adventurer, debonarily, and the window-sill was empty. Rhoda Gray stole silently through the doorway behind her.

She could hear the millionaire, and his companion, the butler, probably, rush across the library to the window. As she gained the pantry, she heard another shot. Tight-lipped, using her flashlight, she ran through the kitchen. In a moment more, she was standing at the garage door, listening. peering frutively outside. The street itself was empty. There were shouts, though, from the direction of the avenue. She stepped out on the side street, and walking composedly that she might not attract attention, though very impulse urged her to run with frantic haste,

she reached the corner and the waiting taxi-cab. She gave the chauffeur an address that would bring her to the street in the rear of Gypsy Nans, and within reach of the lane where she had left her clothes, and, with an injunction to hurry, sprang into the cab. And then for a long time she sat there with her hands tightly clasped in her lap. Her mind, her brain, her very soul itself seemed in chaos and turmoil. There was the sparrow, who was safe, and dangler, who would move heaven and hell to get her now, and the adventurer who, her mind seemed to grope around in cycles. It seemed to moil on and on, and around.

arrive at nothing. The adventure had played the game, perhaps because he had had to, but he had not risked that revolver shot in her stead because he had had to. Who was he? How had he come there? How had he found her there? How had he known that she had entered by that rear door behind the portier? She remembered how that he had offered not a single explanation. Almost mechanically, she dismissed the taxi when at last it stopped, and almost mechanically, as Gypsy Nan, some ten minutes later, she led herself into the garret and lighted the candle. She was conscious, as she hid the white mall's clothes away, that she was thankful she had regained in safety even the questionable sanctuary of this wretched place. But, strangely,

thoughts of her own peril seemed to be somehow temporarily relegated to the background. She flung herself down on the bed. It was not Gypsy Nan's habit to undress, and she blew out the light. But she could not sleep. And hour after hour in the darkness she tossed unrestfully. It was very strange. It was not as it had been last night. It was not the impotent, frantic rebellion against the horrors of her own situation, nor the fear and terror of it that obsessed her tonight. It was the adventurer who plagued her. End of Chapter 7. Chapter 8 of the White Mall.

This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, USA. The White Mall by Frank L. Packard. Chapter 8. message. It was strange, most strange. Three days had passed, and to Gypsy Nans lodging no one had come. 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 Dangler, balked, almost a madman in his fury, in the little room over Schlucker's junk shop. Dangler had not been seen, nor the adventurer, nor even rough rourke. Her only visitant since then had been an ugly premonition of impending peril, which came and stalked like a hideous ghost about the bear and miserable garret, and which woke her at night with its whispering voice, which was the voice of intuition. Rota Gray drew her shawl closer around her shoulders and shivered, as now, from shuffling down the block in the guise of Gypsy Nan, she halted before the street door of what fate for the moment had thrust upon her as a home and shivered again as with abhorrence she pushed the door open and stepped forward into the black unlighted hallway soul mind and body were in revolt to-night

even faith the simple faith in god that she had known since childhood was wavering there seemed nothing but horror around her a mental horror a physical horror and the sole means of even momentary relief and surcease from it had been a pitiful prowling around the streets where even the fresh air seemed to be denied to her for it was tainted with the smells of squalor that ruled rampant in the neighborhood and to-night stronger than ever intuition and premonition of approaching danger lay heavy upon her and oppressed her with a sense of nearness she was not a coward but she was afraid dangler would leave no stone unturned to get the white mall He had said so. She remembered the threat he had made. It had lived in the woman's soul ever since that night. Better anything than to fall into Dangler's hands? She caught her breath a little and shivered again as she groped her way up the dark stairs. But then she never would fall into Dangler's power. There was always an alternative. Yes, it was quite as bad as that. Death at her own hands was preferable. balked, outwitted, the plans of the criminal cultry, of which Dangler appeared to be the head, rendered again and again abortive, and believing it all due to the white mall, all of Dangler's shrewd, unscrupulous cunning would be centered on the task of running her down, and if, added to this, he discovered that she was masquerading as Gypsy Nan, one of their inner circle, it meant that. She closed her lips in a hard, tight line. She did not want to think of it. she had fought all day and the day before against thinking about it but premonition had crept upon her stronger and stronger until to-night now it seemed though her mind could dwell on nothing else on the landing she paused suddenly and listened the street door had opened and closed and now a footstep sounded on the stairs behind her she went on again along the hall feeling her way and reaching the short ladder-like steps to the garret She began to mount them.

Who was it there behind her? One of the unknown lodgers on the lower floor? Or? She could not see, of course. It was pitch black, but she could hear. And now she knelt on the narrow landing, and felt with her fingers along the floor the aperture, where, imitating the custom of Gypsy Nan,

she had left her key when she went out, and she heard the footsteps coming steadily on, passing the doors below her and making toward the garret ladder. And then, stifling a startled little cry, her hand closed on the key, as it had that first night when she had returned here in the roll of Gypsy Nan, on a piece of paper wrapped around the key. The days of isolation were ended with climactic effect. The pendulum had swung full the other way. Tonight, there was both a visitor and a message. The paper detached from the key and thrust into her bodice, she stood up quickly. A form looming up. in the darkness, showed on the Garrett's stairs.

"'Who's dare?' she croaked. "'It's all right,' a voice answered in low tones. "'You were just ahead of me on the street. I saw you come in. "'It's Pierre.' "'Pierre.' So that was his name. It was only the voice she recognized.

Pierre Dangler. She fumbled for the keyhole, found it, and inserted the key. "'Well, how's Bertha to-night?' there seemed to be a strange exhilaration in the man's voice he was standing beside her now close beside her and now his hand played with a curiously caressing motion on her shoulder the touch seemed to scorch and burn her who was this dangler who was pierre to her and to whom she was bertha her breath came quickly in spite of herself there came too a frenzy of aversion and impulsively she flung his hand away and with the door unlocked now she stepped from him into the garret feeling a bit off color eh he said with a short laugh as he followed her and shut the door behind him well i don't know as i blame you but look here old girl have a heart it's not my fault i know what you're grouching about it's because i haven't been around much lately but you ought to know well enough that i couldn't help it our game has been crippled lately at every turn by that she-devil the white mall and that dude pal of hers he laughed out again in savage menace now i've been busy understand bertha it was either ourselves or them we've got to go under or they have and we won't i promise that

things will break a little better before long and i'll make it up to you she could not see him in the blackness of the garret she breathed a prayer of gratitude that he could not see her her face in spite of gipsy nan's disguising grime must be white white as death itself it seemed to plumb some infamous depth from which her soul recoiled this apology of his for his neglect of her and then her hands at her sides curled into tight clenched little fists as she strove to control herself his words at least supplied her with her cue of course she said tartly but in perfect english the vernacular of gipsy nan was not for dangler for she remembered only too well how once before it had nearly tripped her up but you didn't come here to apologize what is it you want ah i say bertha he said appeasingly cut that out i couldn't help being away i tell you of course i didn't come here to apologize i thought you'd understand well enough without that the gang's out of cash and i came to tap the reserves let me have a package of the long green bertha it was a moment before she spoke her woman's instinct prompted her to her to let down the bars between them in no single degree, that her protection lay in playing to the full what Dangler, jumping at conclusions, had assumed was a grouch at his neglect. Also, her mind worked quickly. Her clothes were no longer in the secret hiding-place here in the garret. They were out there

in the old shed in the lane. It was perfectly safe, then, to let Dangler go to the hiding-place himself, assuming that he knew where it was, which, almost of necessity he must. "'Go,' she said ungraciously. "'Well, you know where it is, don't you? "'Suppose you go and get it yourself.' "'All right,' returned Dangler, "'a sullenness creeping into his voice. "'Have it your own way, Bertha.

"'I haven't got time to-night "'to coach you out of your tantrums. "'That's what you want, but I haven't got time, tonight.' "'She did not answer. "'A match crackled in Dangler's hands. "'The flames spread it up through the darkness. "'Dangler made his way over to the rickety washstand. found the candle that was stuck in the neck of the gin bottle and lighted it he held the candle above his head and stared around the garret why the devil don't you get another lamp he grumbled and started toward the rear of the garret

rhoda gray watched him silently she did not care to explain that she had not replaced the lamp for the very simple reason that it would give far too much light here in the garret to be safe for her she watched him with her hand in the pocket of the greasy skirt clutched around another leg of Gypsy Nan, her revolver. And now she became conscious that from the moment she had entered the garret, her fingers, hidden in that pocket, had sought and clung to the weapon. The man filled her with detestation and fear, and somehow she feared him more now in what he was trying to make an ingratiating mood than she had feared him in the full flood of his rage and anger that other night at Schluckers' place. She drew back a little toward the cot bed against the wall, drew back to give him free passage to the door when he should return again. Her eyes still holding on the far end of the garret, where with the slope of the roof, the ceiling was no more

than shoulder high. There seemed something horribly weird and grotesque in the scene before her. He had pushed the narrow-trap door in the ceiling upward, and thrust the candle and his head through the opening, and the faint yellow light, seeping back and downward in flickering, uncertain rays, suggested the impression of a gruesome, headless figure standing there hazily outlined in the surrounding murk. It chilled her. She clutched at her shawl, drew it more closely about her, and edged still nearer the wall. And then Dangler closed the trap-door again, and came back with the candle in one hand, and one of the bulky packages of bank-notes from the hiding-place in the other. He set the candle down on the washstand, and began to distribute the money through his various pockets.

He was smiling with curious complacency. It was your job to play the spider to the white mall, if she ever showed up here again in your parlor, he said. Maybe somebody tipped her off to keep away. Maybe she's too wily. But anyway, since you have not sent out any word, it is evident that our little plans along that line didn't work, since she has failed to come back and pay a call of gratitude to you.

I don't suppose there's anything to add to that, A, Bertha? No report to make? "'No,' said Rhoda Gray shortly. "'I haven't any report to make.' "'Well, no matter,' said Dangler. He laughed out shortly. "'There are other ways.' "'She's had her fling at our expense.

"'It's her turn to pay now.' He laughed again, and in the laugh now there was something both brutal in its menace and sinister in its suggestion of gloating triumph. "'What do you mean?' demanded Rhoda Gray. "'What are you going to do?' "'Get her.' said Dangler. The man's passion flamed up suddenly. He spoke through his clothes teeth.

Get her. I made her a little promise, and I'm going to keep it. Understand? You've been saying that for quite a long time, retorted Rhoda Gray, coolly. But the getting has been all the other way so far. How are you going to get her? Dangler's little black eyes narrowed, and he thrust his head forward and out from his shoulders savagely. In the flickering candlelight, with contorted face and snarling lips, he looked again the beast to which she had once likened him. Never mind how I'm going to get her, he flung out with an oath. I told you I'd been busy, that's enough. You'll see. Rota Gray, in the semi-darkness, shrugged her shoulders. Was the man prompted by rage and fury simply making

wild threats, or had he at last some definite and perhaps infallible plan that he proposed putting into operation? She didn't know, and much as it meant to her, she did not dare take the risk of arousing suspicion by pressing the question. Failing then, to obtain any intimation of what he meant to do, the next thing most to be desired was to get rid of him. You've got the money. That's what you came for, wasn't it? She suggested coldly. He stared at her for a moment, and then his face gradually lost its scow. You're a rare one, Bertha, he exclaimed admiringly. Yes, I've got the money, and I'm going.

In fact, I'm in a hurry, so don't worry. You got the dope, like everybody else, for tonight, didn't you? It was sent out two hours ago. The dope? It puzzled her for a fraction of a second, and then she remembered the paper that she had thrust into the bodice of her dress. She hadn't read it. She lunged a little in the dark.

yes she said curtly all right he said and move toward the door that explains why i'm in a hurry and why i can't stop to oil that grouch out of you but i'll keep my promise to you too old girl i'll make up the last few days to you have a heart eh bertha night she did not answer him it seemed as though an unutterable dread had suddenly been lifted from her as he passed out of the door and began to descend the steps to the hall below Her grouch, he had called it. Well, it served its purpose. It was just as well that he should think so. She followed to the door, and deliberately slammed it with a bang. And from below his laugh, more an amused chuckle, echoed back and answered her. And then, for a long time she stood there by the door,

a little weak with the revulsion of relief upon her, her hands pressed hard against her temples, staring unseeingly about the garret. He was gone. He filled her with terror. Every instinct she possessed, every fiber of her being revolted against him. He was gone. Yes, he was gone for the time being. But, but what was the end of all this to be? She shook her head after a moment, shook it helplessly and wearily, as finally she walked over to the wash-dand, took the piece of paper from the bodice of her dress, and spread it out under the candlelight. A glance showed her that it was in cipher. There was a stub of a pencil, she remembered, in the washstand drawer,

and armed with this, and with a piece of wrapping paper that had once enveloped one of Gypsy Nans gin bottles, she took up the candle, crossed the garret, and sat on the edge of the cot, placing the candle on the chair in front of her. If the last three days had been productive of nothing else, they had at least furnished her with the opportunity of studying the notebook she had found in the secret hiding place, and of making herself conversant with the gang's cipher, and now she set to work upon it. It was a numerical cipher.

Each letter of the alphabet in regular rotation was represented by its corresponding numeral. A zero was employed to set off one letter from another, and the addition of the numerals between the zeros indicated the number of the letter involved. Also, there being but 26 letters in the alphabet, it was obvious that the additions of three-nines, which was 27,

could not represent any letter and the combination of nine nine nine was therefore used to precede any arbitrary groups of numbers which were employed to express phrases and sentences such as the seven three nine that she had found scrawled on the piece of paper around the key on the first night she had come here and which Had it been embodied in a message, and not preceded by the 999, would have meant simply the addition of 7, 3, and 9, that is, 19, and therefore would indicate the 19th letter of the alphabet S. Rhoda Gray copied the first line of the message on a piece of wrapping paper. 321-0-133-2-2-0-320-2-0-3-0-2-3-0-6-66-6-6-3-1-0-0-0. 3330-11-221-221-4-4-2-0-4-2-0-21-1-1-2-0-1-2-0-1-2-0 5-211-1-0 7-16 adding the numerals between the zeros and giving to each its corresponding letter she set down the result

60.10-1-1-0-5-0-0-5-2-2-0-9-4-0-5-4-5-4-1-4-1-4-4-0-0-0-0-0-4. F-A-K-E-V-I-D-E-N-C-I-N. It was then but a matter of grouping the letters into words and decoded the first line read, Fake Evidence in. She worked steadily on. It was a lengthy message, and it took her a long time. It was an hour, perhaps more, after Dangler had gone, before she had completed her task,

and then, after that, she sat for still a long time staring, not at the paper on the chair before her, but at the flickering shadows thrown by the candle on the opposite wall. Queer and strange were the undercurrents and the cross-sections of life that were to be found, amazingly contradictory, amazingly incomprehensible, once one scratched beneath the surface of the poverty and the squalor, and yes, the crime amongst the hiving thousands of New York's east side. In the days, not so very long ago, when, as the white mall, she had worked amongst these classes, she had on one occasion, when he was sick, even kept old Viner in food. She had not, at the time, failed to realize that the man was grasping, repacetious, even unthankful,

but she had little dreamed that he was a miser worth fifty thousand dollars. Her mind swerved off suddenly at a tangent. The tentacles of the crime octopus, of which dangling, angler seemed to be the head, reached far into the most curious places to fasten and hold and feed on the progeny of human foibles. She could not help wondering where the lair was, from which emanated the efficiency and system that, as witness this code message tonight, kept its members, perhaps widely scattered, fully informed of its every movement. She shook her head. That was something she had not yet learned, but it was something she must learn, if ever she hoped to obtain the

evidence that would clear her of the crime that circumstances had fastened upon her. And yet she made no move in that direction because—well, because so far, it had seemed all she could do to protect and safeguard herself in her present miserable existence and surroundings, which, abhorrent as they were, alone stood between her and a prison cell. Her forehead gathered into little furrows, and reverting to the code message, her thoughts harked back to a well-known crime, the authorship of which still remained a mystery, and which had stirred the east side some two years ago. A man, in the vernacular of the underworld, a stagehand, by the name of Croner, credited with having a large amount of cash, the proceeds of some nefarious

transaction. In his possession on the night in question was found murdered in his room in an old tumbled-down tenement of unsavory reputation. The police never was, and the police never was, and the night. The police net had gathered in some of the co-tenants on suspicion, Nikki Viner referred to in the code message amongst them. But nothing had come of the investigation. There had been no charge of collusion between the suspects, but Perlmer, a Scheister lawyer, had acted for them all collectively, and, one in all, they had been discharged.

In what degree, Perlmer's services had been of actual value had never been ascertained, for the police, through lack of evidence, had been obliged to drop the case, but the underworld had whispered to itself. There was such a thing as suppressing evidence, and Perlmer was known to have the cunning of a fox, and a code of morals that never stood in the way, or restricted him in any manner. The code message threw a new light on all this. Perlmer must have known that old Nicky Viner had money, for according to the code message, Perlmer prepared a fake set of affidavits and forged a chain of fake evidence,

with which he had blackmailed Nikki Viner ever since. And Nicky Viner, known as a desolate, shady character, innocent enough of the crime, but afraid because his possession of money, if made public, would tell against him, and frightened because he had already been arrested once on suspicion for that very crime, had whimpered, and paid.

And then, somehow, Dangler and his gang had discovered that the old, seedy, stoop-shouldered, bearded, down at the heels, Nicky Viner, was not all that he seemed, that he was a miser, and had a horde of fifty thousand dollars, and Dangler and the gang had set out to find that horde and appropriated. Only they had not succeeded. But in their search they had stumbled upon Perlmer's trail, and that was the key to the plan they had afoot tonight. If Perlmer's fake and manufactured affidavits were clever enough and convincing enough to ring money out of Viner for Perlmer, they were more than enough to enable Dangler, employed as Dangler would employ them,

to ring from Nicky Viner the secret of where the old miser hit his wealth, for Viner would understand that Dangler was not hampered by having to safeguard himself on account of having been originally connected with the case in a legal capacity, or any capacity, and therefore in demanding all or nothing would have no cause for hesitation, failing to get what he wanted in turning the evidence over to the police. In other words, where Perlmer had to play his man cautiously and get what he could, Dangler could go the limit and get all. As it stood then, Dangler and the gang had not found out the location of that horde,

but they had found out where Perlmer kept his spurious papers, stuffed at the back of a bottom drawer of his desk in his office, practically forgotten, practically useless to Perlmer anymore, for having once shown them to Viner, there was no occasion to call them into service again unless Viner showed signs of getting a little out of hand, and it became necessary to apply the screws once more. For the rest, it was a very simple matter. Perlmer had an office in a small building on Lower 6th Avenue, and it was his custom to go to his office in the evenings, and remain there until ten o'clock or so. The plan then, according to the code message,

was to loot Perlmer's desk sometime after the man had gone home for the night. and then at midnight armed with the false documents to beard old nicky viner in his miserable quarters on the east side and extort from the old miser the neat little sum that dangler estimated would amount to some fifty thousand dollars in cash rhoda gray's face was troubled and serious she found herself wishing for a moment that she had never decoded the message but she shook her head in sharp self-protest the next instant true she would have evaded the response to the next instant true she would have evaded the responsibility that the criminal knowledge now in her possession had brought her but she would have done so in that case deliberately at the expense of her own self-respect it would not have excused her in her own soul to have sat staring at a cipher message that she was satisfied with some criminal plot and have refused to decode it simply because she was afraid a sense of duty would involve her in an effort to frustrate it to have sat idly by under those circumstances would have been reprehensible and even more cowardly than it would be to set idly by now that she knew what was to take place and on that latter score to-night there was no argument with herself she found herself accepting the fact that she would act and act promptly as the only natural corollary to the fact that she was in a position to do so perhaps it was that way to-night not only because she had on a previous occasion occasion already fought this principle of duty out with herself, but because tonight, unlike that

other night, the way and means seemed to present no unsurmountable difficulties, and because she was now far better prepared and free from all the perplexing, though enormously vital little details that had on the former occasion reared themselves up in mountainous aspect before her. The purchase of a heavy veil, for instance, the day after the Hayden Bond affair, would enabled her now to move about the city in the close of the white mall practically at will and without fear of detection and further the facilities for making that change the change from gypsy nan to the white mall were now already at hand in the little old shed behind the lane as far as any actual danger that she might incur to-night was concerned it was not great she was not interested in the fifty thousand dollars in an intrinsic sense she was interested only in seeing that old nicky unappealing yes and almost repulsive both in personality and habits as the man was was not blackmailed out of it that dangler yes and hereafter perlmer too should not pray like vultures on the man and rob him what was rightfully his If, therefore, she secured those papers from Perlmer's desk, it automatically put an end to Dangler's scheme tonight.

And if later, she saw to it that those papers came into Viner's possession, that too automatically ended Perlmer's persecutions. Indeed, there seemed little likelihood of any danger or risk at all. It could not be quite ten o'clock yet, and it was not likely that whoever was delegated by Dangler to rob Perlmer's office would go there, much before eleven anyway, since they would naturally allow for the possibility that Perlmer might stay later in his office than usual, a contingency that doubtlessly accounted for midnight being set for the hour at which they proposed to lay old Nicky Viner by his heels. Therefore, it seemed almost a certainty that she would reach there, not only first, but with ample time at her disposal to secure the papers and get away without interruption. She might even, perhaps, reach the office

before Perlmer himself had left. It was still quite early enough for that, but in that case, she need only remain on watch until the lawyer had locked up and gone away, nor need even that fact that the office would be locked dismay her. In the secret hiding-place here in the garret, among those many other evidences of criminal activity, was the collection of skeleton keys, and she was moving swiftly around the attic now, physically as active as her thoughts. It was not like that other night. There were few preparations to make. She had only to secure the keys and a flashlight,

and to take with her a damp cloth that would remove the grime streaks from her face, and the box of composition that would enable her to replace them when she came back, and five minutes later she was on the street, making her way toward the lane, and specifically toward the deserted shed where she had hidden away her own clothing. End of Chapter 8. Chapter 9 of the White Mall This is a Libravox recording.

All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information about how you can volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, USA. The White Mall by Frank L. Packard. Chapter 9. Room number 11 Another five minutes, and in her own personality now, a slim, trim figure, neatly gloved, the heavy veil affording ample protection to her features, Rota Gray emerged from the shed and the

lane, and started rapidly toward Lower Sixth Avenue. As she walked, her mind, released for the moment from that consideration of her immediate venture, began again, as it had so many times in the last three days. It's striving and it's searching after some loophole. of escape from her own desperate situation. But only, as it ever did, confusion came, a chaos of things, contributory things and circumstances, and the personalities of those with whom this impossible existence had thrown her into contact. Little by little she was becoming acquainted with the personnel of the gang, in an impersonal way, mostly. Apart from Dangler, there was Schlucker, who must, of necessity, be one of them.

and Skeeney, the man who had been with Dangler in Schlucker's room, and the cricket whom she had never seen. And besides these, there were those who were mentioned in the cipher message tonight, 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 the reason for the cipher message, in order that even those not actually employed be thoroughly conversant with the entire plan, and ready to act intelligently if called upon. For there were others, of course, as witness herself, or rather Gypsy Nan, whose personality she had so unwillingly usurped.

It was vital, necessary, that she should know them all, and more than in an impersonal way, if she counted upon ever freeing herself of the guilt attributed to her. For she could see no other way but one, that of exposing and proving the guilt of this vile click who now surrounded her, and who actually instigated and planned the crime of which she was accused. It was not an easy task. And then there were those outside this unholy circle who kept forcing their existence upon her consciousness, because they, too, played an intimate part in the sorred drama which revolved around her, and whose inn she could not foresee. There was, for instance, the adventurer. She drew in her breath quickly.

she felt the color creep slowly upward and tinge her throat and cheeks and then the little chin strong and firm was lifted in a sort of self-defiant challenge true the man had been a great deal in her thoughts but that was only because her curiosity was piqued and because on two occasions now she had had very real cause for gratitude to him if it had not been for the adventurer she would even now be behind prison bars why shouldn't she think of him she was not an ingrate why shouldn't she be interested there was something piquately mysterious about the man who called himself an adventurer she would even have given a good deal to know who he really was and how he too came to be so conversant with dangler's plans as fast as they were matured and why on those two particular occasions he had not only gone out of his way to be of service to her but had done so at very grave risk to himself of course she was interested in him in that way how could she help it but in any other way the little chin was still tilted defiantly upward even the suggestion was absurd the man might be chivalrous courageous yes outwardly even a gentleman in both manner and appearance he might be all of those things and indeed was but he was a thief a professional thief and crook it seemed very strange of course but she was judging him not alone from the circumstances under which they had met and been together, but from what he had given her to understand about himself.

The defiance went suddenly from her face, and for a moment her lips quivered a little helplessly. It was all so very strange, and so forbidding, and—and perhaps she hadn't the stout heart that a man would have, but she did not understand, and she could not see her way through the darkness that was like a pall wrapped about her, and it was hard just to grope out amidst surroundings that revolted her and made her soul sick. It was hard to do this, and still she kept her courage and her faith. She shook her head presently as she went along, shook it reprovingly at herself, and the little shoulders squared resolutely back.

There must be, and there would be a way out of it all, and meanwhile her position, bad as it was, was not without at least a certain compensation. There had been the sparrow the other night, whom she had been able to save, and Tonight there was Nikki Viner. She could not be blind to that. Who knew? It might be for just such very purposes that her life had been turned into these new channels. She looked around her sharply now. She had reached the lower section of 6th Avenue. Perlmer's office, according to the address given, was still a little further on. She walked briskly. It was very different tonight, thanks to her veil. It had been horrible the other night when she had to venture out as the white mall and had been forced to

to keep to the dark alleys and lanes and the unfrequented streets. And now, through a jeweler's window, she noted the time and knew a further sense of relief. It was even earlier than she had imagined. It was not quite ten o'clock. She would, at least, be close on the heels of Perlmer's departure from his office, if not actually ahead of time, and therefore she would be first on the scene, and yes, there was the place. Here was Perlmer's name, amongst those on the nameplate at the street entrance of the small three-story building. She entered the hallway and found it deserted.

It was a rather dirty and unkempt place, and very poorly lighted. A single incandescent alone burned in the hall. Perlmer's room, so the nameplate indicated, was number eleven, and on the next floor. She mounted the stairs and paused on the landing to look around. her again. Here, too, the hallway was lighted by but a single lamp, and here, too, an air of desertion was in evidence. The office tenants, it was fairly obvious, were not habitual night-workers, for not a ray of light came from any of the glass-paneled doors that flanked both sides of the passage. She nodded her head sharply in satisfaction. It was equally obvious that Perlmer had already gone.

It would take her but a moment, then, unless the skeleton keys gave her trouble. She had never used a key of that sort, but... She moved quietly down the hallway, and looking quickly about her to assure herself again that she was not observed, stopped before the door of room number eleven. A moment she hung there, listening. Then she slipped the skeleton keys from her pocket, and, in the act of inserting one of them tentatively into the keyhole, she tried the door, and with a little gulf. gasp of surprise, returned the keys hurriedly to her pocket. The door was unlocked. It had even been

open an inch already under her hand. Again she looked around her, a little startled now, and instinctively her hand in her pocket exchanged the keys for her revolver. But she saw nothing, heard nothing, and it was certainly dark inside there, and therefore only logical to conclude that the room was unoccupied. Reassured, she pushed the door cautiously and noiselessly open, and stepped inside, and closed the door behind her. She stood still for an instant, and then the round, white ray of her flashlight went dancing inquisitively around the office. It was a medium-sized room, far from ornate in its appointments, bared floor, the furniture of the cheapest, Perlmer's clientele did not insist on oriental rugs and mahogany.

Her appraisal of the room, however, was a bit cursory. She was interested only in the flat-top desk in front of her. She stepped quickly around it, and stopped, and a low cry of dismay came from her as she stared at the floor. The lower drawer had been completely removed, and now lay upturned beside the swivel chair, its contents strewn around in all directions. And for a moment she stared at the scene, non-plussed, discomfited. She had been so sure. that she would be first, and she had not been first.

There was no need to search amongst those papers on the floor. They told their own story. The one she wanted were already gone. In a numbed way, mechanically, she retreated to the door, and with the flashlight playing upon it, she noticed for the first time that the lock had been roughly forced. It was but corroborative of the despoiled drawer, and at the same time, the obvious reason why the door had not been revealed,

locked when whoever had come here and gone out again. Whoever had come here. She could have laughed out hysterically. Was there any doubt as to who it was? One of Dangler's emissaries, the cricket perhaps, or perhaps even Dangler himself. They had seen to it that lack of prompt action, at least, would not be the cause of marring their plan. A little dazed, overwrought, confused at the ground being cut from under her, where she had been so

confident of sure footing she made her way out of the building and to the street and for a block walked almost aimlessly along and then suddenly she turned hurriedly into a cross street and headed over toward the east side the experience had not been a pleasant one and it had upset most thoroughly all her calculations but it was very far after all from being disastrous it meant simply that she must find nicky viner himself and warn the man and there was ample time in which to do that the code message specifically stated midnight as the hour at which they proposed to favor old viner with their unhallowed attentions and as it was but a little after ten now she had nearly a full two hours in which to accomplish what should not have taken more than a few minutes rhoda gray's lips tightened a little as she hurried along old nicky viner still lived in the same disreputable tenement in which he had lived on that night of that murder two years ago and she could not ward off the thought that it had been yes and was an ideal place for a murder from the murderer's standpoint the neighborhood was one of the toughest in new york and the tenement itself was frankly nothing more than a den of crooks true she had visited there more than once, had visited Nicky Viner there, but she had gone there then as the white mall, to whom even the most abandoned would have touched his cap. Tonight it was very different. She went there as a woman, and yet, after all, she amended her own thoughts,

smiling a little seriously. Surely she could disclose herself as the white mall there again tonight if the actual necessity arose, for surely crooks, poke-getters, shillibers, and lags, though they were, and though the place teamed with the dregs of the underworld, no one of them, even for the reward that might be offered, would inform against her to the police. And yet, again, the mental pendulum swung the other way, she was not so confident of that as she would like to be. In a general way there could be no question, but the chi could count on the loyalty of those who live there. But there were always those upon whom one could never count, those who were dead to all sense of loyalty, and alive only to selfish gain and interest, a human trait that,

all too unfortunately, was not confined to those alone who lived in that shadow-land outside the law. Her face, beneath the thick veil, relaxed a little. Well, she certainly did not intend to make a test-case of it, and disclose herself there as the white mall, if she could help it. She would enter the tenement unnoticed if she could, and make her way to Nikki Viner's too miserable rooms on the second floor as secretively as she could. And knowing the place as she did, she was quite satisfied that, if she were careful enough, and cautious enough, she could enter and leave without being seen by anyone except, of course, Nikki Viner.

She walked on quickly. Five minutes, ten minutes passed, and now, in the narrow street, lighted mostly by the dull, yellow glow that seeped up from the sidewalk through basement entrances, queer and forbidding portals to sinister interiors, or filtered through the dirty windows of unviting little shops that ran the gamut from Chinese laundries to oyster dens. She halted, drawn back in the shadows of a doorway, and studied the tenement building that was just ahead of her. That was where old Nicky Viner lived. A smile of grim whimsicality touched her lips. Not a light showed in the place from top to bottom. From its exterior it might have been uninhabited, even long deserted.

But to one who knew it, it was quite the normal condition, quite what one would expect. Those who lived there confined their activities mostly to the night, and their exodus to their labors began when the labors of the world at large ended, with the fall of darkness. For a little while she watched the place, and kept glancing up and down the street, and then, seizing her opportunity, when for half a block, or more the street was free of pedestrians, she stole forward and reached the tenement door. It was half open, and she slipped quickly inside into the hall.

She stood here for a moment, motionless, listening, striving to accommodate her eyes to the darkness, and instinctively her hand went to her pocket for a reassuring touch of her revolver. It was black back there in the hallway of Gypsy Nan's lodging. She had not thought that any greater degree of blackness could exist, but it was blacker here. Only the sense of touch promised to be of any avail. If one could have moved

as noiselessly as a shadow moves, one could have passed another within arm's length unseen. And so she listened, listened intently, and there was very little sound. Once she detected a footstep from the interior of some room as it moved across the bare floor,

once she heard a door creak somewhere upstairs, and once, from some ended in a determinate direction, she thought she heard voices whispering together for a moment. She moved suddenly, then, abruptly, almost impulsively, but careful not to make the slightest noise. She dared not remain another instant inactive. It was what she had expected, what she had counted upon as an ally, this darkness, but she was not one who laughed, even in daylight, at its psychology. It was beginning to attack her now, her imagination, to magnify even the

actual dangers that she knew to be around her. And she must fight it off before it got a hold upon her, and before panic voices out of the blackness began to shriek and clamor in her ears, as she knew they would do with pitiful little provocation, urging her to turn and flee incontinently. The staircase, she remembered, was at her right, and feeling out before her with her hands, she reached the stairs, and began to mount them.

She went slowly, very slowly. They were bare, the stairs, and unless one were extremely careful, they could creak out through the silence, with a noise that could be heard from top to bottom of the tenement. But she was not making any noise. She dared not make any noise. Halfway up she halted and pressed her body close against the wall. Was that somebody coming? She held her breath in expectation. There wasn't a sound now, but she could have sworn that she heard a footstep on the hallway above, or on the upper stairs. She bit her lips in vexation.

Panic noises? That's what they were. That and the thumping of her heart? Why was it that alarms and exaggerated fancies came and tried to unnerve her? What, after all, was there really to be afraid of? She had almost a clear two hours before she need even anticipate any actual danger here, and if Nikki Viner were in, she would be away from the tenement again in another fifty-frived. minutes at the latest. Rota Gray went on again, and gaining the landing, halted once more.

And here she smiled at herself with the tolerant chiding she would have accorded a child that was frightened without warrant. She could account for those whisperings and that footstep now. The door to the left, the one next to Nikki Viner's squalid two-room apartment, was evidently partially open, and occasionally someone moved within, and the voices came from there, and low-toned, to begin with, were naturally muffled into whispers by the time they reached her. She had only then, to step the five or six feet across the narrow hall in order to reach Nikki Viner's door, and unless, by some unfortunate chance, whoever was in that room, happened to come out into the hall at the same moment, she would— Yes, it was all right. She was trying Nicky Viner's

door now. It was unlocked, and as she opened it for the space of a crack, there showed, a tiny chink of light, so faint and meager that it seemed to shrink timorously back again, as though to put route to the masked blackness, but it was enough to evidence the fact that Nikki Viner was at home. It was all simple enough now. Old Viner would undoubtedly make some exclamation at her sudden and stealthy entrance, but once she was inside, without those in the next room either having heard or seen her, it would not matter. Another inch she pushed the door open, another, and then another. And then quickly, silently, she tiptoed over the threshold and closed the door softly behind her.

The light came from the inner room and shone through the connecting door, which was open, and there was a movement from within, and a low, grumbling voice, petulant, whining, as though an old man were mumbling complainingly to himself. She smiled coldly. It was very much like Nikki Viner. It was a habit of his to talk to himself, she remembered. And also, she had never heard Nicky Viner do anything else but grumble and complain. But she could not see fully into the other room, only into a corner of it,

for the two doors were located diagonally across from one another, and her hand, in a startled way, went suddenly to her lips, as though mechanically to help choke back and stifle the almost overpowering impulse to cry out that rose within her. "'Nicky Viner was not alone in there. "'A figure had come into her line of vision in that other room, "'not Nikki Viner, not any of the gang, "'and she stared now in incredulous amazement,

"'scarcely able to believe her eyes, "'and then, suddenly, cool and self-possessed again, "'relieved in a curious way because the element of personal danger "'was a consequence eliminated, "'she began to understand why she had been forestalled "'in her efforts at Perlmer's office. when she had been so sure that she would be the first upon the scene it was not dangler or the cricket or skeeny or any of the band who had forestalled her it was the adventurer that was the adventurer standing in there now sighed face to her in nicky viner's inner room End of Chapter 9. Chapter 10 of the White Mall.

This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, USA. The White Mall by Frank L. Packard. Chapter 10. On the brink rhoda gray moved quietly inch by inch along the side of the wall to gain a vantage point more nearly opposite the lighted doorway and then she stopped again

she could see quite clearly now that is there was nothing now to obstruct her view but the light was miserable and poor and the single gas jet that wheeled and flickered did little more than disperse the shadows from its immediate neighborhood in that inner room But she could see enough. She could see the bent and ill-clad figure of Nikki Viner, as she remembered him, an old, gray-bearded man, wringing his hands in grovelling misery, while the mumbling voice, now whining and pleading, now servile, now plucking up courage to indulge in abuse, kept on without even, it seemed, a pause for breath.

She could see the adventurer, quite unmoved, quite debonair, a curiously patient smile on his face, standing there, much nearer to her, his right hand in the pocket of his coat, a somewhat significant habit of his, his left hand holding a sheaf of folded, legal-looking documents. And then she heard the adventurer speak. What a flow of words, said the adventurer, in a bored voice. You will forgive me, my dear Mr. Viner, if I appear to be facetious, which I am not, but money talks. You are a thief, a robber, the old gray-bearded figure,

on its feet and kept wringing its hands. Get out of here. Get out. Do you hear? Get out. You come to steal from a poor man, and, must we go over all that again? interrupted the adventurer wearily. I have not come to steal anything. I have simply come to sell you these papers, which I am quite sure, once you control yourself, and give the matter a little calm consideration you are really most anxious to buy, at any price. "'It's a lie,' the other croaked hoarsely. "'The papers are a lie. "'I am innocent.

"'I haven't got any money. "'None. "'I haven't any. "'I am poor. "'An old man, and poor.' "'Rota Gray felt the blood flush hotly in her cheeks. "'Somehow she could feel no sympathy "'for that cringing figure in there,

"'but she felt a hot resentment toward that dapper, "'emacculately dressed and self-possessed young man "'who stood there, silently now, tapping the papers with provoking coolness against the edge of the plain deal table in front of him. And somehow the resentment seemed to take on a most peculiar phase. She resented the fact that she should feel resentment, no matter what the man did or said. It was as though instead of anger, impersonal anger, at this low, miserable act of his, she felt ashamed of him.

Her hand clenched fiercely as she crouched against the wall. It wasn't true. She felt nothing of the sort. Why should she be ashamed of him? What was he to her? He was frankly a thief, wasn't he? And he was at his pitiful calling now, down to the lowest dregs of it.

What else did she expect? Because he had the appearance of a gentleman, was it that her sense of gratitude for what she owed him had made her, deep down in her soul, actually cherished the belief that he really was one, made her hope it, and nourished that hope into her,

a belief? Tighter her hand clenched. Her lips parted, and her breath came in short, hard inhalations. Was it true? Was it all only an added misery, where it had seemed there could be none to add to her life in these last few days? Was it true that there was no price she would not have paid to have found him in any role but this abased one that he was playing now? The adventurer broke the silence. Quite so, my dear Mr. Viner, he agreed, smooth, it would appear, then, from what you say, that I have been mistaken. Even stupidly so, I am afraid. And in that case, I can only apologize for my intrusion, and, as you so delicately put it, get out. He slipped the papers with a philosophic shrug of his shoulders into his inside coat pocket,

and then took a backward step toward the door. I bid you good night, then, Mr. Viner. The papers, as you state, are doubtlessly of no value to you, so you can, of course, have no objection. to my handing them over to the police who, No, no, wait, wait, the other whispered wildly. Wait. Ah, murmured the adventurer. I, I'll, the bent old figure was clawing at his beard. I'll, buy them, suggested the adventurer pleasantly.

Yes, I'll, I'll buy them. I've got a little money, only a little, all I've been able to save in years, a hundred dollars. How much did you say? inquired the adventurer coldly. Two hundred. The voice was a maudlin wine. The adventurer took another step backward toward the door. Three hundred. Another step. Five. A thousand. The adventurer laughed suddenly. That's better, he said. Where you keep a thousand, you keep the rest. Where is the thousand, Mr. Viner? The bent figure hesitated a moment, and then, with what sounded like a despairing cry.

pointed to the table. It's there, he whimpered. God's curses on you, for the thief you are. Rota Gray found her eyes fixed and sudden, strained fascination on the table, as she imagined the adventurers were too. It was bare of any covering, nor were there any articles on its surface, nor, as far as she could see, was there any drawer. Now the adventurer, his right hand still in his coat pocket,

and bulging there where she knew quite well at grasp his revolver, stepped abruptly to the table, facing the other with the table between them. The bent old figure hesitated, and then, with the despairing cry again, grasped the top of the table, and jerked it toward him. The surface seemed to slide sideways a little, a matter of two or three inches, and then stick there, but the adventurer, in an instant, had thrust the fingers of his left hand into the crevice. He drew out a number of loose banknotes, and thrust his fingers in again for a further supply. "'Open it wider,' he commanded, curtly. "'I—I'm trying to,' the other mumbled, and bent down to peer under the table.

It stuck. The catch is underneath, and—' It seemed to Rhoda Gray, gazing into the dimly-lighted room, as though she were suddenly held spellbound, as in some horrible and amazing trance. Like a hideous jack in the box, the gray head popped above the level of the table again, and as quick as a flash a revolver was thrust into the adventurer's face. and the adventurer caught at a disadvantage since his hand in his coat-pocket was below the intervening table-top stood there as though instantaneously transformed into some motionless inanimate thing his fingers still gripping at another sheaf of bank-notes that he had been in the act of scooping out from the narrow aperture and then again rhoda gray stared and stared now as though bereft of her senses and upon her crept cold and deadly a fear and a terror that seemed to engulf her very soul itself the head that looked like a jack-in-the box was gone the gray beard seemed to suddenly be shorn away and the gray hair too and to fall and flutter to the table and the bent shoulders were not bent any more and it wasn't nicky viner at all

Only a clever, a wonderfully clever impersonation that had been helped out by the poor and meager light. A terror gripped her again, for it wasn't Nikki Viner. Those narrowed eyes, that leering, gloating face, those working lips, were Danglars. And as from some far distance, dulled because her consciousness was dulled, she heard Dangler speak. Perhaps you'll take your hand out of that right coat pocket of yours now, sneered Dangler, and take it out empty. The adventurer's face, as nearly as Rhoda could see, had not moved a muscle. He obeyed now, coolly with a shrug of his shoulders. Dangler appeared to experience no further trouble with the surface of the table now. He suddenly jerked it almost off, displaying what

Rhoda Gray now knew to be the remainder of a large package of banknotes he had taken from the garret earlier that evening. Help yourself to the rest, he invited caustically. There is a risen fifty thousand there, but you're quite welcome to all there is, in return for those papers. The adventurer was apparently obsessed with an inspection of his fingernails. He began to polish those of one hand with the palm of the other. Quite so, Dangler, he said coolly. I admit it, I am ashamed of myself. I hate to think I could be caught by you, but I suppose I can find some self-extinuating circumstances. You seem to have risen to an amazingly high order of intelligence. In fact, for you, Dangler, it's not bad at all.

He went on pallishing his nails. Would you mind taking that out of my face? Even you ought to be able to handle it effectively a few inches further away. Under the studied insult, Dangler's face had grown a modelled red. Damn you, he snarled. I'll take it away when I get good and ready, and by that time I have you talking out of the other side of your mouth. See, do you know what you're up against, you slick dude?

I have a fairly good imagination, replied the adventurer smoothly. You have, A, mimicked, dangler, wickedly? Well, you don't need to imagine anything. I'll give you the straight goods so as there won't be any chance of a mistake. And never mind about the higher order of intelligence. It was high enough, and a little to spare, to make you walk into the trap. I hoped I'd get you both, you and that she-pal, the white mall, that you'd come here together.

But I'm not kicking. It's a pretty good start to get you. Is it necessary to make a speech? Complain the adventurer monotonously? I can't help listening, of course. You can make up your mind for yourself when I'm through, whether it's necessary or not, retorted dangler viciously. I've got a little proposition to put to you, and maybe it'll help you to add two and two together if I let you see all the cards. Understand? You've had your run of luck lately. Quite a bit of it. haven't you? You and the white mall? Well, it's my turn now. You've been querying our game to the

limit, curse you. Dangler thrust his working face a little further over the table, and nearer to the adventurer. Well, what was the answer? Where did you get the dope you've made your plays with? It was a cinch, wasn't it, that there was a leak somewhere in our crowd? He laughed out suddenly. You poor fool! Did you think you could pull that sort of stuff forever? Did you? Did you? You you? Well, then, how do you like the leak tonight? You get the idea, don't you? Everybody, every last soul that is in this with us, got the details of what they thought was a straight play tonight, and it leaked to you, as I knew it would, and you walked into the trap, as I knew you would, because the bait was good and juicy, and looked the easiest thing to annex that ever

happened. $50,000. $50,000. Nothing. All you had to do was get a few paper, and, and you papers that it wouldn't bother any crook to get, even a near crook like you, and then come here and screw the money out of a helpless old man, who was supposed to have been discovered to be a miser. Easy, wasn't it? Only old Nicky Viner wasn't a miser. We chose Nicky because of what happened two years ago. It made things look pretty near right, didn't it? Looked straight, that part about Perlmore, too, didn't it? That was the come on. Pearlmer never saw those papers you've got in your pocket. I doped them out, and we planted them nice and handy where you could get them without much trouble in the drawer of Perlman's desk, and—' "'It's a long story,' interrupted the adventurer,

with quiet insolence. "'It's got a short ending,' said Dangler, with an ugly leer. "'We could have bumped you off when you went for those papers, but if you went that far, you'd come further, and that wasn't the place to do it, and we couldn't cover ourselves there the way we could here. This is the place. We brought that trick table here a while ago, as soon as we got rid of Nicky Viner. That was the only bit of stage setting we had to do to make the story ring true right up to the curtain in case it was necessary. It wouldn't have been necessary if you and the white mall had both come together, for then you would neither of you got any further than that other room. It would have ended there. But we weren't taking any chances. I'll pay you the

compliment of admitting that we weren't counting on getting you off your guard any too easily, if as it happened, you came alone. For being alone, or if either of you were alone, there was that little proposition that had to be settled, instead of just knocking you on the head in the dark in that other room. And so, as I say, we weren't overlooking any bets on account of the little trouble it took to plant that table and the money. We tried to think of everything. Dangler paused for a moment to mock the adventurer with narrowed eyes. That's the story. Here's the end.

I hoped I'd get you both together, you and the white mall. I didn't. But I've got you. I didn't get both of you, and that's what gives you a chance for your life, because she's worth more to us than you are. If you'd been together,

you would have gone out together. As it is, I'll see that you don't do any more harm anyway. But you get one chance. Where is she? if you answer that you will of course answer a minor question and locate that leak for me that i was speaking about a moment ago but we'll take the main thing first and you can take your choice between a bullet and a straight answer where is the white maul rhoda gray's hand felt out along the wall for support was this a dream some ghastly soul-terrifying nightmare dangler those working lips that callous viciousness That leer in the degenerate face? It seemed to bring a weakness to her limbs, and seek to rob her of her strength to stand.

She could not even hope against hope. She knew that Dangler was in deadly earnest. Dangler would not have the slightest compunction, let alone hesitation, in carrying out his threat. Terrified now, her eyes sought the adventurer. Didn't the adventurer know Dangler as she knew him? Didn't he realize there was deadly earnest behind Dangler's words? Was the man mad?

that he stood there utterly unmoved, as though he had no consideration on earth other than those carefully manicured fingernails of his? And then Dangler spoke again. Do you notice anything special about this gun I'm holding on you? He demanded in low menace. The adventurer did not even look up. Oh, yes, he said indifferently. I fancy you got it out of a dime novel, didn't you? One of those silencer things? Yes, said Dangler grimly. One of those silencer things. One of those silencer things. things. Where is she? The adventurer made no answer. The color in Dangler's face deepened. I'll make things even a little plainer to you, he said with brutal coolness. There are two men in our organization, from whom it is absolutely impossible that that leak could have come. Those two men

followed you from Perlmer's office to this place. They are in the next room now waiting for me to get through with you, and ready for anything if they are needed. But they won't be needed. That's not the way it works out. This gun won't make much noise, and it isn't likely to arouse the inmates of this dive, but even if it does, it doesn't matter very much. We aren't going out by the front door. The two of them, the minute they hear the shot,

slip in here and lock the door. You see, it's got a good husky bolt on it, and then we beat it by the fire escape that runs past the window there. Get the idea? And don't kid yourself into thinking that I am taking any risk, with the consequences on account of the coroner having got busy because a man was found dead on the floor.

Nikki Viner stands for that. It isn't the first time he's been suspected of murder. See, Nikki was easy. He'd crawl on his hands and knees from the battery to Harlem any time if I held a little money in front of his nose. He's been fooled up to the eyes with a faked-up message that he's supposed to deliver secretly to some faked-up crooks out west. He's just about starting away on the train now. And that's where the police nab him, running away from the murder he's pulled in his room here tonight. Looks kind of bad for Nicky Viner, eh? We should worry. It cost a hundred dollars and his ticket. Cheap, wasn't it? I guess you're worth that much to us. A dull whore seized upon Rhoda Gray. It seemed to clog and confuse her mind. She fought it

frantically, striving to think, and to think clearly. Every detail, seemed to have been planned with satanic, foresight, and ingenuity, and yet, and yet, yes, in one little thing, Dangler had made a mistake. That was why she was here now. That was why those men in the next room had not been out in the hall on guard, or even in the street, on watch for her. Dangler had naturally gone upon the supposition that the adventurer and herself worked hand in glove, whereas they were as much in the dark concerning each other's movements as Dangler himself was. therefore dangler and logically enough from his view had jumped to the conclusion that since they had not come together only one of them the adventurer was acting in the affair to-night and dangler's voice was rasping in her ears i'm not going to stand here all night he snarled you've got one chance i've told you what it is you're lucky to have it we'd sooner have you out of the way for keeps i'd rather drop you in your tracks than let you live where is the white mall

the adventurer was sighed face to the doorway again and rhoda gray saw him smile contemptuously at dangler now really he said blandly i haven't the slightest idea in the world dangler laughed ironically you lie he flung out hoarsely do you think you can get away with that well think again sooner or later it will be all the same whether you talk or not we caught you to-night in a trap we'll catch her in another Our hand doesn't show here. She'll think that Nikki Viner was a little too much for you, that's all. Come on, quick. Are you fool enough to misunderstand? The don't know stuff won't get you by. The misunderstanding seems to be on your side. There was a cold, irritating deliberation in the adventurer's voice.

I repeat that I do not know where the young lady you refer to can be found, but I do not make that statement with any idea that you would believe it. To occur, I suppose that it is necessary to add that, even if I did know, I should take pleasure in seeing you damned before I told you. Dangler's face was like a devil's. His revolver held a steady beat on the adventurer's head. I'll give you one last chance, he said through closed teeth. I'll fire when I count three. One. A horrible fascination held, wrote a gray. If she cried out, it was more likely than not to cause Dangler to fire on the instant. it would not save the adventurer in any case it would be but the signal too for those two men in the next room to rush in here two it seemed as though not in the hope that it would do any good but because she was going mad with horror that she would scream out until the place rang and rang again with her outcries Even her soul was in frantic panic.

Quick, quick, she must act. She must. But how? Was there only one way? She was conscious that she had drawn her revolver as though by instinct. Dangler's life or the adventurers. But she shrank from taking life. Her lips were breathing a prayer.

They had called her a crack shot back there in South America when she had hunted and ridden with her father. It was easy enough to hit Dangler, but it might mean Dangler's life. It was not easy to hit Dangler's arm, or Dangler's hand, or the revolver Dangler held, and if she risked that, and missed, she... There was the roar of a report that was racking

through the silence like a cannon shot, and the short, vicious-tongued flame from Rhoda Gray's revolver muzzle, stabbed through the black. There was a scream of mingled surprise and fury, and the revolver in Dangler's hand clattered to the floor. She saw the adventurer's spring, quick as a panther at the other, and she saw him whip blow after blow with terrific force into

Dangler's face. She heard a rush of feet coming from the corridor behind her, and she flung herself forward into the room, and panting, snatched at the door and slammed it shut, and groping for the bolt, found it, and shot it home in its grooves. As she stood there, weak for a moment, and drew her hands across her eyes, and behind her they pounded on the door, and there came a burst of oaths, and in front of her the adventurer was smiling gravely as he covered Dangler with Dangler's own revolver, and Dangler, as though dazed and half-stunned from the blows that he had received, rocked unsteadily upon his feet. And then her eyes widened a little. The pounding on the door, the shouts, the noise, was beginning to arouse what inmates there

were in the tenement, and there wasn't an instant to lose. But the adventurer was now calmly gathering up to the last one, and pocketing them, the bank-notes with which Dangler had baited his trap, and he crammed the money into his pockets as he spoke to her, with a curious softness, a great, strange gentleness in his voice. I owe you my life, Miss Gray. That was a wonderful shot. You knocked the revolver from his hand without even grazing his fingers. A wonderful shot, and, will you let me say, you are a very wonderful woman. Oh, quick, she whispered wildly, I am afraid that.

this door will not hold. There is the window and the fire-escape, so our friend here was good enough to inform me, said the adventurer, as he composedly pocketed the last dollar. Will you open the window, Miss Gray, if you please? I am afraid I hit Mr. Dangler a little urgently, and he is still somewhat groggy. I fancy he will need a little assistance. I imagine—he caught Dangler suddenly by the collar of his coat, as Roderay ran to the window and flung it up, and rushed the man unceremoniously across the room. I imagine it would be a mistake to leave him behind. He might open the door, or even be unpleasant enough to throw something down on us from above.

Also, he should serve very well as a hostage. Will you go first, please, Miss Gray? She climbed quickly over the sill to the iron platform. Dangler was dragged through by the adventurer, mumbling, and evidently still in a half-dazed condition. windows were opening here and there. From back inside the room the blows rained more heavily upon the door, and now there came a rip and a rend of wood, as though a panel had crashed in. Hurry, please, Miss Gray, prompted the adventurer. It was dark, almost too dark to see her footing. She felt her way down. It was only one story above the ground, and it did not take long,

but it seemed hours since she had fired that shot, though she knew the time had been measured by scarcely more than a minute. And now, on the lower platform, waiting for that queer, double-twisting shadow of the two men to join her, she heard the adventurer's voice ring out sharply. "'This is your chance, Dangler. I didn't waste time to bring you along because it afforded me any amusement. They've found their heads at last, and gone to the next window, instead of wasting time at the door. They can't reach the firescape there, but if they fire a shot, you go out. You'd better tell them so, and tell them quick. And then Dangler's voice shrieked out in sudden, For God's sake, don't shoot! They were all on the lower platform together now. The adventurer

was pressing the muzzle of his revolver into the small of Dangler's back, and was still supporting the man by the collar of his coat. I think, said the adventurer abruptly, that we can now dispense with Mr. Dangler's services, and I'm sure a little cool night air out here on the fire escape will to duel him good. Miss Gray, would you mind? There's a pair of handcuffs in my left-hand coat pocket. Handcuffs. She could have laughed out idiotically. Handcuffs. They seemed the most incongruous things in the world for the adventurer to have, and she felt mechanically in his pocket and handed them to him. There was a click as the cuff snapped over Dangler's wrist, another as the other cuffs snapped shut around the ironed hand-railing of the fire escape. The act seemed to arouse Dangler, both

mentally and physically. He tore and wrenched at the steel links now, and burst suddenly raving into oaths. "'Hold your tongue, Dangler,' ordered the adventure in cold menace, and as the other, cowed, obeyed, the adventurer swung himself over the platform and dropped to the ground. "'Come, Miss Gray, drop, I'll catch you,' he called in a low voice. One step takes us around the corner of the tenement into the lane, and Mr. Dangler won't let them fire at us before we can make that, when we could still fire at him. She obeyed, swinging at arm's length. She felt his hands fold about her in a firm grasp as she let go of her hold, and she caught her breath suddenly. She did not know why, as she felt the hot blood sweep her

face, and then she was standing on the ground. Now, he whispered, together. They sped around the corner of the tenement. A yell from Dangler followed them. An echoing yell from above answered, and then a fusillade of a board of shots, and the sound as of boot-heels clattering on the iron rungs of the fire-escape, and then, more faintly, for they were putting distance behind them as fast as they could run, an excited outburst of profanity and exclamations. They won't follow, panted the adventurer. Those shots of theirs outdoors will have alarmed the police, and they'll try and get dangler-free first.

It's lucky your shot inside wasn't heard by that patrolman on the beat. I was afraid of that, but we're safe now, from Dangler's crowd at least. But still they ran. They crossed an intersecting street and continued on along the lane. Then, swerving into the next intersecting street, moderated their pace to a rapid walk, and stopped finally, as Rhoda Gray drew suddenly into the shadows of another alleyway, and held out her hand. They were both safe now, as he had said, And there were so many reasons why, though her resolution faltered a little, she should go the rest of the way alone. She was not sure that she trusted this strange gentleman, who was a thief, with his pockets crammed even now, with the money that had lured him almost to his death.

But she was not altogether sure that she distrusted him. But all that was secondary. She must, as soon as she could, get back to Gypsy Nans Garrett. Like the other night, she dare not take the risk that Dangler, by any chance, might return there and find her gone after what had just happened. The man would be beside himself with fury, suspicious of everything, and suspicion would be fatal in its consequences for her. And so she must go. And she could not become gypsy nan again with the adventurer looking on. We part here, she said a little unsteadily. Good night. Oh, I say, Miss Gray, he protested quickly.

You don't mean that. Why, look here. I haven't had a chance. to tell you what I think or what I feel about what you've done tonight, for me. She shook her head. There is nothing you need say, she answered quietly. We are quits. You have done quite as much for me. But see here, Miss Gray, he pleaded. Can't we come to some understanding? We seem to have a jolly lot in common. Is it quite necessary, really necessary, that you should keep off at an arm's length? Couldn't you let down the bars just a little? "'Couldn't you tell me, for instance, where I could find you in case of real necessity?' She shook her head again.

"'No, she said, it is impossible.' He drew a little closer. A sudden earnestness deepened his voice, made it a little rasp as though it were not wholly within control. "'And suppose, Miss Gray, that I refuse to leave you or let you go, now that I have you here, unless you give me more of your confidence. What then?' the other night she said slowly you informed me among other things that you were a gentleman i believed the other things he did not answer for a moment and then he smiled whimsically you score miss gray he murmured good-night then she said again i will go by the alley here you by the street no wait he said gravely if nothing will change your mind and i shall not be importunate for we have met three times now through the same peculiarly you will change your mind and i shall not be importunate for we have met three times now through the same peculiarly chain of circumstances, I know we shall meet again. I have something to tell you before you go. As you already know, I went to Gypsy Nans the night after I first saw you, because I felt you needed help.

I went there in the hope that she would know where to find you, and failing that, I left a message for you in the hope that, since she had tricked Rourke, in your behalf, you would find means of communicating with her again. But all that is entirely changed now. Your participation in that Hayden Bond affair, other night makes Gypsy Nans' place the last in all New York to which you should go. Rhoda Gray stared through the semi-darkness, suddenly startled, searching the adventurer's face. What do you mean, she demanded quickly? Just this, he answered, that where before I hoped you would go there, I have spent nearly all the time since in haunting the vicinity of Gypsy Nans' house to warn you away in case

you should try to reach her. I—I don't understand, she said, a little uncertainly. it's simple enough he said gypsy nan is now one of those you have most to fear gypsy nan is merely a disguise she is no more gipsy nan than you are rhoda gray caught her breath not gipsy nan she repeated and thought to keep her voice in control who is she then the adventurer laughed shortly she is quite closely connected to that gentleman we left airing himself on the fire-escape he said grimly Gypsy Nan is Dangler's wife. It was very strange, very curious. The alleyway seemed suddenly to be revolving around and around, and it seemed to bring her a giddiness and a faintness.

The adventurer was standing there before her, but she did not see him any more. She could only see, as from a brink upon which she tottered, a gulf, abysmal in its horror, that yawned before her. Thank you. Thank you for the warning. Was that her voice speaking so calmly and as passionately? I will remember it, and I must go now. Good night again. He said something.

She did not know what. She only knew that she was hurrying along the alleyway now, and that he had made no effort to stop her, and that she was grateful to him for that, and that her composure, strained to the breaking point, would have given away if she had remained with him another instant. Dangler's wife? It was dark in the alleyway, and she did not know where it led. But did it matter? and she stumbled as she went along but it was not the physical inability to see that made her stumble it was a brain blindness that fogged her soul itself his wife gipsy nan was dangler's wife and of chapter ten chapter eleven of the white mall this is a librivox recording all librivox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit librivox Org Read by Rowdy Delaney

Idaho, USA The White Mall By Frank L. Packard Chapter 11 Some of the L. Lesser breed Dangler's wife It had been a night of horror,

a night without sleep, a night after the guttering candle had gone out when the blackness of the garret possessed added terrors created by imagination which ran riot and which she could not control.

She could have flared from it, screaming in panic-stricken hysteria, but there had been no other place as safe as that was. Safe. The word seemed to reach the uttermost depths of irony. Safe. Well, it was true, wasn't it? She had not wanted to return there. Her soul itself had revolted against it. She had dared to do nothing else. And all through the night, huddled on the edge of the cot bed, her fingers clinging tenaciously to her revolver, as though afraid, for even an instant to her, relinquish it from her grasp. Listening, listening, always listening for a footstep that might come up from the dark hall below, the footstep that would climax all the terrors that had surged

upon her. Her mind had kept on reiterating, always reiterating those words of the adventurer. Gypsy Nan is Dangler's wife. And they were still with her those words? Daylight had come again, and passed again, and it was evening once more, but those words remained, insensible to change, immutable in their foreboding, and Rhoda Gray, as Gypsy Nan, shuddered now as she shuffled along a shabby street deep in the heart of the east side. She was Dangler's wife, by proxy.

At dawn that morning the Grey had come creeping into the miserable attic through the small and dirty window-panes. She had fallen on her knees, and thank God she had been spared that footstep. It was strange. She had poured out her soul and passionate thanks, thankfulness then that Dangler had not come, and now she was deliberately on her way to seek Dangler himself. But the daylight had done more than dispensed the actual physical darkness of the past night. It had brought, if not a measure of relief, at least a sense of guidance,

and a final decision, perilous though it was, which she meant now to put into execution. There was no other way, unless she was willing to admit defeat, to give up everything, her own good name, her father's name, to run far from it all, and live henceforth in hiding in some obscure place far away, branded in the life she would have left behind as a despicable criminal and a thief. And she could not, would not, do this while her intuition, at least, inspired her with faith to believe that there was still a chance of clearing herself. It was a throw of the dice, perhaps, but there was no other way. Dangler and those with him were at the bottom of the for which she was held guilty. She could not go on as she had been doing, merely in the hope of

stumbling upon some clue that would serve to exonerate her. There was not enough time for that. Dangler's trap set for herself and the adventurer last night in old Nicky Viner's room proved that. And the fact that the woman who had originally masqueraded as Gypsy Nan, as she Rode a Grey, was masquerading now, was Dangler's wife, proved it a thousandfold more. She could no longer remain passive, arguing with herself that it took all her wits and all her efforts to maintain herself in the role of Gypsy Nan, which temporarily was all that stood between her and prison bars. To do so meant the certainty of disaster sooner or later, and if it meant that, the need for immediate action was an offensive sort of imperative. And so her mind was made up.

Her only chance was to find her way into the full intimacy of the criminal band, of which Dangler was apparently the head, to search out its layer and its personnel, to reach to the heart of it, to know Dangler's private movements, and discover where he lived so that she might watch him. It surely was not such a hopeless task. True, she knew by name and sight scarcely more than three of this crime click, but at least she had a starting point from which to work. There was Schluckers' junk shop, where she had turned the tables on Dangler and Skeeney on the night they had planned to make the sparrow their pawn. it was obvious therefore that schlucker himself the proprietor of the junk shop was one of the organization she was going to schluckers 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 tumbled-down frame house that made the corner of an alleyway and where but an instant before the street's jostling humanity had been immersed in its wrangling with pushing cart men who lined the curb, the carts were now deserted by everyone save their owners, whose caution exceeded their curiosity, and the crowd grew momentarily larger in front of the house. She drew Gypsy Nann's black, greasy shawl a little more closely around her shoulders, and moved forward again. And now, on the outskirts of the crowd, she could see quite plainly. There were two or three steps that led up to the doorway, and a man and a woman were standing there. The woman was wretchedly dressed, but with most strange incongruity she held in her hand, obviously subconsciously, obviously quite oblivious to it, a huge basket full to overflowing,

with, as nearly as Rhoda Gray could judge, all sorts of purchases, as though out of the midst of abject poverty a golden shower had suddenly descended upon her. And she was gray, and well beyond middle age, and crying bitterly, and her free hand, whether to support herself or with the instinctive idea of supporting her companion was clutched tightly around the man's shoulders, and the man rocked unsteadily on his feet. He was tall and angular, and older than the woman, and cadaverous of feature, and miserably thin of shoulder, and blood trickled over his forehead and down one ashen, hollow cheek, and above the excited exclamations of the crowd, Rhoda Gray heard him cough. Rota Gray glanced around her, where scarcely a

second before she had been on the outer fringes of the crowd, she now appeared to be at the very center of it. Women were pushing up behind her, women who wore shawls as she did, only the shawls were mostly of gaudy colors, and men pushed up behind her, mostly men of swarthy countenance, who wore circlets of gold in their ears, and brushing her skirts, seeking vantage points, ragged, ill-clad children wriggled and wormed their way deeper into the press. It was a crowd composed entirely of the foreign element which inhabited this quarter, and the crowd clattered and gesticulated with ever-increasing violence. She did not understand, and she could not see so well now. That pitiful tableau in the doorway was being shut off from her by a man, directly in front of

her, who had hoisted a half-naked tot of three or four to a reserved seat upon his head, and then a young man, one whom, from her years in the badlands as the white mall, she recognized, as a hangar on at a gambling hell in Chatham Square District, came toward her, plowing his way, contemptuous of obstructions out of the crowd. Rota Gray as Gypsy Nan hailed him out of the corner of her mouth. Say, what's de row, she demanded? The young man grinned. Somebody pinched a million from the old guy. He shifted his cigarette with a deft movement of his tongue from one side of his mouth to the other, and grinned again. Can you beat it? According to his, to him, he had enough coin to annexed the whole of New York.

DeMalls his wife. He went out to Helen gone somewhere for a few years hunting gold while the old girl starved. Denny comes back and blows in today with his pockets full, and the old girl grabs a handful, and goes out to buy all the grub in sight, because she ain't had none for so long. And when she comes back, she finds the old geyser gagged, tied to a chair, and some guys hit him a crack on the bean, and flown to coop with the Mazuma. But Euse had better get out of here before Euse gets run over. This ain't no place for an old skirt-like ewes. The bulls'll be down here in the hop of a minute,

and when this mob starts sprinkling the street with their fleet and footsteps, use are likely to get hurt. See? The young man started to force his way through the crowd again. Use it better cut loose, Mother, he warned over his shoulder. It was good advice. Roda Gray took it. She had scarcely reached the next block when the crowd behind her was

being scattered, pell-mell and without ceremony, in all directions by the police, as the young man had predicted. She went on. There was nothing that she could do. The man's face, and the woman's face haunted her. They had seemed stamped with abject misery and despair, but there was nothing that she could do. It was one of those sore and grievous cross-sections out of the lives of the swarming thousands down here in this quarter, which she knew so intimately and so well. and there were so many, many of those cross-sections. Once in a small, pitifully meager and restricted way, she had been able to help some of these hurt lives,

but now her lips tightened a little. She was going to Schlucker's junk shop. Her forehead gathered in little furrows as she walked along. She had weighed the pros and cons of this visit a hundred times already during the day, but even so, instinctively to reassure herself lest some apparently minor, but nevertheless fatal, vital point might have been overlooked, her mind reverted to it again. From Schlucker'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 tonight must appear entirely logical.

There was last night, and a natural corollary, her equally natural anxiety of her supposed husband's account, providing, of course, that Schlecker was aware that Gypsy Nan was Dangler's wife. But even if Schlucker didn't know that, he at least knew that Gypsy Nan was one of the gang, and as such, he must equally accept it as natural that she should be anxious and disturbed over what had happened. She would be on safe ground either way. She would pretend to know only what had appeared in the papers, in other words, that the police, attracted to the spot by the sound of revolver shots, had found Dangler handcuffed to the fire escape of a well-known thieves resort in an all-too-well-known

and questionable locality. A smile came spontaneously. It was quite true. That was where the adventurer had left Dangler, handcuffed to the fire escape. The smile vanished. The humor of the situation not long lived. It ended there. Dangler was as cunning as the proverbial fox, and Dangler, at the moment, in desperate need of explaining his predicament in some plausible way to the police, had, as the expression went, run true to form. Dangler's story, as reported by the papers, even rose above his high watermark of vicious cunning, because it played upon a chord that appealed instantly to the police.

And it rang true, not only because what the police found out about him made it likely, but also because it contained a modicum of truth in itself. And furthermore, Dangler had scored, on still another count, and that his story must stimulate the police into renewed activities as his unsuspecting allies in the one thing, the one aim and object that, at the moment, must obsess him above all others. The discovery of herself, the white mall. It was ingeniously simple, dangler's smooth and oily lie. He had been walking along the street, he had stated, when he saw a woman, as she passed under a street lamp, who he thought resembled the white

Mall. To make sure he followed her, at a safe distance as he believed. She entered the tenement. He hesitated. He knew the reputation of the place which bore out his first impression that the woman was the one that he thought she was, but he did not want to make a fool of himself by calling in the police until he was positive of her identity. So he finally followed her inside, and heard her go upstairs and crept up after her in the dark. And then suddenly he was set upon and hustled into a room. It was the white mall, all right, and the shots came from her companion, a man whom he described minutely, the description being that of the adventurer, of course. They seemed to think that he, Dangler, was a plain-closed man, and tried to sicken him of his job by frightening him. And then they

forced him through the window and down the fire-escape, and fastened him there with hands. And to mock the police, and the White Mall's companion had deliberately fired some more shots to make sure of bringing the police to the scene, and then the two of them had run for it. Rhoda Gray's eyes darkened angrily. The newspaper said that Dangler had been temporarily held by the police, though a story was believed to be true, for certainly the man would make no mistake as to the identity of the White Mall, since his life, what the police could find out about it, coincided with his statements, and he would naturally have seen. seen her many times in the badlands when she was working under cover of her despicable role of sweet

and innocent charity. Dangler made no pretensions to self-righteousness. He was too cute for that. He admitted that he had no specific occupation, that he hung around the gambling halls a good deal, that he followed the horses, that, frankly, he lived by his wits. He would probably give some framed-up address to the police, but if so, the papers had not stated where it was. rhoda gray's face under the grime of gipsy nan's disguise grew troubled and perplexed neither had the papers even the evening papers stated whether dangler had as yet been released they had devoted the rest of the space to the vilification of the white mall they had demanded in no uncertain tones a more conclusive effort on the part of the authorities to bring her and with her now the man in the case as they call the adventurer to justice and the thought of the adventurer caused her mind to swerve sharply off at a tangent where he had peaked and aroused her curiosity before he now since last night seemed more complex a character than ever it was strange most strange the way their lives his and hers had become interwoven she had owed him much but last night she had repaid him and squared accounts she had told him so she owed him nothing more

If a sense of gratitude had once caused her to look upon him with, with, she bit her lips, what was the use of that? Had it become so much a part of her life, so much a habit, this throwing of dust in the eyes of others, this constant passing herself off for someone else, this constant deception, warranted though it might be, that she must now seek to deceive herself? Why not frankly admit to her own soul, already in the secret, that she cared in in spite of herself. For a thief? Why not admit a great hurt had come, one that no one but herself would ever know, a hurt that would last for always, because it was a wound that could never be healed? A thief. She loved a thief. She fought a bitter, stubborn battle with her

common sense to convince herself that he was not a thief. She had snatched hungrily at the incident that centered around those handcuffs, so opportunely produced from the adventurer's pocket. she tried to argue that those handcuffs not only suggested but proved that he was a police officer in disguise working on some case in which dangler and the gang had been mixed up and as she tried to argue in this wise she tried to shut her eyes to the fact that the same pocket out of which the handcuffs came was at exactly the same moment the repository of as many stolen bank-notes as it would hold she had tried to argue that the fact that he was so insistently at work to defeat dangler's plans was in his favor, but that argument, like all others, came quickly and miserably to grief. Where the leak was, as Dangler called it, that supplied the adventurer with foreknowledge of the gang's movements, she had no idea, save that perhaps the adventurer and some traitor in the gang were in collusion for their own ends, and that certainly did not lift the adventurer to any

higher plane or worse from him the stigma of a thief. She clenched her hands. It was all an attempt at an argument without the basis of a single logical premise. It was silly and childish. Why hadn't the man been an ordinary, plain, common thief, and criminal, and looked like one? She would never have been attracted to him then, even through gratitude. Why should he have all the grace and earmarks of breeding? Why should he have all the appearances of a gentleman? It seemed a needlessly cruel an additional blow that fate had dealt her when already she was living through days and nights of fear, of horror, of trepidation, so great that at times it seems she would literally lose her reason. If he had not looked, yes, and at times acted so much like a thoroughbred gentleman,

there would never have come to her this hurt, this gulf between them that could not now be spanned, and in a personal way she would never have cared because he was a thief. Her mental soliloquy ended abruptly. She had reached the narrow driveway that led, in between two blocks of down-at-the-heel's tenements, to the courtyard at the rear that harbored Schluckers' 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. She walked quickly, and as she emerged into the courtyard itself,

she saw a light in the window of the junk-shop. Rhoda Gray nodded her head. It was still quite early, still almost twilight, not more than eight o'clock. Back there, on the squalid doorstep where the old woman and the old man had stood, it had still been quite light. The long summer evening that had served at last to sear somehow those two faces upon her mind. It was singular that they should intrude themselves at this moment. She had been thinking, hadn't she, that at this hour she might naturally expect.

to find Schlucker still in his shop. That was why she had come so early, since she had not cared to come in full daylight. Well, if light meant anything, he was there. She felt her pulse quickened, perceptibly, as she crossed the courtyard and reached the shop. The door was open, and she stepped inside. It was a dingy place, filthy and littered, without the slightest attempt at order, with a heterogeneous collection of, it seemed, every article one could think of, from scraps of old iron and bundles of rags to cast off furniture that was in an appalling state of dissolution. The light, that of a single and dim incandescent, came from the interior of what apparently was the office of the establishment, a small glassed-in partition affair at the far end of the shop.

Her first impression had been that there was no one in the shop. But now, from the other side of the glass partition, she caught sight of a bald head, and became aware that a pair of black eyes were fixed steadily upon her, and that the occupant was beckoning her with his hand to come forward. She shuffled slowly, but without hesitation, up the shop. She intended to employ the vernacular that was part of the disguise of Gypsy Nan. If Schlucker, for that was certainly Schlucker there, gave the slightest indication that he took it amiss,

her explanation would come glibly and logically enough. She had to be careful. How was she supposed to know whether there was anyone, else about or not. Hello, she said curtly, as she reached the doorway of the little office, and paused on the threshold. Shifty little black eyes met hers, as the bald head fringed with untrimmed gray hair, was lifted from a battered desk, and the wizened face of an old man was disclosed under the rays of the tin-shaded lamp. He grinned suddenly, showing discolored teeth, and instinctively she

drew back a little. He was an uninviting and exceedingly disreputable old creature. "'You, eh, Nan?' he grunted. "'So you've come to see old Jake Schlucker, have you? "'Tain't often you come. What's brought you, eh?' "'I can read, can't I?' "'Rota Gray glanced frutively around her, then leaned toward the other. "'So what's delay? I've been scared stiff all day. "'Is that straight what the paper said about you's know who getting pinched?'

"'A scowl settled over Schluckers' features as he nodded. "'Yes, it's straight enough,' he answered. them, one and all. But they let him out again. That's de stuff, applauded Rhoda Gray earnestly. Where is he, den? Schlucker shook his head. He didn't say, said Schlucker. He didn't say, echoed Rhoda Gray a little tartly. What do you's mean? He didn't say. Have you seen him? Schlucker jerked his head toward the telephone instrument on the desk. He was talking to me a little while ago. Well, then, Rhoda Gray risk a more preemptory tone.

Where is he? Schlucker shook his head again. I don't know, he said. I'm telling you. He didn't say. Rhoda Gray studied the wizened and repulsive old creature that, huddled in his chair in the dirty, boxed-in little office, made her think of some crafty old spider lurking in its web for unwary prey. Was the man lying to her? Was he in any degree suspicious? Why should he be? He had not given the slightest sign that her uncouth language was either under the way. He was either unlawful, unexpected or unnecessary. Perhaps to Schlucker, and perhaps to all the rest of the gang, except Dangler, Gypsy Nan, was accepted at face value as Gypsy Nan, and, if that were so, the idea of playing up a natural wifely anxiety on Dangler's behalf could not be used unless Schlucker gave her a lead in that direction. But, all that apart, she was getting nowhere. She bit her lips in disappointment. She had counted a great deal on this Schlucker here, and Schlucker was not

proving the font of information, far from it, that she had hoped he would. She tried again, even more preemptorily than before. Ah, open up, she snapped. What's to use being a clam? You's heard me, didn't you? Where is he? Schlucker leaned abruptly forward and looked at her in a suddenly perturbed way. Is there anything wrong? He asked in a tense, lowered voice. What makes you so anxious to know. Rota Gray laughed shortly. Nothing, she answered coolly. I told you's once, didn't I? I got a scare reading them papers, and I ain't over it yet. That's what I want to know for, and you seem afraid to open up. Schlucker sank back again in his chair with an air of relief. Oh, he ejaculated. Well, that's all right, then. You were beginning to give me a scare,

too. I ain't playing the clam, and I don't know where he is. But I'm I can tell you there's nothing to worry you any more about the rest of it. He was after the White Mall last night, and it didn't come off. They pulled one on him instead, and fastened him to the fire escape, the way the papers said. Skeenie and the cricket, who were in on the play with him, didn't have time to get him loose before the bulls got there. So Dangler told them to beat it, and he handed the cops the story that was in the papers. He got away with it, all right, and they let him go today, but he phoned a little while ago

that they were still sticking around kind of close to him, and that I was to pass on the word that the lid was to go down tight for the next few days, and— Shlucker stopped abruptly as the phone rang, and reached for the instrument. Rhoda Gray fumbled unnecessarily with her Shaw, as the other answered the call. Failure. A curious bitterness came to her. Her plan, then, for tonight at least, was a failure. Schlucker did not know where Dangler was.

She was quite convinced of that. "'Schlucker was—' "'She glanced suddenly at the wizened little old man. "'From an ordinary tone, "'Schluckers' voice had risen sharply in protest about something. "'She listened now. "'No, no, it doesn't matter what it is. "'What? No.

"'I tell you no. "'Nothing. Not to-night. "'Those are orders. "'No, I don't know. "'Nan is here now, eh? "'You'll pay for you. it if you do schlucker was snarling threateningly now what well then wait i'll come over no you can bet i won't be long you wait understand he banged the receiver on the hook and got up from his chair hurriedly fools he muttered savagely no i won't be long getting there he grabbed rhoda gray's arm yes you come too you will help me put a little sense in their heads if it is possible eh the fools

the man was violently excited he half pulled rhoda gray down the length of the shop to the front door puzzled bewildered a little uneasy she watched him lock the door and then followed him across the courtyard while he continued to mutter constantly to himself what's to matter she asked him twice but it was not until they had reached the street and schlucker was hurrying along as fast as he could walk that he answered her it's the pug and pinky bon he jerked out angrily they're in the pug's the pug's the pug and pinky bonn he jerked out angrily they're in the pug's room. Pinky went back there after telephoning. They've nosed out something they want to put through, the fools. And after last night nearly haven't finished everything. I told them, you heard me, that everybody's to keep under cover now. But they think they've got a soft thing, and they say they're going to do it. I've got to put a crimp in it, and you've got to help me. You understand, Nan? Yes, she said mechanically. Her mind was working swiftly. The night, after all, perhaps was not to be so much of a failure. To get into intimate touch with all members of the

clique was equally one of her objects, and failing Dangler himself tonight, here was an open sesame to the retreat of two of the others. She would never have a better chance, or one in which risk and danger, under the chaperone, as it were, of Schlucker here, were, if not entirely eliminated, at least reduced to an apparently negligible minimum. Yes, she would go. To refuse was to turn her back on her own proposed line of action and on the decision which she had made herself. End of Chapter 11. The White Mall This is a Libravox recording.

All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, USA. The White Mall by Frank L. Packard Chapter 12 Crooks versus Crooks It was not far

Shlucker, hastening along, still muttering to himself turned into a cross street some two blocks away and from there again into a lane and a moment later led the way through a small door in the fence that hung battered and half open

on sagging broken hinges. Rhoda Gray's eyes traveled sharply around her in all directions. it was still light enough to see fairly well and she might at some future time find the bearings she took now to be of inestimable worth not that there was much to remark they crossed a diminutive and disgustingly dirty back yard whose sole reason for existence seemed to be that of a receptacle of four-old tin cans and were confronted by the rear of what appeared to be a four-story tenement there was a back door here and on the right of the door fronting the yard a single window that was some four or five feet from the level of the ground schlucker without hesitation opened the back door shut it behind them led the way along the black unlighted hall and halting before a door well toward the front of the building knocked softly upon it giving two wraps, a single rap, and then two more in quick succession. There was no answer.

He knocked again in precisely the same manner, and then footsteps sounded from within, and the door flung open. "'Fools!' growled Schlucker in greeting, as they stepped inside and the door was closed again. "'A pair of brainless fools!' There were two men there. They paid Schlucker scant attention. They both grinned at Rota Gray, through the murky light supplied by a weasy, and wholly inadequate gas jet.

Hello, Nan, jibed the smaller of the two. Who let you out? Ah, forget it, croaked Rhoda Gray. Schlucker took up the cudgels. Close your face, Pinky, he snapped. Get down to cases. Do you think I got nothing to do but chase you two around like a couple of puppy dogs

that haven't got sense enough to take care of themselves? Wasn't what I told you over the phone enough without me having to come here? Nicks on that stuff. returned the one designated as Pinky, imperturbably. Say, you'll be glad you came, when we let you in on a little piece of easy money. We ain't asking your advice. All we're asking you to do is frame up the alibi, same as usual, for me and the pug here in case we want it.

Schlucker shook his fist. Frame nothing, he sputtered angrily. Ain't I telling you that orders are not to make a move, that everything is off for a few days? That's the word I got a little while ago. and the seven three nine is going out now. Nan'll tell you the same thing. Sure, corroborated Rhoda Gray, picking up the obvious cue. That's to straight goods.

The two men were lounging beside a table that stood at the extreme end of the room, and now for a moment they whispered together. And as they whispered, Rhoda Gray found her first opportunity to take critical stock of both her surroundings and the two men themselves. Pinky, a short, slight little man, she dismissed with heartily. a glance. He was the common type, with low, vicious cunning stamped all over his face, an ordinary rat of the underworld. But her glance rested longer on his companion. The pug was indeed entitled to his moniker. His face made her think of one. It seemed to be all screwed

up and out of shape. Perhaps the eye patch over his right eye helped a little to put the finishing touch of repulsiveness upon a countenance already most unpleasant. The celluloid eye patch, once flesh-colored, was now so dirty and smeared that its original color was discernible only in spots. The once-white elastic cord that circled his head and kept the patch in place was an equal disrepute. A battered slouch hat came to the level of the eye-patch in a forbidding sort of tilt. His left eyelid drooped until it was scarcely open at all and fluttered continually. One nostril of his nose was entirely closed, and his mouth seemed to be twisted out of shape, so even in repose the lips never entirely met at one corner.

And his ears, what she could see of them in the poor light, and on account of the slouched hat, seemed to bear out the low-type criminal impression the man gave her, and that they lay flat back against his head. She turned her eyes away with a little shudder of repulsion, and gave her attention to an inspection of the room. There was no window except a small one high up on the right-hand partition wall. She quite understood what that meant.

it was common enough and all too unsanitary enough in these old and cheap tenements the window gave not on the out-of-doors but on a light well 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 bond broke in abruptly upon her inspection that's all right he announced airily we'll let nan in on it too the pug and me figures she can give us a hand hand. Skulker's wizened little face seemed suddenly to go purple. Are you trying to make a fool of me? He half screamed. Or can't you understand English? Do you want me to keep on telling you till I'm hoarse that there ain't nobody going in with you? Because you ain't going in yourself. See? Understand that? There's nothing doing tonight for anybody, and that means you. Ah, shut up, Skulker. It was the pug now, a curious whispering similancy in his voice. Do no doubt to the disfigurement of his lips.

Give Pinky a chance to shoot a spiel before you injure yourself throwing a fit. Go on, Pinky, spill it. Sure, said Pinky eagerly. Listen, Shluck, it ain't any crib we're wanting to crack or nothing like that. It's just a couple of crooks that won't dare open up their yaps to the bulls, because what we're after will be what they'll have pinched themselves, see? Schlucker's face lost some of its belligerency, and in its place, a dawning issue.

interest came. What's that? He demanded cautiously. What crooks? French Pete and Marnie Day, said Pinky, and grinned. Oh, Schlucker's eyebrows went up. He looked at the pug, and the pug winked knowingly with his half-closed left eyelid. Schlucker reached for a chair, and finding it suspiciously wobbly, straddled it wearily. Maybe I've been wrong, he admitted. What's the lay? Me, said Pinky, I was down at Charlie's this afternoon, having a little layoff and one of these days interrupted schlucker sharply he'll go out like he snapped his fingers that can't you leave that stuff alone i got to have me a bit of coke pinky answered with a shrug of his shoulders

and anyway i ain't no pipe hitter it's all the same whatever way you take it retorted schlucker well go on with your story you went down to charlie's dope parlors and jabbed a needle into yourself or took it some other old way i get you what happened then It was about an hour ago, resumed Pinky Bond with undisturbed complacency. Just as I was beating it out of there by the cellar, I hear some whispering, as I was passing one of the inn doors, savvy? I hadn't made no noise, and they hadn't heard me. I gets a peek in because the doors cracked.

It was French Pete and Marnie Day. I listens, and after about two seconds I was going shaky for fear someone would come along, and I wouldn't get the whole of it. Take it from me, Schluck, it would. some goods. Schlucker grunted noncommittally. Well, go on, he prompted. I didn't get all the fine points, grinned Pinky, but I got enough. There was a guy by the name of Daney, who used to live somewhere on the east side here, and used to work in some sweatshop, and he worked till he got pretty old, and then his lungs or something went bad on him, and he went broke. And the doctor said he had

to beat it out of here to a more salubrious climate. Some nut filled his ear about gold hunting up in Alaska, and he fell for it. He chewed it over with his wife, and she was for it, too, because the doctor had told her her old man would bump off if he stuck around here, and they hadn't any money to get away together. She figured she could get along working out by day till he came back a millionaire, and old Daney started off. I don't know how he got there. I'm just filling in what I hear's French Pete and Marnie talking about. I guess mostly he beat his way there riding the rods. Anyway, he got there. See? And then he goes down sick there again, and a hospital or some outfit has to take care of him for a couple of years, and back here the old woman's got kind of feeble, and on her uppers,

and there was hell to pay, and—' What's bite in your nose, Nan? The pug's lisping whisper broke sharply in upon Pinky Bond's story. Rhoda Gray started. She was conscious now that she had been leaning forward, staring in a startled way at Pinky, as he talked, conscious now that for a moment she had forgotten. that she was gypsy nan. But she was mistress of herself on the instant, and she scowled blackly at the pug. Maybe it's me soft heart that's touched, she flung out acidly. Use close your trap and let Pinky talk. Yes, shut up, said Pinky. What was I saying? Oh yes. And the old guy makes a strike. Can you beat it? I don't know nothing about the way they pull them things, but he's off by his

lonesome out somewhere, and he finds gold, and he stakes out his claim. But he takes sick again, and he can't work it, and it's all he can do to get back alive to civilization. He keeps his mouth shut for a while, figuring he'll get strong again. But it ain't no good, and he gets a letter from the old woman telling how bad she is, and then he shows some of the stuff he found. After that, there's nothing to it. Everybody's beating it for the place. But at that, old Dainey comes out all right and goes crazy with joy, because some guy offers him $25,000 for his claim and throws in the expenses home for good luck. He gets the money in cash, $25,000 bills, and the chicken feed for expenses, and starts back here to the old woman. But this time he don't keep his mouth shut about it

when he'd have been better off if he had. See? He was telling about it on the train. I guess he was telling about it all the ways across. But anyway, he tells about it. He tells about it. about it come from Philly this afternoon, and French Pete and Marnie Day happens to be on the train, and they hears it, and frames up to annex the coin before morning, because he's got in too late to get the money into any bank today. Pinky Bond paused, and stuck his finger significantly in his cheek. Skulker was rubbing his hands together now in a sort of unctuous way. It sounds pretty good, he murmured. Only there's Dangler. You sleeve Dangler to me, broke in the pug. As soon as we hands wanted them two boobs and

gets to cash, Pinky can beat it back here with the coin, and wait for me while I finds Dangler and squares it with him. He ain't gone to put up a holler at dat. We ain't runnin' to gang into nothing. This here is private business, see? So you just take a sneak with yourself and fix a nice alibi for us so as we won't be taken any chances. Schlucker frowned. But what's the good of that, he demurred. French Pete and Marnie Dale see you anyway. Will day? Skoff the pug, guess once more. A couple of handkerchiefs over our mugs is good enough for them, if use holds your end up. And they wouldn't talk for publication anyway, would they? Schlucker smiled now almost ingratiatingly. And how much is my end worth, he inquired softly.

One of them thousand-dollar engravings, stated Pugge promptly, and Pinky'll run around and slip it to use before morning. All right, said Schlucker after a moment, it's half-past-a-half-past. eight now. From nine o'clock on, you can beat any jury in New York to it that you were both at the same old place, as long as you keep decently undercover. That'll do it, won't it? I'll fix it. But I don't see—' Rota Gray, as Gypsy Nan for the first time projected herself into the discussion. She cackled suddenly in jeering mirth. I thought something was wrong with her, whispered the pug with mock anxiety. Maybe she ain't well. Tell us about it, Nan. When I do, she said, complacently. Maybe you'll smile out of the utter corner of that mouth of yours.

She turned to Schlucker. You's needn't lay awake waiting for that thousand, Schlucker, because you'll never see it. The little game's all off, because it's already been pulled. See? There was a near riot as I passed along the street going to your place, and I gets piped off at what's up, and it's the same story that Pinky told, and the crib's cracked, and the money's gone, that's all. Schlucker's face fell. I said you were fool, when I first came here, he burst out suddenly, wheeling on Pinky Bonn and the pug. I'm sure of it now. I was wondering a minute ago how you were going to keep your lamps on Pete and Marnie from here, or know when they were going to pull their stunt or where to find

them. Pinky Bonn, ignoring Schlucker, leaned toward Rhoda Gray. Say, Nan, is that straight? He inquired anxiously. You sure? Sure, I'm sure, Rhoda Gray asserted tersely. The one thought in her head now was that her information would naturally deprive these men here of any further interest in the matter, and that she would get away as quickly as possible, and in some way or another, see that the police were tipped off to the fact that it was French Pete and Marnie Day that had taken the old couple's money. Those two old faces rose before her again, blotting out most curiously the face of Pinky Bond just in front of her. She felt strangely glad, glad that she had heard all of Old Daney's story, because she could see now, and ending to it other than the miserable, hopeless one of despair that she had read in the Dany's faces just a little while ago. Sure, I'm sure, she repeated with finality.

How long ago was it, prodded Pinky? I don't know, she answered. I just went to Schluckers, and Denwy comes over here. You can figure it out for yourself. And then Rhoda Gray stared at the other, with sudden misgiving. Pinky Bond's face was suddenly wreathed in smiles. I'll answer you now, Schluck, he grinned. What do you think?

That were nuts, me and Pug? Well, forget it. We didn't have to stick around watching Pete and Marnie. We just had to wait until they had collected the dough. That was the most trouble we had, wondering when that would be. Well, we don't have to wonder any more. We know that the cherries are ripe, see? And now we'll go and pick them.

Where? Where do you suppose? Down at Charlie's, of course. I hears him talking about that, too. They ain't so foolish. They're out for an alibi themselves. Get the idea? They was to sneak out of Charlie's without anybody seeing them,

and if everything broke right for them, they was to sneak back again and spend the night there. They ain't so foolish. I guess they ain't. There ain't no place in New York you can get in and out of without nobody knowing it like Charlie's, if you know the way, and... Ah, write it down in your memoirs,

interposed the pug, impatiently. and move to the door. It's all right, Schlucker. All the way. Now everybody beat it and get on to job. Nan, you sticks with Pinky and me. Rota Gray, her mind in confusion, found herself being crowded hurriedly through the doorway by the three men. Still in a mentally confused condition, she found herself a few minutes later, Schlucker having parted company with them, walking along the street between Pinky Bonn and the pug. She was fighting desperately to obtain a rip upon herself. the information she had volunteered had had an effect diametrically opposed to that which she had intended she seemed terribly impotent as though she were being swept from her feet and borne onward by some swift and remorseless current whether she would or no the pug in his curious whisper was talking to her pinky knows de way in we don't want any rowin there on account of charlie we ain't for puttin his place on de ruff an git em raided by the bulls charlie's all to de good see

well that's what'd likely happen if me an pinky busts in on pete and mahony would out sending in our visitin cards first polite like they would pull der guin's dee an though we'd get de coin just the same ther'd be hell to pay for charlie and the whole place would go up in fireworks right off the bat. Well, this is where yous come in. Yous are the visiting card. Use gets in their bunk room, pretending yous have made a mistake, and use leave the door open behind yous. They don't know you's, and being a woman, they won't pull no gun on you's. And then use breaks it gently to them that there's a couple of gents outside, and just about then they looks up and sees me and Pinky and our guns, and I guess that's all. Get it? Sure, Rhoda Gray mumbled. The pug talked on. She did not hear him. It seemed as though her brain ached literally with an acute physical pain. What was she to do? What could she do? She must do something. There must be some way for her to save herself from being drawn into the very center of this vortex, toward which she was being swept closer with every second that passed. The two old faces, haggard in their despair and misery, rose before her again. She felt her heart sink.

She had counted only a few minutes before on getting their money back for them, through the police. The police. How could she get any word to the police now without first getting away from these two men? And suppose she did get away, and found some means of communicating with the authorities. It would be Pinky Bonn here, and the pug who would fall into the meshes of the law quite as much as French Pete and Marnie Day, and to have Pinky and the Pug apprehended now, just as they seem to be opening up the gateway for her to the inner-sacement, secrets of the gang meant ruin to her own hopes and plans. And to refuse to go with them now, as one of them would certainly excite their suspicions. And suspicion of Gypsy Nan was the end of everything for her. Her hands, under her shawl, clenched until her nails bit into her palms.

She couldn't do anything. And there was the money, too, for those two old people. Wasn't there any? She caught her breath. Yes, yes. Perhaps there. Perhaps there. was a way to save the money. Yes, and at the same time to place herself on a firmer footing of intimacy with these two men here, if she went on with this. But, she shook her head. She could afford no buts now. They must take care of themselves afterwards. She would play Gypsy Nan now without reservation. These two men here, like Schlucker, were obviously ignorant that Gypsy Nan was Dangler's wife, so she was. Pinky Bond's hand was on her arm. She had stumbled.

Look out for yourself, he cautioned under his breath. Don't make a sound. They had drawn into a very dark and narrow way between two buildings, and now Pinky kept his touch upon her as he led the way along. What was this Charlie's? She did not know, except that, from what had been said, it was a drug dive of some kind, patronized extensively by the denizens of the underworld. She did not know where she was now,

save that she had suddenly left one of the out-of-the-way east-side streets. Pinky halted suddenly, and bending down, lifted up what was evidently a half-section of the folding trap-door to a cellar entrance. There's only a few of us regulars wise to this, whispered Pinky. Watch yourself. There's five steps. Count them so as you won't trip. Keep hold of me all the way. And nicks on the noise, or we won't get away with it inside.

Leave the trap open, pug, for our getaway. we ain't goin to be long come on it was horribly dark rhoda gray with her hand on pinky bond's shoulder descended the five steps she felt the pug keeping touch behind by holding the corner of her shawl they went forward softly slowly stealthily she felt her knees shake a little and suddenly panic seized her and she wanted to scream out what was she doing where was she going was she mad that she had ventured into this trap of blackness blackness. It was hideously black. She looked behind her. She could not see the pug, close as he was to her. And dark as she had thought it outside, there at the cellar entrance, it appeared by contrast to have been light, for she could even distinguish now the opening through which they had come. They were in a cellar that was damp underfoot, and the soft earth deadened the sound as they walked upon it, and they seemed to be walking interminably.

It was too far, much too far. she felt her nerve failing her she looked behind her again that opening still discernible to her straining eyes beckoned her lured her better to pinkie halted again she bumped into him and then she felt his lips press against her ear here they are he breathed they got the end room on the right so as they could get in and out without being seen and so's even charlie'd swear they was here all the time you're too old a bird to fall down nan if the door's locked knock and give em any old kind of song and dance till you gets em off their guard the puggin meals see you through go it before rhoda gray could reply pinky had stepped suddenly to one side a door in front of her a sliding door it seemed to be opened noiselessly and she could see a faintly lighted narrow and very short passage ahead of her it appeared to make a right angle turn just a few yards in and what light there was seemed to filter in from around the corner. And on each side of the passage, before it made the turn, there was a door, and from the one on the right, through a cracked panel a tiny thread of light seeped out.

Her lips moved silently, after all, it was not so perilous. Nobody would be hurt. Pinky and the Pug would cover those two men in there, and take the money and run for it, and the pug gave her an encouraging push from behind. She moved forward mechanically. There were many sounds now, but they came muffled and indeterminate from around the corner ahead, all save a low murmuring of voices from the door with the cracked panel on the right. It was only a few feet away.

She found herself crouched before the door, but she did not knock upon it. Instead, her blood seemed suddenly to run cold in her veins, and she beckoned frantically to her two companions. She could see through the crack in the panel. there were two men in there french pete and mahony day undoubtedly and they sat on opposite sides of a table and a lamp burned on the table and one of the men was counting out a sheaf of crisp yellow-back bank-notes but the other while apparently engrossed in the first man's occupation and while he leaned forward in apparent eagerness was edging one hand stealthily toward the lamp and his other hand hidden from his companion's view by the table was just drawing a revolver from his pocket there was no mistaking the man's murderous intentions a dull horror that numbed her brain seized upon rhoda gray the low-tight brutal faces under the rays of the lamp seemed to assume the aspect of two monstrous gargoyles and to spin around and around before her vision and then it could only have been but a fraction of a second since she had begun to beckon to pinky and the pug she felt herself pulled unceremoniously away from the door and the pug leaned forward in her place his eye to the crack

in the panel. She heard a low, quick-muttered exclamation from the pug, and then suddenly, as the lamp was obviously extinguished, the crack of light in the panel had vanished. But in an instant, curiously like a jagged lightning flash, light showed through the crack again, and vanished again. It was the flash of a revolver shot from within, and the roar of the report came like a roll of thunder on its heels. Rota Gray was back against the opposite wall. She saw the pug fling himself against the door. It was a flimsy affair. It crashed inward.

Shoot your flash on the table and grabbed a coin. I'll fix the other guy. Were eternity's passing? Her eyes were fascinated by the interior beyond the broken wall. It was utterly dark inside there, save the ray of a flashlight played now on the table, and a hand reached out and snatched up the scattered sheaf of banknotes. And on the outer edge of the ray,

two shadowed forms struggled, and one went down. Then the flashlight went out. She heard Pug speak. Beat it! Commotion came now, cries and footsteps from around the corner in the passage. The Pug grasped her by the shoulders and rushed her back into the cellar. She was conscious, it seemed, only in a dazed and mechanical way. There were men in the passage running toward them, and then the passage had disappeared. Pinky Bonn had shut the connecting door. Hoppet-like blazes, whispered the pug, they ran for the faint glimmer of light that located the cellar exit. Separate the minute we're outside, he ordered.

There's murder in, dare. Pete shot Marnie. I put Pete to sleep with a punch on the jaw, but the bunch knows there was someone else there, and Pete'll swear it was us, though he don't know who we was did the shooting. I got to make this straight right off the bat with Dangler. His whispering voice was labored, panting.

They were climbing up the steps now. Yous take the money to my room, Pinky, and wait for me. I won't be much more in half an hour. Nan, use beat it for your garret and stay there. They were outside. The pug had disappeared in the darkness. Pinky was closing and evidently fastening the trap door. The other way, Nan, he flung out as she started to run. That takes you to the other street, and they can't get around that way without going around the whole block. Me for a fence I knows about, and we gives them a merry laugh. Go on. She ran, ran breathlessly, stumbling, half falling. Her hands stretched out before her to serve almost in lieu of her eyes,

for she could make out scarcely anything in front of her. She emerged upon a street. It seemed abnormal, the quiet, the lack of commotion, the laughter, the unconcerned voices of the passers-by among whom she suddenly found herself. She hurried from the neighborhood. End of Chapter 12. The White Mall This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org.

Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, USA. The White Mall By Frank L. Packard. Chapter 12 The Door Across the hall. It was many blocks away before calmness came again to Rhoda Gray, and before it seemed even that her brain would resume its normal functions. But with a numbed horror, once gone, there came in its place, like some surging tide, a fierce virility that would not be denied. The money.

The old couple on that doorstep, stripped of their all. Wasn't that one reason why she had gone on with Pinky Bonn and the Pug? Hadn't she seen away, or at least a chance, to get the money back? Rota Gray looked quickly about her. On the corner ahead she saw a drug store and started briskly in that direction. Yes, there was a way. The idea had first come to her from the Pug's remark to Schlucker that, after they had secured the money, Pinky would return with it to the Pug's room, while the Pug would go and square things with Dangler. And also, at the same time, that same remark of the Pugs had given rise to a hope that she might yet trace Dangler tonight through the pug, but the circumstances and the happenings of the last few minutes had shattered

that hope utterly, and so there remained the money. And as she had walked with Pinky and the pug a little while ago, knowing that Pinky would, if they were successful, carry the money back to the pug's room, just as was being done now precisely in accordance with the pug's original intentions, she had thought of the adventurer. It had seemed the only way then. It seemed the only way now, despite the fact that she would be hard put to it to answer the adventurer if he thought to ask her how or by what means she was in possession of the information that enabled her to communicate with him but she must risk that put him off if necessary through a plea of haste and on the ground that there was not time to-night for an unnecessary word he had given her believing her to be gipsy nan his telephone number which she in turn was to transmit to the white mall in other words herself but the white mall so he believed had never received that message and it must of necessity be as the white mall that she must communicate with him to-night it would be hard to explain to-night it would be hard to explain to-night it would be hard to explain to him to-night it would be hard to explain to she meant to evade it. The one vital point was that she remembered the telephone number he had

given her that night when he and Dangler had met in the garret. She was not likely to have forgotten it. Rhoda Gray, alias, Gypsy Nan shuffled along. Was she inconsistent? The adventurer would be in his element in going to the Pug's room and in relieving Pinky Bonn of that money, but the adventurer, too, was a thief, wasn't he? Why then did she propose? for her mind was now certainly made up as to her course of action to trust a thief to recover that money for her. She smiled a little warily as she reached the drugstore, stepped into the telephone booth and gave Central her call. Trust a thief? No, it wasn't because her heart prompted her to believe in him. It was because her head assured her she was safe in doing so. She could trust him in an instance such as this because, well, because once before, for her sake, he had forgone the operation.

of appropriating a certain diamond necklace worth a hundred times the sum that she would ask him, yes, if necessary, for her sake, to recover tonight. There was no—she was listening in a startled way at the instrument. Central had given her information, and information was informing her that the number she had asked for had been disconnected. She hung up the receiver and went out again to the street in a dazed and bewildered way, and then suddenly a smile of bittered self-dirisition crossed her lips. She had been a fool. There was no softer word, a fool. Why had she not stopped to think? She understood now. On the night the adventure had confided that number to her, as Gypsy Nan. He had had every reason to believe that Gypsy Nan would, as she had already

apparently done, befriend the White Mall even to the extent of accepting no little personal risk in doing so. But since then, things had taken a very different turn. The White Mall was now held by the gang, of which Gypsy Nan was supposed to be a member, to be the one who had of late profited by the gang's plans to the gang's discomfiture, and the adventurer was ranked but little lower in the scale of hatred, since they counted him to be the White Moll's accomplice. Knowing this, therefore, the first thing the adventurer would naturally do would be to destroy the clue in the shape of that telephone number that would lead to his whereabouts, and which he, of course, believed he had put into the gang's hands when he had confided into Gypsy Nams.

had he not told her no later than last night that gypsy nan was her worst enemy he did he that gypsy nan and the white mall were one and so that telephone had been disconnected and to-night now just when she needed help at a crucial moment when she had counted upon the adventurer to supply it there was no adventurer no means of reaching him and no means any more of knowing where he was rhoda gray walked along the street her lips tight her face drawn and hard failing the adventurer there remained the police if she telephoned the police and sent them to the pug's room they would of a certainty recover the money and with equal certainty restore it to its rightful owners she had already thought of that when she had been with pinky and the pug and had been loath even then to take such a step because it seemed to spell ruin to her own personal plans but now there was another reason and one for one for the pug and one foeither to take such a step because it seemed to spell ruin to her own personal plans but now there was another reason and one far more cogent, why she should not do so. There had been a murder committed back there in that underground drug dive, and of that murder Pinky Bonn was innocent, but if Pinky Bonn were found in possession of that money and French Pete to save his own skin from the consequences of a greater crime, admitted to its original theft, Pinky would be convicted out of hand, for there were others in that

dive, who had come running along the passage to testify that an attack had been made on the door of French Pete and Marnie Day's room, and that the thieves and murderers, had fled through the cellar and escaped. Her lips pressed harder together, and so there was no adventurer upon whom she could call, and no police, and no one in all the millions in this great pulsing city to whom she could appeal, and so there remained only herself. Well, she could do it, couldn't she? Not as Gypsy Nan, of course, but as the white mall. It would be worth it, wouldn't it? If she was sincere and not a moral hypocrite in her sympathy, for those two outraged old people in the twilight of their lives, and if she were not a moral

coward, there remained no questioned as to what her decision should be. Her mind began to mull over the details. Subconsciously, since the moment she had made her escape from the cellar, she had found now that she had been walking in the direction of the garret that sheltered her as Gypsy Nan. In another five minutes she could reach that deserted shed in the lane behind Chipsy Nans' house where her own clothes were hidden, and it would take her but a few minutes more to affect the transformation from Chipsy Nann to the White Mall. And then, in another ten minutes, she could be back again at the Pug's room. The Pug had said he would not be much more than a half an hour, but as nearly as she could calculate it, that would still give her more than five or ten

minutes alone with Pinky Bond. It was enough, more than enough. The prestige of the White Mall would do the rest. A revolver in the hands of the white mall would ensure instant and obedient respect from Pinky Bon, or any other member of the gang in similar conditions. And so, and so, it would not be difficult. Only there was a queer fluttering at her heart, and her breath came in hard, short little inhalations. And she spoke suddenly to herself. I'm glad, she whispered, I'm glad I saw those two old faces on that doorstep because—because if I hadn't I—I would be afraid. The minutes passed. The desolate figure of an old hag disappeared, like a deeper shadow in the blackness of a lane,

through the broken door of the deserted shed. Presently a slim, neat little figure, heavily veiled, emerged. Again the minutes passed. And now the veiled figure let herself in through the back door of the Pug's lodging house, and stalled softly down the dark hall, and halted before the Pug's door. it was the white mall now from under the door at the ill-fitting threshold there showed a thin line of light rhoda gray with her ear against the door panel listened there was no sound of voices within pinkie bonn then was still alone and still waiting for the pug she glanced sharply around her there was only darkness her gloved right hand was hidden in the folds of her skirt she raised her left hand and knocked softly on the door she raised her left hand and knocked softly on the door Two raps. One rap. Two raps. She repeated it. And as it had been with Schlucker, so it was now with her.

A footstep crossed the floor within. The key turned in the lock, and the door was flung open. All right, Pug, said Pinky Bon. I— The man's words ended in a gasp of surprised amazement. With a quick step forward, Rhoda Gray, was in the room. Her revolver suddenly outflung, covered the other, and her free hand, reaching behind her, closed and locked the door again. There was an almost stupid look of bewilderment on Pinky Bond's face. Rhoda Gray threw back her veil. My God, mumbled Pinky Bon, and licked his lips, the white mall. Yes, said Rhoda Gray, tersely.

Put your hands up over your head, and go over there and stand against the wall, with your face to it. Pinky Bonn, like an automaton, moved purely by mechanical means, obeyed. Rota Gray followed him, with the muzzle of her revolver pressed into the small of the man's back, felt rapidly over his clothes with her left hand for the bulge of his revolver. She found and possessed herself of the weapon, and stepping back, ordered him to turn around again. I haven't much time, she said icily. I'll trouble you now for the cash you took from Marnie Day and French Pete. My God, he mumbled again. You know about that?

Quick, she said imperatively. Put it on the table. table there and then go back again to the wall. Pinky Bond fumbled in his pocket. His face was white, almost chalky white, and it held fear, but its dominant expression was one of helpless stupefication. He placed the sheaf of bank notes on the table and shuffled back again to the wall. Rota Gray picked up the money and retreated to the door. Still facing the man, working her left hand behind her back, she unlocked the door again and this time removed the key from the lock. "'You were quite safe here,' she observed evenly, "'since there appears to be no window through which you could get out.

"'But you might make it a little unpleasant for me "'if you gave the alarm and aroused the other occupants of the house "'before I got well away. "'I dare say that was in your mind, but—' "'She opened the door slightly and inserted the key on the other side. "'I am quite sure that you will reconsider any such intentions, Pinky. "'It would be very disastrous for you if I were caught. somebody is wanted for the murder of Marnie Day at Charlie's a little while ago, and a jury would

undoubtedly decide that the guilty man was the one who broke in the door there and stole the money. And if I were caught and were obliged to confess that I got it from you, and French Pete swore that it was whoever broke into his room that shot his pal, it might go hard with you, Pinky. Don't you think so? She smiled coldly at the man's staring eyes and dropped jaw. Good night, Pinky. I know you won't make any noise, she said softly, and suddenly opened the door, and in a flash stepped back into the hall and closed and locked the door, and whipped out the key from the lock.

And inside, Pinky Bonn made no sound. It was done. Rota Gray drew in her breath in a great choking gasp of relief. She found herself trembling violently. She found her limbs were bearing her none too steadily as she began to grope her way along the black hall toward the back door. But it was done now, and—no, she was not safe away even yet. Someone was coming through the back door just ahead of her, or, at least, she heard voices out there. She was just at the end of the hall now. There was no time to go back and risk the front entrance. She darted across the hall to the opposite side from the Pug's room, because on that side the opening of the door would not necessarily expose her and crouched down in the corner.

It was black here, perhaps black enough to escape observation. She listened, her heart beating wildly. The voices outside continued. Why were they lingering there? Why didn't they do one thing or the other, either go away or come in? There wasn't any too much time. The pug might be back at any minute now. Perhaps one of those people out there was the pug.

Perhaps it would be better after all to run back and go out the front door. risky as that would be. No, her escape in that direction was cut off now, too. She shrank as far back into the corner as she could. The door of the end room on this side of the hall had opened, and now a man stepped out and closed the door behind him. Would he see her? She held her breath. No, it—it was all right. He was walking away from her toward the front of the hall. And now, for a moment, it seemed as though she had lost her senses, as though her brain were playing some mad, wild trick upon her. Wasn't that the Pug's door before which the man had stopped?

Yes, yes. And he seemed to have a key to it, for he did not knock, and the door was opening, and now for an instant, just for an instant, the light fell upon the man as he stepped with a quick lightning-like movement inside, and she saw his face. It was the adventurer. She stifled a little cry. Her brain was in turmoil. And now the back door was opening.

They, they must have seen her, and, yes, it was safer, safer to act on the sudden inspiration that had come to her. The door of the room from which the adventurer had emerged was almost within reach, and he had not locked it as he had gone out. She had subconsciously noted that fact. And she understood why he had not now, that he had safeguarded himself against the loss of even a second or two it would have taken him to unlock it when he ran back for cover again from the. the Pug's room. Yes, that room. It was the safest thing she could do. She could even get out that way, for it must be a room with a low window, which she remembered gave on the backyard, and— She darted silently forward, and as the back door opened, slipped into the room the adventurer had just vacated. It was pitch black. She must not make a sound, but equally she must not lose a second.

what was taking place in the Pug's room between Pinky Bonn and the adventurer she did not know. But the adventurer was obviously on one of his marauding expeditions, and he might stay there no more than a minute or two once he found out that he had been forestalled. She must hurry, hurry! She felt her way forward in what she believed to be the direction of the window. She ran against the bed. But this afforded her something by which to guide herself. She kept her touch upon it, her state.

hand trailing along its edge. And then, halfway down its length, what seemed to be a piece of string caught her extended groping fingers. It seemed to cling, but also yield most curiously as she tried to shake it off, and then something evidently from under the mattress came away with a little jerk and remained suspended in her hand. It didn't matter, did it? Nothing mattered except to reach the window. Yes, here it was now. And the roller shade was drawn down. And the roller shade was drawn down. that was why the room was so dark. She raised the shade quickly, and suddenly stood there transfixed, her face paling, as in the faint light by the window she gazed,

fascinated at the object that still dangled by the cord in her hand. And it seemed as if an inner darkness were suddenly riven as by a bolt of lightning, a hundred things, once obscure and incomprehensible, were clear now, terribly clear. She understood now how the adventurer was privy to all the inner workings of the organization. She understood now how it was and why the adventurer had a room so close to that of the other room across the hall. That dangling thing on the elastic cord was a smeared and dirty celluloid eye patch that had once been flesh-colored. The adventurer and the pug were one.

Her wits! Quick! He must not know. In a frenzy of haste she ran for the bed and slipped the eye-patch under the mattress again, and then, still with frenzied speed, she could, climbed to the windowsill, drew the roller-shade down again behind her, and dropped to the ground. Through the backyard and the lane she gained the street, and sped on along the street, but her thoughts outpaced her hurrying footsteps. How minutely every detail of the night now seemed to explain itself and dovetail with every other one. At the time, when Schlucker had been present, it had struck her as a little forced and unnecessary that the pug should have volunteered to seek out Dangler with explanations

after the money had been secured. But she understood now the craft and guile that lay behind the apparently innocent plan. The adventurer needed both time and an alibi, and also he required an excuse for making Pinky Bonn, the custodian of the stolen money, and of getting Pinky alone with that money in the Pug's room. Going to Dangler supplied all this. He had hurried back, changed in that room from the pug to the adventurer,

and proposed in the latter character to relieve Pinky of the money. to return then across the hall, become the pug again, and then go back as though he had just come from Dangler, to find his friend and ally, Pinky Bonn, robbed by their mutual arch-enemy, the adventurer. The pug, the adventurer. She did not seem to grasp its significance, as applied to her in a personal way. It seemed to branch out into endless ramifications. She could not somehow think logically, coolly enough now to decide what this meant in a concrete way to her, and her tomorrow, and the days after tomorrow. She hurried on. Tonight, as she would

lay awake through the hours that were to come, for sleep was a thing denied, perhaps a clearer vision would be given her. For the moment there, there was something else, wasn't there? The money that belonged to the old couple? She hurried on. She came again to the street where the old couple lived. It was a dirty street, and from the curb she stooped and picked up a dirty piece of old newspaper. She wrapped the banknotes in the paper. There were not many people on the street as she neared the mean little frame house, but she loitered until for a moment the immediate vicinity was deserted. Then she slipped into the alleyway and stole close to the side window, through which she had noted from the street there shone a light. Yes, they were there, the two of them. She could see them

quite distinctly even through the shutters. She went back to the front door then and knocked, and presently the old woman came and opened the door. This is yours, said Rhoda Gray, and thrust the package into the woman's hand. As the woman looked from her to the package, uncomprehendingly, Rhoda Gray flung a quick good-night over her shoulder and ran down the steps again. But a few minutes later she stole back and stood for an instant once more by the shuttered window in the alleyway. And suddenly her eyes grew dim. She saw an old man, white and haggard, with bandaged head sitting in a chair, the tears streaming

down his face, and on the floor her face hidden on the other's knees, a woman knelt, and the man's hand stroked and stroked the thin gray hair of the woman's head, and Rhoda Gray turned away. And out in the street her face was lifted, and she looked upward, and there were a myriad of stars. And there seemed a beauty in them that she had never seen before, and a great comforting serenity. and they seemed to promise something that through the window of that stark and evil garret to which she was going now they would keep her dreaded vigil with her until morning came again end of chapter thirteen the white mall this is a librivox recording all librivox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit librivox dot org reading by rowdy delaney i idaho u s a the white mall by frank l packard chapter fourteen the lame man another night another day

and the night again had been without rest lest dangler's dreaded footstep come upon her unawares and the day again had been one of restless abortive activity now prowling the streets as gipsy nan now returning to the garret to fling herself upon the cot in the hope that in daylight, when she might risk it, sleep would come, but it had been without avail, for in spite of physical weariness, it seemed to rhoda gray as though her tortured mind would never let her sleep again. Dangler's wife. That was the horror that was in her brain, yes, and in her soul, and that would not leave her. And now the night was coming upon her once more. It had even begun to grow dark in the lower stairway that led up to that wretched, haunted

Garrett above where in the shadows stark terror lurked. Strange. Most strange. She feared the night, and yet she welcomed it. In a little while, when it grew a little darker, she would steal out again and take up her work once more. It was only during the night under the veil of darkness that she could hope to make any progress in reaching the heart and core of this criminal clique which surrounded her, whose members accepted her as Gypsy Nan, and therefore, as one of themselves. and who would accord her, if they even suspected her to be the white mall, less mercy than would be shown to a mad dog. She climbed the stairs.

Fear was upon her, because fear was always there, and with it was abhorrence and loathing at the frightful existence fate had thrust upon her, but somehow, tonight she was not so depressed, not so hopeless, as she had been the night before. There had been a little success. She had come a little further along the way. She knew a little more than she had known before of the inner workings of the gang, who were at the bottom of the crime for which she herself was accused. She knew now the adventurer's secret, that the pug and the adventurer were one, and she knew that the adventurer lived, now in one character, now in another, in those two rooms almost opposite each other across the tenement hall.

And so it seemed that she had the right to hope, even though there were still so many things that she did not know, that if she allowed her mind to dwell on that phase of it, it staggered her. Where those code messages came from, and how? Why rough rook of headquarters had never made a sign since that first night? Why the original Gypsy Nan, who was now dead, had been forced into hiding with the death penalty of the law hanging over her? Why Dangler, though Gypsy Nan's husband, was comparatively free? These and a period other things. But she counted now upon her knowledge of the adventurer's secret to force from him everything he knew, and with that to work on, a confession from some of the gang in corroboration that would prove the authorship of the crime of which she had seemingly been caught in the act of committing. Yes, she was beginning to see the way at last, through the adventurer. It seemed a sure and certain way. If she presented herself before him as Gypsy Nan, whom he believed to be not only one of the gang, but actually Dangler's wife, and let him know that she was aware of the dual role he was playing, and that the information he thus acquired as the pug he turned to his own account, and to the undoing of the gang, he must of necessity be at her mercy. Her mercy. What exquisite irony! Her mercy! The man her heart loved. The thief, her common sense, abhorred. What irony! When she, too, played a double- role, when in their other characters, that of the adventurer and the white mall, he and she were

linked together by the gang as Confederates, whereas, in truth, they were wider apart than the poles of the earth. Her mercy! How merciful would she be, to the thief she loved? He knew, he must know, all the inner secrets of the gang. She smiled wanly now as she reached the landing. Would he know that in the last analysis her threat would be only an idle one? That though her future, Her safety, her life depended on obtaining the evidence she felt he could supply, her threat would be empty, and that she was powerless, because she loved him. But he did not know she loved him. She was Gypsy Nan. If she kept her secret, if he did not penetrate her disguise as she had penetrated his,

if she were Gypsy Nan and Dangler's wife to him, her threat would be valid enough, and he would be at her mercy. A flush, half-shamed, half-angry, died the grime that was a part of Gypsy Nan's disguise upon her face. What was she saying to herself? What was she thinking? That he did not know she loved him? How would he? How could he?

Had a word, an act, a single look of hers ever given him a hint that when she had been with him as the white mall, she cared? It was unjust, unfair to fling such a taunt at herself. It seemed as though she had lost nearly everything in life, but she had not yet lost her womanliness and her pride. She had certainly lost her senses, though. Even if that word, that look, that act had passed between them, between the adventurer and the white mall, he still did not know the gypsy nan was the white mall, and that was the one thing now that he must not know, and—' Rota Gray halted suddenly, and stared along the hallway ahead of her, and up the short, ladder-like steps that led to the garret.

Her ears, or was it fancy, had caught what sounded like a low knocking up there on her door. Yes, it came again now distinctly. It was dusk outside, in here, in the hall, it was almost dark. Her eyes strained through the murk. She was not mistaken. Something darker than the surrounding darkness of form moved up there. The knocking ceased, and now the form seemed to bend down and grope along the floor, and then an instant later it began to descend the ladder-like steps, and abruptly rode a gray too moved forward.

It wasn't Dangler. That was what had instantly taken hold of her mind, and she knew a sudden relief now. The man on the stairs, she could see that it was a man now, though he moved silently, swayed in a grotesquely jerky way as though he were lame. It wasn't Dangler. She would go to any length to track Dangler to his lair, but not here, not in the darkness, here in this. Garrett. Here she was afraid of him with a deadly fear. Here alone with him there would be a thousand chances of exposure incident to the slightest intimacy he might show to the woman whom he believed to be his wife. A thousand chances here against hardly one in any other environment or situation. But the man on the stairs wasn't dangler. She halted now and uttered a sharp exclamation, as though she had caught sight of the man for the first time. The other, too,

halted, at the foot of the stairs. A plaintive drawl reached her. Don't screech, Bertha. It's only your devoted brother-in-law? Curse your infernal ladder and my twisted back? Dangler's brother? Bertha? She snatched instantly at the cue with an inward gasp of thankfulness. She would not make the mistake of using the vernacular behind which Gypsy Nan sheltered herself. Here was someone who knew that Gypsy Nan was but a role. But she had to remember that she was that her voice was slightly hoarse, that her voice at least could not sacrifice its disguise to anyone. Dangler had been a little suspicious of it until she had explained that she was suffering from a cold. Oh, she said calmly. It's you, is it? And what has brought you here?

What do you suppose, he complained irritably? The same old thing, all I'm good for, to write out code messages and deliver them like an errand boy. It's a sweet job, isn't it? How'd you like to be a deformed little cripple. She did not answer at once. The night seemed suddenly to be opening with some strange, even preemptory vista. The code messages. Their mode of delivery. Here was the answer. Maybe I'd like it better than being gypsy nan, she flung back significantly. He laughed out sharply. I'd like to trade with you, he said, a quick note of genuine envy in his voice. You can pitch away your clothes. I can't pitch away a crooked spine. and anyway, after tonight, you'll be living swell again.

She leaned toward him, staring at him in the semi-darkness. That preemptory vista was widening. His word seemed suddenly to set her brain in tumult. After tonight? She was to resume after tonight the character that was supposed to lay behind the disguise of Gypsy Nan? She was to resume her supposedly true character, that of Pierre Dangler's wife? What do you mean? she demanded tensely. ah come on he said abruptly this isn't the place to talk pierre wants you at once that's what the message was for i thought you were out and i left it in the usual place so you'd get it the minute you got back and come along over so come on now with me

he was moving down the hallway blotching like some misshapen toad in the shadowy light lurching in his walk that was nevertheless almost uncannily noiseless mechanically she followed him she was trying to think striving frantically to bring her wits to play on this sudden and unexpected denouement it was obvious that he was taking her to dangler she had striven desperately last night to run dangler to earth in his lair and here was a self-appointed guide and yet her emotions conflicted and her brain was confused it was what she wanted what through bitter travail of her mind she had decided must be her course but she found herself shrinking from it with dread and fear now that it promised to become a reality It was not like last night when of her own initiative she sought to track Dangler, for then she had started out with a certain freedom of action that held in reserve a freedom to retreat if it became necessary. Tonight it was as though she were deprived of that freedom, and being led to what only too easily might develop into a trap from which she could not retreat or escape.

Suppose she refused to go. They had reached the street, and now she obtained a better view of the misshapen thing that lurched jerkily along beside her. The man was deformed, miserably deformed. He walked most curiously, half bent over, and one arm, the left, seemed to swing helplessly, and the left hand was like a withered thing. Her eyes sought the other's face. It was an old face, much older than danglers, and it was white, and pinched and drawn, and in the dark eyes, as they suddenly darted a glance at her, she read a sullen, bitter brooding, and discontentment. She turned her head away.

It was not a pleasant face. It struck her as being both morbid and cruel to a degree. Suppose she refused to go. What did you mean after to-night, she asked again? You'll see, he answered. Pierre'll tell you. You're in luck, that's all. The whole thing that has kept you under cover has bust wide open your way, and you win.

And Pierre's going through for a clean-up. Tomorrow you can swell around in a limousine again. and maybe you'll come around and take me for a drive if i dress up and promise to hide in the corner of the back seat so as they won't see your handsome friend the creature flung a bitter smile at her and lurched on he had told her what she wanted to know more than she had hoped for the mystery that surrounded the character of gipsy nan the evidence of the crime at which the woman who had originated that role had hinted on the night she died and which must necessarily involve dangler was hers wrote a graham now for the taking as well go and give herself up to the police as the white mall and have done with it all as to refuse to seize the opportunity which fate evidently in a kindlier mood toward her now was offering her at this instant it promised her the hold upon dangler that she needed to force an avowal of her own innocence the very hold that she had but a few minutes before been hoping she could obtain through the adventurer there was no longer any question as to whether she would go or not Her hand groped under the shabby black shawl into the wide, voluminous pocket of her greasy skirt. Yes, the revolver was there.

She knew it was there, but the touch of her fingers upon it seemed to bring a sense of reassurance. She was perhaps staking all in accompanying this crippled here to-night. She did not need to be told that, but there was a way of escape at the last if she were cornered and caught. Her fingers played with the weapon. If the worst came to the worst, she would never. be at Dangler's mercy while she possessed that revolver, and, if the need came, turned it upon herself. They walked on rapidly, the lurching figure beside her covering the ground at an astounding rate of speed. The man made no effort to talk. She was glad of it. She need not be so anxiously

on her guard as would be the case if a conversation were carried on, and she, who knew so much and yet so pitifully little, must weigh her every word and feel her way with every sentence. And besides, too, it gave her time to think. Where were they going? What sort of place was it, this headquarters of the gang? For it must be the headquarters, since it was from there that the code messages would naturally emanate, and this deformed creature, from what he had said, was the secretary of the nefarious clique that was ruled by his brother.

And was luck really with her at last? Suppose she had been but a few minutes later in reaching Gypsy Nann's house, and had found, instead of this man here, only the note instructing her to go and meet Dangler. What would she have done? What explanation could she have made for her non-appearance? Her hands would have been tied. She would have been helpless. She could not have answered the summons, for she could have had no idea where this ganglare was, and the note certainly would not contain such details as a street and number, which she was obviously supposed to know. She smiled a little grimly to herself.

yes it seemed as though fortune were beginning to smile upon her again fortune at least had supplied her with a guide the twisted figure walked on the inside of the sidewalk and curiously seemed to seek as much as possible the protecting shadows of the buildings and invariably shrank back out of the way of passers-by they met she watched him narrowly as they went along what was he afraid of recognition it puzzled her for a time and then she understood it was not fear of recognition the sullen almost belligerent stare with which he met the eyes of those with whom he came into close contact belied that the man was morbidly abnormally sensitive of his deformity they turned at last into one of the east side cross streets and her guide halted finally on the corner in front of a little shop that was closed and dark she stared curiously as the man unlocked the door perhaps after all she had been woefully mistaken it did not look at all like the kind of place where crimes that ran the gamut of the decalogue were hatched at all the sort of place that was the council chamber of perhaps the most cunning certainly the most cold-blooded and unscrupulous band of crooks that new york had ever harbored and yet why not wasn't there the essence of cunning in that very fact who would suspect anything of the sort from a ramshackled two-story little house like this whose front was a woe-begone little store the proceeds of which might just barely keep the body and soul of its proprietor together The man fumbled with a lock. There was not a single light showing from the place,

but in the dwindling rays of a distant street lamp, she could see the meager window display through the filthy, unwashed panes. It was evidently a cheap and tawdry notion store, well suited to its locality. There were toys of the cheapest variety, stationary of the same grade, cheap pipes, cigarettes, tobacco, candy, packages of needles. Go on in, grunted the man,

as he pushed the door, which seemed to shriek out unduly on its hinges, wide open. If anyone sees the door open, they'll be around wanting to buy a paper of pens, curse him, and I ain't open to-night. He snarled as he shut and locked the door. Pierre says you're grouching about your garret. How about me and this job? You get out of yours tonight for keeps. What about me?

I can't do anything but act as a damn blind for the rest of you with this fool store, just because I was born a freak that every gutter snipe on the street yells at. Rota Gray did not answer. Well, go on, snapped the man. What are you standing there for? One would think you'd never been here before. Go on? Where?

She had not the faintest idea. It was quite dark inside here in the shop. She could barely make out the outline of the other figure. You're in sweet temper tonight, aren't you? She said tartly. Go on yourself. I'm waiting. for you to get through your speech.

He moved brusquely past her with an angry grunt. Rhoda Gray followed him. They passed along a short, narrow space, evidently between a low counter and a shelved wall, and then the man opened a door, and shutting it again behind them, moved forward once more. She could scarcely see him at all now.

It was more the sound of his footsteps than anything else that guided her. And then suddenly another door was opened, and a soft, yellow light. streamed out through the doorway, and she found herself standing in an intervening room between the shop and the room ahead of her. She felt her pulse quicken, and it seemed as though her heart began to thump almost audibly. Dangler. She could see Dangler seated out a table in there. She clenched her hands under her shaw. She would need all her wits now. She prayed that there

was not too much light in that room yonder. End of Chapter 14. The White Mall This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, USA. The White Mall by Frank L. Packard.

Chapter 15. In the Council Chamber The man with the withered hand had passed through into the other room. She heard them talking together as she followed. She forced herself to walk with as nearly a leisurely defiant air as she could. The last time she had been with Dangler, as Gypsy Nan, she had in self-protection, forbidding intimacy, played up what he called her grouch at his neglect of her. She paused in the doorway.

Halfway across the room, at the table, Dangler's gaunt, swarthy face showed under the rays of a shaded oil lamp. Behind her spectacles, she met his small, black ferret eyes steadily. Hello, Bertha, he called out cheerily. How's the old girl tonight? He rose from a seat and came toward her, and how's the cold? Rota Gray scowled at him. Worse, she said, curtly and hoarsely. And a lot you care. I could have died in that hole for all you knew. She pushed him irritably away as he came near her. Yes, that's what I said. You needn't start any cooing game now.

Get down to cases. She jerked her hand toward the twisted figure that had slouched into a chair beside the table. He says you've got it doped out to pull something that will let me out of this gypsy nan stunt. Another bubble, I suppose. She shrugged her shoulders, glanced around her, and locating a chair, not too near the table, seated herself indifferently. I'm getting sick of bubbles, she announced, insolently. What's this one? He stood there for a moment, biting at his lips, hesitant between anger and tolerant amusement.

And then, the latter evidently gaining ascendancy, he too shrugged his shoulders and laughed and returned to his chair. You're a rare one, Bertha, he said coolly. I thought you'd be wild with delight. I guess you're sick, all right, because you're usually pretty sensible. I've tried to tell you that it wasn't my fault I couldn't. go near you, and that I had to keep away from—' "'What's the use of going over all that again?' she interrupted tartly.

"'I guess I—' "'Oh, all right,' said Dangler hurriedly. "'Don't start a row.' "'After to-night I've an idea you'll be sweet enough to your husband, and I'm willing to wait. "'Maddie maybe hasn't told you the whole of it.' "'Maddie.' "'So that was the deformed creature's name. She glanced at him.

He was grinning broadly. A family squabble seemed to afford him amusement. Her eyes shifted and made a circuit of the room. It was poverty-stricken in appearance, bare-floored, with the scantiest and cheapest of furnishings, its only window tightly shuttered. Maybe not, she said carelessly. Well, then, listen, Bertha.

Dangler's voice was lowered earnestly. We've uncovered the Nabob's stuff. Do you get me? Every last one of the sparklers. Rhoda Gray's eyes went back to the deformed creature at Dangler's side as the man laughed out abruptly. Yes, grinned Maddie Dangler, and they weren't in the empty money belt that you beat it with like a scared cat after croaking deemer. How queer and dim the light seemed to go suddenly, or was it a blur before her own eyes? She said nothing. Her mind seemed to be groping its way out of the darkness towards some faint gleam of light showing in the far distance.

She heard Dangler order his brother savagely to hold his tongue. That was curious, too, because she was grateful for the man's jib. Gypsy Nan, in her proper person, had murdered a man named Deemer in an effort to secure. Dangler's voice came again. Well, tonight we'll get that stuff. All of it. It's worth a cool half-million. And tonight we'll get Mr. House Detective Clorin for keeps. Bump him off. That cleans everything up. How does that strike you, Bertha? Rota Gray's hands under her shawl locked tightly together. Her premonition had not betrayed her. She was face to face to-night with the beginning of the end. It sounds fine, she said derisively. Dangler's eyes narrowed for an instant, and then he laughed.

You're a rare one, Bertha, he ejaculated again. You don't seem to put much stock in your husband lately. Why should I, she inquired imperturbably. Things have been breaking fine, haven't they? Only not. not for us. She cleared her throat, as though it were an effort to talk. I'm not going crazy with joy till I've been shown. Dangler leaned suddenly over the table. Well, come and look at the cards, then, he said impressively. Pull your chair up to the table, and I'll tell you. Rota Gray tilted her chair instead, nonchalantly back against the wall. It was quite light enough where she was. I can hear you from here, she said coolly. I'm not deaf, and I guess Maddie's sweet is safe enough so that you won't have to whisper all the time. The deformed creature at the table

chortled. Dangler scowled. Damn you, Bertha, he flung out savagely. I could ring that neck of yours sometimes, and—I know you could, Pierre, she interposed sweetly. That's what I like about you. You're so considerate of me. But suppose you get down to cases. What's the story about those sparklers? And what's the game that's going to let me shed this gypsy-nand stuff for keeps? I'll tell her, Pierre, grinned the deformed one. It'll keep you two from spitting at one another, and neither of you have got all night to stick around here. He swung his withered hand suddenly across the table, and as suddenly all facetiousness was gone from his voice and manner. Say, you listen hard, Bertha. What Pierre's telling you is straight. You and him can kiss and make up tomorrow,

or the next day, or whenever you damn well please, but to-night there ain't any more time for scrapping. Now listen. I handed you a wrap about beating it with the empty money belt the night you croaked Deemer with an overdose of knockout drops in the private room up at the Hotel Marwitz. But you forget that. I ain't starting any argument about that. None of us blames you. We thought the stuff was in the belt too. And none of us blames you for making a mistake and going too strong with the drops either. Anybody might do that. And I'll say now that I take my hat off to you for the way you locked Clorin into the room with the dead man and made your escape when Cloran had you dead to rights for the murder. And I'll say, too, that the way you've played Gypsy Nann and saved your

skin, and ours, too, is a slick, a piece of work as has ever been pulled in the underworld. That puts you straight, you and me, don't it, Bertha? Rhoda Gray blinked at the man through her spectacles. Her brain was whirling in a mad turmoil. I always liked you, Maddie, she whispered softly. Dangler was lolling back in his chair, blowing smoke rings into the air. She caught his eyes fixed quizzically upon her. Go on, Maddie, he prompted. You'll have her in a good humor if you're not careful.

We were playing more or less blind after that. The withered hand traced an aimless pattern on the table with its crooked and half-closed fingers, and the man's face was puckered into a shrewd, reminiscent scowl. The papers couldn't get a lead on the motive for the murder, and the police weren't talking for publication. Not a word about the Raja's jewels. Washington saw to that. A young potentate son, practically a guest of the country,

touring about in a special for the sake of his education, and dashed near ending it in the river out west if it hadn't been for the rescue you know about, wouldn't look well in print, so there wasn't anything said about the slather of gems that was a reward of heroism from a grateful Nabob, and we didn't get any help that way. All we knew was that Deemer came east with the jewels, presumably to cash in on them, and it looked as though Deamer were pretty clever, that he wore the money belt for a stall, and that he had the sparkler safe somewhere else all the time.

And I guess we all got to figuring it that way, because the fact that nothing was said about the theft was strictly along the lines the police were working anyway, and was a toss-up that they hadn't found this stuff among his effects. Get me? Get him? This wasn't real, was it? This room here? Those two figures sitting there under the shaded lamp? Something cold, an icy grip seemed to seize at her heart, as in a surge there swept upon her the full appreciation of her peril through these confidences to which she was listening. A word, in act, some slightest thing might so easily betray her, and then— Her fingers under the shawl, and inside the wide pocket of her greasy skirt clutched at her revolver.

Thank God for that. It would at least be merciful. She nodded her head mechanically. But the police didn't find the jewels, because they weren't there to be found. Somebody else got in ahead of us. Pinched him, understand? Maybe only a few hours before you got in your last play, and from the way you say Deemer acted before he was wise to the fact he'd been robbed.

Rota Gray let her chair come sharply down to the floor. She must play her role of Bertha now, as she never had before. Here was a question that she could not only ask was safety, but one that was obviously expected. Who was it? she demanded breathlessly. She's coming to life, murmured Dangler, through a haze of cigarette smoke. I thought you'd wake up after a while, Bertha. This is the big night, old girl, as you'll find out before we're through. Who was it, she repeated with well-simulated impatience.

I guess she'll listen to me now, said Dangler with a little chuckle. Don't overtax yourself any more, Maddie. I'll tell you, Bertha, and it will perhaps make you feel better to know that it took the slickest dip New York ever knew to beat you to the tape. It was Angel Jack, alias the Gimp. How do you know, Rhoda Gray demanded? Because, said Dangler, and lighted another cigarette, he died yesterday afternoon in Sing Sing. She could afford to show her frank bewilderment. Her brows knitted in deferrals as she stared at Dangler. you you mean he confessed she said the angel never dangler laughed grimly and shook his head nothing like that it was a question of playing one fence against another you know that witzer who's handled all our jewelry for us has been on the lookout for any stones that might have come from that collection well this afternoon he passed the word to me that he had been offered the finest unset emerald he'd ever seen and that it came to him through old jake lurchison

as runner, a very innocent young man who's known to the trade as the crab. Dangler paused and laughed again. Unconsciously, Rhoda Gray drew her jaw a little closer about her shoulders. It seemed to bring a chill into the room, that laugh. Once before, on another night, Dangler had laughed, and with his parted lips she had likened him to a beast showing its fangs. He looked it now more than ever. For all his ease of voice and manner, he was in his own.

deadly earnest, and if there was merriment in his laugh, it but seemed to enhance the menace and the promise of unholy purpose that lurked in the cold glitter of his small black eyes. It didn't take long to get hold of the crab, Dangler was rubbing his hands together softly, and the emerald with him. We got him where we could put the screws on him without arousing the neighborhood. Another murder, I suppose, Rhoda Gray flung out the words crossly. "'Oh, no,' Dangler said pleasantly. He squealed before. before it came to that. He's none the worst for where, and he'll be turned loose in another hour or so as soon as we get through old Jake Lertz's. He's no more good to us. He came across

all right, after he was properly frightened. He's been with old Jake as a sort of familiar for the last six years, and— He'd have sold his soul he was so scared. The withered hand on the table twitched, the deformed creature's face twisted into a grimace, and the man was chuckling with unhollowed mirth, as though unable to contain himself at presumably the recollection of the scene which he had witnessed himself. He was down on his knees and clawing out with his hands for mercy, and he squealed like a rat. It's the sixth panel in the bedroom upstairs, he says. It's all there. But for God's sake, don't tell Jake I told. It's the sixth panel. Press the knot in the sixth panel that he stopped abruptly. Dangler had pulled out his watch, and with a second panel. And with

with exaggerated patience was circling the crystal with his thumb. Are you all through, Maddie? He inquired monotonously. I think you said something a little while ago about wasting time. Bertha's looking bored, and besides, she's got a little job of her own on for tonight. He jerked his watch back into his pocket and turned to Rhoda Gray again. The only one who knew all the details, Angel Jack, and he'll never tell now because he's dead. whether he came down from the west with Deemer or not,

or how he got wise to the stones I don't know. But he got the stones all right. And then he tumbled to the fact that the police were pushing him hard for another job he was wanted for, and he had to get those stones out of sight in a hurry. He made a package of them and slipped them to old lurchs, who had always done his business for him, to keep for him, and before he could duck, the bulls had him for that other job.

Angel Jack went up the river, see? Old Jake didn't know what was in that package, but he knew better than the monkey with it, because he always thought something of his own skin. He knew Angel Jack, and he knew what would happen if he didn't have that package ready to hand back the day Angel Jack got out of Sing Sing. Understand? And yesterday Angel Jack died, without a will, and Old Jake appointed himself sole executor without bonds.

He opened that package, figured he'd begin turning it into money, and that's how we get our own back again. Old Jake will get a fake message tonight, calling him out of the house on an errand uptown, and about ten o'clock Pinky Bonn and the Pug will pay a visit there in his absence, and—well, it looks good, don't it, Bertha? After two years? Rota Gray was crouched down in her chair. She shrugged her shoulders now, and infused a sullen note into her voice. Yes, it's fine, she sniffed. I'll be rolling in wealth in my garret, which will do me a lot of good. That doesn't separate me from these rags and the hell I've lived, does it? After two years.

I'm coming to that, said Dangler with a short, grating laugh. We've as good as got the stones now, and we're going through tonight for a clean-up of all that old mess. We staked the whole thing. Get me, Bertha? The whole thing. I'm showing my hand for the first time. Clorin's the man that's making you wear those clothes. "'Clorin's the only one who could go into the witness box "'and swear that you were the woman who murdered D'emar,

"'and Clorin's the man who has been working his head off "'for two years to find you. "'We've tried a dozen times to bump him off "'in a way that would make his death appear to be purely an accident, "'and we didn't get away with it. "'But we can afford to leave the accident out of it tonight "'and go through for keeps. "'And that's what we're going to do,

"'and once he's out of the way, by midnight, "'you can heave Gypsy Nan into the discard. It seemed to Rota Gray that horror had suddenly taken a numbing hold on her sensibilities. Dangler was talking about murdering some man, wasn't he? So that she could resume again the personality of a woman who was dead. Hysterical laughter rose to her lips. It was only by a frantic effort of will that she controlled herself. She seemed to speak involuntarily, doubtful almost that it was her own voice she heard.

I'm listening, she said, but I wouldn't be too sure. Lauren's a wary bird, and there's the white mall. She caught her breath. What suicidal inspiration had prompted her to say that. Had what she been listening to here, the horror of it, indeed turned her brain, and robbed her of her wits to the extent that she should invite exposure? Dangler's face had gone a model purple. The misshapen thing at Dangler's side was leering at her most curiously.

It was a moment before Dangler spoke, and then his hand, "'clenched until the white of the knuckles showed, "'pounded upon the table to punctuate his words. "'Not to-night,' he rasped out with an oath. "'There's not a chance that she's in on this tonight, the she-devil. "'But she's next. "'With this cleaned up, she's next. "'If it takes the last dollar of tonight's hall,

"'and five years to do it, I'll get her, and get—' "'Sure,' mumbled Rhoda gray hurriedly, "'but you needn't get excited. "'I was only thinking of her because she's queered us till I've got my fingers crossed, that's all. Go on about Clorin. Dangler's composure did not return on the instant. He nodded at his lips for a moment before he spoke.

All right, he jerked out finally. Let it go at that. I told you the other night in the garret that things were beginning to break our way and that you wouldn't have to stay there much longer, but I didn't tell you why or how. You wouldn't give me a chance. I'll tell you now, and it's the main reason why I've kept away from you late,

I couldn't take a chance of Clorin getting wise to that Garrett and Gypsy Nan. He grinned suddenly. I've been cultivating Clorin myself for the last two weeks. We're quite pals. I'm playing for luck every time. When the jewel showed up today, I figured that tonight's the night. See? Clorin and I are going to supper together at the Silver Sphinx at about 11 o'clock,

and this is where you show up and shed the gypsy Nan stuff, and show up as your sweet self. Clorin'll be glad to meet you. She stared at him in genuine perplexity and amazement. Show myself to Clorin, she ejaculated heavily. I don't get you. You will in a minute, said Dangler softly. You're the bait, see?

Clorin and I will be at supper and watching the fox-trotters. You blow in and show yourself. I don't need to tell you how. You're clever enough at that sort of thing yourself. and the minute he recognizes you as the woman he's been looking for that murdered Deemer, you pretend to recognize him for the first time too, and then you beat it like you had the scare of your life for the door. He'll follow you on the jump. I don't know what it's all about, and I sit tight, and that lets me out. And now get this. There will be two taxi cabs outside. If there's more than two,

it's the first two I'm talking about. You jump in the one at the head of the line. Clorin won't need an invitation to grab the second one and follow you. That's all. It's the last ride he'll take. It'll be our boys, and not chauffeurs who'll be driving those cars tonight, and they've got their orders where to go. Clorin won't come back. Understand, Bertha? There was only one answer to make, only one answer that she dared make. She made it mechanically, though her brain reeled. A man named Clorin was to be murdered, and she was to show herself as this. This Bertha, And—' "'Yes,' she said. "'Good,' said Dangler.

He pulled out his watch again. "'All right, then. "'We've been here long enough,' he rose briskly. "'It's time to make a move. "'You hop back to the garret and get rid of that fancy dress. "'I've got to meet Clorin uptown first. "'Come on, Maddie. Let us out.' The place stifled her.

She got up and moved quickly through the intervening room. She heard Dangler and his crippled brother talking earnestly together as they followed her. And then the crippled brushed past her in the darkness and opened the front door, and Dangler had drawn her to him in a quick embrace. She did not struggle. She dared not. Her heart seemed to stand still. Dangler was whispering in her ear.

I promised I'd make it up to you, Bertha old girl. You'll see. After tonight. We'll have another honeymoon. You go on ahead now. I can't be seen with gypsy. Nan. And don't be late, the Silver Sphinx at eleven. She ran out on the street. Her fingers mechanically clutched at her shawl to loosen it around her throat. It seemed as though she were choking

that she could not breathe. The man's touch upon her had seemed like a contact with some foul and loathsome thing. The scene in that back room there like some nightmare of horror from which she could not awake. End of Chapter 15. The White This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, USA. The White Mall by Frank L. Packard.

Chapter 16 The Secret Panel Rode Gray hurried onward back toward. the garret, her mind in riot and dismay. It was not only the beginning of the end, it was very near the end. What was she to do? The Silver Sphinx, at eleven. That was the end, after eleven, wasn't it? She could impersonate Gypsy Nan. She could not, if she would, impersonate the woman who was dead. And then, too, there were the stolen jewels at old Jake Lertzes. She could not turn to the police for help there, because then the pug might fall into their hands, and, and the pug was the

adventurer. And then, a sort of fatalistic calm fell upon her. If the masquerade was over, if the end had come, there remained only one thing for her to do. There were no risks too desperate to take now. It was she who must strike, and strike first. Those jewels in old Lurts' his bedroom became suddenly vital to her. They were tangible evidence. With those jewels in her possession, she should be able to force Dangler to his knees. She could get them, before Pinky Bonn and the pug, if she hurried. Afterward, she would know where to find Dangler, at the Silver Sphinx. Nothing would happen to Clorin, because, through her failure to cooperate, the plan would be abortive, but veiled as the white mall, she could pick up Dangler's trail again there.

Yes, it would be the end, one way or the other, between eleven o'clock and daylight. She quickened her steps. Old Lertz would be inveigled away from his home about ten o'clock. At a guess, she made it only a little after nine now. She would need the skeleton keys in order to get into Old Lertz's place, and yes, she would need a flashlight, too. Well, she would have time enough to get them, time enough, then, to run to the deserted shed in the lane. behind the garret and change her clothes. Rhoda Gray, as Gypsy Nan, went on as speedily as she dared

without inviting undue attention to herself, reached the garret, secured the articles she sought, hurried out again, and went down the lane in the rear to the deserted shed. She remained longer here than in the attic, perhaps ten minutes, working mostly in darkness,

risking the flashlight only when it was imperative, and then, the metamorphosis complete, a veiled figure in her own purse, person as rhoda gray the white mall she was out in the street again and hastening back in the same general direction from which she had just come she knew old jake lurches place and she knew the man himself very intimately by reputation there were few such men and such places that she could have escaped knowing in the years of self-appointed service that she had given to the worst and perhaps therefore the most needy element of new york the man ostensibly conducted a little second-hand story In reality, he probably shoved more stolen goods for his clientele, which at one time or another undoubtedly embraced every criminal in the underworld

than any other fence in New York. She knew him for an oily, cunning old fox who lived alone in the two rooms over his miserable store. In less of late, his young henchman the crab had taken to living with him. Though as far as that was concerned, it mattered little tonight, since the crab, for the moment, thanks to the game, was eliminated. from consideration. She reached the second-hand store and walked on past it. There was a light upstairs in the front window. Old Lertz, therefore, had not yet gone out in response to the gang's fake message. She knew Old Lurts's reputation far too well for that. The man would never go out

and leave a gas jet burning, which he would have to pay for. There was nothing to do but wait. Rota Gray sought the shelter of a doorway across the street. She was nervously. impatient now. The minutes dragged along. Why didn't the man hurry and go out? About ten o'clock, Dangler had said, but that was very indefinite. Pinky Bonn and the pug might be as late as that, but equally they might be earlier. It seemed an interminable time. And then her eyes strained across the street upon the upper window. She drew still further back into the protecting shadows of the doorway. The light had gone out. A moment more passed. The street door of the house opposite to her, a door separate from that of the

second-hand store opened, and a bent, gray-bearded man stepped out, peered around, locked the door behind him, and shuffled down the street. Rota Gray scanned the dingy and ill-lighted little street. It was virtually deserted. She crossed the road and stepped into the doorway from which the old fence had just emerged. It was dark here, well out of the direct radius, of the direct radius, of the nearest street lamp, and with luck there was no reason why she should be observed if she did not take too long in opening the door. She had never actually used a skeleton key in her life before, and— She inserted one of her collection of keys in the lock. It would not work.

She tried another, and still another, with mounting anxiety and perplexity. Suppose that, yes, the door was open now, with a quick glance over her shoulder, scanning. the street in both directions to make sure that she was not observed, she stepped inside, closed the door, and locked it again. Her flashlight stabbed through the darkness. Narrow stairs immediately in front of her lid upward. At her right was a connecting door to the second-hand shop. Without an instant's hesitation she ran up the stairs. There was no need to observe caution since the place was temporarily untenanted. There was need only of haste. She opened the door at the head of the stairs, and, with a quick eager nod of satisfaction, as the flashlight swept

the interior, stepped over the threshold. It was the room she sought, old Lertz's bedroom. And now the flashlight played inquisitively about her. The bed occupied a position by the window. Across one corner of the room was a cretane hanging that evidently did service as a wardrobe. Across another corner was a large and dilapidated washstand. There were a few chairs and a threadbare carpet, and opposite the bed another door, closed, which obviously led into the front room. Rota Gray stepped to this door, opened it, and peered in. She was not concerned that it was evidently used for a kitchen, dining room, and the stowage of everything that overflowed from the bedroom. She was concerned only with the fact that it offered no avenue through which any added risk or

danger might reach her. She closed the door as she had found it, and gave her attention now to the walls of Old Lurts' bedroom. She smiled a little whimsically. The crab had used a somewhat dignified term when he had referred to panels. True, the walls were of stained wood, but the wood was of the cheapest variety of matched boards, and the stain was of but a single coat, and a very meager one at that. The smile faded. There were a good many knots, and there were four corners in the room, and therefore eight boards, each one of which answered the description of being the sixth panel. She went to the corner nearest her, and dropped down to her knees. As well start with this one.

She had not dared press Dangler, or Dangler's deformed brother, for more definite directions, had she. She counted the boards quickly from the corner to her right, and then, the flashlight playing steadily, she began to press first one knot after another, in the board before her, working from the bottom up. There were many knots. She went over each one with infinite care. There was no result. She turned then to the sixth board from the corner to her left. The result was the same. She stood up, her brows puckered, a sense of anxious impatience creeping upon her. She had been quite a while over these two boards, and it might be any one of the remaining six. Her eyes traversed the room, following the ray of the flashlight. If she only knew which

one it would. Was it an inspiration? Her eyes fixed on the cretane hanging across one of the far corners from the door, and she moved toward it quickly. The hanging might very well serve another purpose than that of merely a wardrobe. It seems suddenly to be the most likely of the four corners, because it was ingeniously concealed. She parted the hanging. A heterogeneous collection of clothing hung from pegs and nails. Eagerly, hastily, hastily, hastily, Now, she brushed these aside, and, close to the wall, dropped to her knees again. The minutes passed. Twice she went over the sixth board from the corner to her right. She felt so sure now that it was this corner. And then, still eagerly, she turned to the

corresponding board at her left. It was warm and close in here. The clothing hanging from the pegs and nails enveloped her, and with the cretane hanging itself, shut out the air. What little of it was that circulated through the room. Over the board, from the tiniest knot to the largest, her fingers pressed carefully. Had she missed one anywhere? She must have missed one. She was sure the panel in question was here behind this hanging. Well, she would try again and—what was that? In an instant the flashlight in her hand was out, and she was listening tensely. Yes, there was a footstep, two of them, not only on the stairs, but already just. just outside the door. It seemed as though a deadly fear, cold and numbing, settled upon her,

and robbed her of even the power of movement. She was caught. If it was Pinky Bonn and the pug, and if this corner hid the secret panel as she still believed it did, this was the first place to which they would come, and they would find her amongst the clothing, which had evidently been the cause of deadening any sound on those stairs out there until it was too late. She held her breath, her hands tied upon her bosom. There was no time to reach the sanctuary of the other room. The footsteps were already crossing the threshold from the head of the stairs. And then a voice reached out.

The Pugs. It was the Pug and Pinky Bonn. Strike a light, Pinky. There's no messing around with a flash. The old geezer will be back and a hopped a minute he finds out he's been bunked, and the quicker we work the better. A match crackled into flame. An air-choked gas jet with a protesting hiss was lighted, and then Rhoda Gray's drawn face relaxed a little, and a strange, mirthless smile came hovering over her lips.

What was she afraid of? The pug was the adventurer, wasn't he? This was one of the occasions when he could not escape the entanglements of the gang, and he must work for the gang instead of appropriating all the loot for his own personal and nefarious ends. But he was the adventurer. The white mall need not fear him, even though he appeared, linked with Pinky Bon, in the role of the pug. So there was only Pinky Bond to fear. Rhoda Gray took her revolver from her pocket. She was well armed, and in a more than material sense. The adventurer did not know that she was aware of the pug's identity. Her smile, still mirthless, deepened. She might even turn the tables upon them, and still secure the stolen stones.

She had turned the tables upon Pinky Bond last night. Tonight, if she used her wits, she could do it again. And then, suddenly, she stifled an exclamation, as the Pug's voice reached her again. What a use gaping about? There ain't anything else worth pinching around here except what's in the old gent's safety vault. Get a move on. We ain't got all night. It's to corner behind a washstand.

Give us a hand to move to furniture. It wasn't behind the cretane hanging. Rota gray bitter lips in a crestfallen little way. Well, her supposition had been natural enough, hadn't it? She would have tried every corner before she was through if she had had the opportunity. She moved slightly now, without a sound, parting the clothing away from in front of her,

and moving the cretane hanging by a fraction of an inch where it touched the side wall of the room. And now she could see the pug, with his dirty and discolored celluloid, eye patch and his ingeniously contorted face, and she could see Pinky Bonn's pasty white, drug-stamped countenance. It was not a large room. The two men in the opposite corner along the wall from her were scarcely more than ten feet away. They swung the washstand out from the wall, and the pug, going in behind it, began to work on the wallboards. Pinky Bon, an unlighted

cigarette dangling from his lips, leaned over the washstand, watching his companion. A minute passed. Another. It was still in the room, except only for the distant sounds of the world outside, a clatter of wheels upon the pavement, the muffled roar of the elevated, the clang of a trolley-bell. And then the pug began to mutter to himself. Rhoda Gray smiled a little grimly. She was not the only one, it would appear, who experienced difficulty with old Jake Lertz's crafty hiding-place. Say, dis'st a limit, the pug growled out, said. suddenly. There's more damn knots in this board than I ever saw in any piece of wood in me life before, and—' He drew back abruptly from the wall, twisting his head sharply around. Do you hear that, Pinky? he whispered tensely. Quick, put out the light. Quick, there's someone down at the front door. Rota Gray felt the blood ebbed from her face. She had heard nothing

save the rattle and bump of a wagon along the street below, but she had had reason to appreciate on a certain occasion before that the pug, alias the adventurer, was possessed with a sense of hearing that was abnormally acute. If it was someone else, who was it? What would it mean to her? What complication here in this room would result? What? The light went out. Pinky Bond stepped silently across the room to the gas jet near the door. Her eyes strained. She could just make out the adventurer's form, kneeling by the wall. And then, was she mad? Was she mad? Was the faint night lighting of the city filtering in through the window mocking her? The adventurer, hidden from his companion by the washstand,

was working swiftly without a sound, or else it was a phantasm of shadows that tricked her. The adventurer thrust in his hand, drew out a package, and, leaning around, slipped it quickly into the bottom of the washstand, where with its little doors there was a most convenient and very commodious apartment. He turned again then, seemed to take something from his pocket and placed it in the opening in the wall and then closed the panel. It had scarcely taken more than a second.

Rhoda Gray brushed her hand across her eyes. No, it wasn't a phantasm. She had misjudged the adventurer, quite misjudged him. The adventurer, even with one of the gang present, to furnish an unimpeachable alibi for him, was plucking the gang's fruit again for his own and undivided enrichment. Pinky Bond's voice came in a guarded whisper from the doorway. I don't hear nothing, said Pinky Bonn anxiously. The pug tiptoed across the room and joined his companion.

She could not see them now, but apparently they stood together by the door listening. They stood there for a long time. Occasionally she heard them whisper to each other, and then finally the pug spoke in a less guarded voice. All right, he said, I guess me nerves was getting to creeps. "'Shute the light on again, and let's get back on to job. "'And you's take a turn this time pushing to knots, Pinky. "'Maybe you'll have better luck.'

The light went on again. Both men came back across the room, and now Pinky knelt at the wall while the pug leaned over the washstand, watching him. Pinky Bonn was not immediately successful. The pug's nerves, of which he had complained, appeared shortly to get the better of him. "'For God's sake, hurry up,' he urged irritably, or else let me take a crack at it, Pinky, and a low, triumphant exclamation came from Pinky Bonn, as the small door in the wall swung suddenly open.

There she is, my Bucco, he grinned, some nifty vault, eh? The old guy. He stopped. He had thrust his hand in and drawn it out again. His fingers gripped a sheet of notepaper, but he was seemingly unconscious of that fact. He was leaning forward, staring into the aperture. It's empty, he chose. "'What's that?' cried the pug, and sprang to his companion's side.

"'You're crazy, Pinky!' He thrust his head toward the opening, and then turned and stared for a moment helplessly at Pinky Bonn. "'So help me,' he said heavily. "'It's—it's empty!' He shook his fist suddenly. "'The crabs handed us one, that's what, but the crab'll get his fur—' "'It wasn't the crab.'

Pinky Bonn was stuttering his words. He stood. Jaws dropped, his eyes glued on the paper in his hand. The pug, his face working, the personification of baffled rage and intolerance leered at Pinky Bonn. Well, what is it, then, he snarled. Pinky Bonn licked his lips. The White Mall. He licked his lips again.

The white mall, echoed the pug incredulously. Yes, said Pinky Bon. Listen to what's on this paper I fished out of there, I listen. She's got all the nerve of the devil, with thanks and most grateful appreciation, the white mall. The pug snatched the paper from Pinky Bond's hand, as though to assure himself that it was true. Rhoda Gray smiled faintly. It was good acting, very excellently done, seeing the pug had written the note and placed it in the hiding place himself. My God, mumbled Pinky Bond thickly, I ain't afraid of most things, but I'm getting scared of

her. She ain't human. Last night you know what happened, and the night before, and—' He gulped suddenly. Let's get out of here, he said hurriedly. The pug made no reply, except for a muttered growl of assent and a nod of his head. The two men crossed the room. The light went out. Their footsteps echoed as they descended the stairs, then died away. And then Rhoda Gray moved for the first time. She brushed aside the cretan hanging, ran to the washstand, possessed herself of the package she had seen the pug place there, and made her way, cautious now of the slightest sound, downstairs. She tried the door that led into the second-hand shop from the hall, found it unlocked,

and with a little gasp of relief slipped through, and closed the door gently behind her. She did not dare risk the front entrance. Pinky Bonn and the pug were not far enough away yet, and she did not dare wait until they were. too bulky to take the risk of attempting to conceal it about his person, while with Pinky Bonn, the pug, it was obvious, would come back alone for that package, and it was equally obvious that he would not be longed in doing so. There was Old Lurts's return that he would have to anticipate. It would not take wits nearly so sharp as those possessed by the pug to find an excuse for separating promptly from Pinky Bonn. Rhoda Gray, groped her way down the shop, groped her way to the back door,

unbolted it, working by the sense of touch, and let herself out into the backyard. Five minutes later she was blocks away, and hurrying rapidly back toward the deserted shed in the lane behind Gypsy Nans Garrett. Her lips formed into a tight little curve as she went along. There was still work to do tonight, if this package really contained the stolen legacy of gems left by Angel Jack. She had first of all to reach the place where she could examine the package with safety, then a place to hide it where it would be secure, and then, Dangler. She gained the lane, stole along it, and disappeared into the shed through the broken door that hung partially open on sagging hinges. Here she sought a corner and crouched down so that her

body would smother any reflection from her flashlight. And now, eagerly, feverishly, she began to undo the package. And then a moment later, she gazed, stupefied and amazed at what lay before her. Precious stones, scores of them, nestled on a bed of cotton. They were of all colors and of all sizes, but each one of them seemed to pulsate and throb, and from some wondrous, glorious depth of its own seemed to fling back the white ray upon a thousand rays in return, as though into it had been breathed a living and immortal fire, and Rhoda Gray, crouched there, stared, until suddenly she grew afraid,

and suddenly, with a shudder, she wrapped the package up again. These were the stones for whose fabulous worth, the woman whose personality she, Rhoda Gray had usurped, had murdered a man. These were the stones, which were indirectly the instrumentality, since but for them, Gypsy Nan would never have existed, that made her, Rhoda Gray, tonight, now, at this very moment, a hunted thing. Homeless, friendless, fighting for her life against police and underworld alive. She rose abruptly to her feet. She had no longer any need of the flashlight. There was even

light of a sort in the place. She could see the stars through the jagged holes in the roof, and through one of these, too, the moonlight streamed in. The shed was all but crumbling in a heap. Underfoot, what had once been flooring was now but rotting, broken boards. Under one of these, beside the clothing of Gypsy Nan, which she had discarded a little while before, She deposited the package, and then she stepped out into the lane, and from there to the street again. And now she became suddenly conscious of a great and almost overpowering physical weariness. She did not quite understand it first, unless it was to be attributed to the reaction from the last few hours, and then smiling wanly at herself she remembered.

For two nights she had not slept. It seemed very strange. That was it, of course. though she was not in the least sleepy now, just tired, just near the breaking point. But she must go on. Tonight was the end anyhow. Tonight, failing to keep her appointment as Bertha, the crash must come, but before it came as the white mall, armed with the knowledge of the crime that had driven Dangler's wife into hiding, and which was Dangler's crime too, and with the evidence in the shape of those jewels in her possession, she and Dangler would meet somewhere. Alone.

before the law got him when he would be closed mouth and struggling with all his cunning to keep the evidence of other crimes from piling up against him and damning whatever meagre chances he might have to escape the penalty for deemers murder she meant yes even if she pretended to compound a felony with him to force or to inveigle from him it mattered little which a confession of the authorship and details of the scheme to rob scarblov that night when she wrote a gray in answer to a doubt dying woman's pleading had tried to forestall the plan and had been caught, apparently, in the act of committing the robbery herself. With that confession in her possession, with the identity of the unknown woman who had died in the hospital that night established, her own story would be believed. And so, if she were weary, what did it matter? It was only until morning. Dangler was at the Silver Sphinx now with the man he meant that she should help him murder, only that would fail. because there would be no berthroth to lure the man to his death and she rhoda gray had only to keep track of dangler until somewhere where he lived perhaps she should have that final scene that final reckoning with him alone it was a long way to the silver sphinx which she knew as everyone in the underworld and everyone in new york who was addicted to slumming knew was a combination dance-hall and restaurant in the chatham square district she tried to find a taxi but without a

veil. A clock in a jeweler's window which she passed showed her the time was ten minutes after eleven. She had had no idea that it was so late. At eleven, Dangler had said. Dangler would be growing restive. She took the elevated. If she could risk the protection of her veil in the Silver Sphinx, she could risk it equally in an elevated train. But in spite of the elevated, it was, she knew, well on towards half-past eleven, when she finally came down the street in front of the Silver Sphinx. From under the veil, she glanced half curiously, half in a sort of grim irony, at the taxis lined up before the dance hall. The two leading cars were not taxis at all, though they bore the earmarks with their registers of being public vehicles for hire. They were

large, roomy, powerful, and looked with their hoods up like privately owned motors. well it was of little account she shrugged her shoulders as she mounted the steps to the dance-hall neither bertha nor clorin would use those cars to-night end of chapter sixteen the white mall This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, USA. The White Mall by Frank L. Packard. Chapter 17. The Silver Sphinx

A bedlam of noise, smote Rhoda Gray's ears as she entered the Silver Sphinx. The jazz band was in full swing. On the polished section of the floor in the center, a packed mass of humanity swirled and gyrated and wriggled in the contortions of the latest dance, and laughed and howled immoderately. And around the sides of the room, the waiters rushed this way and that amongst the crowded tables,

mopping their faces with their aprons. It seemed as though confusion itself held sway. Rhoda Gray scanned the occupants of the tables. The Silver Sphinx was, was particularly riotous tonight, wasn't it? Yes, she understood. A great many of the men were wearing little badges. Some society or other was celebrating,

and was doing it with abandon. Most of the men were half drunk. It was certainly a free and easy night. Everything went. Dangler. Yes, there he was, quite close to her, only a few tables away, and beside him sat a heavy-built,

clean-shaven man of middle age. that would be clorin of course the man who was to have been lured to his death and dangler was nervous and uneasy she could see his fingers were drumming a tattoo on the table his eyes were roaming fruitively about the room and he did not seem to be paying any but the most distrait attention to his companion who was talking to him rhoda gray sank quickly into a vacant chair three men linked arm in arm and decidedly more than a little drunk were approaching her she turned her head away to avoid attracting their attention it was to be free and easy here to-night and she began to regret her temerity at having ventured inside she would better perhaps have waited until dangler came out only there were two exits and she might have missed him and A cold fear upon her, she shrank back in her chair. The three men halted at the table and were clustered around her. They began a jocular quarrel amongst themselves as to who should dance with her. Her heart was pounding.

She stood and pushed them away. Oh, no, you don't, hiccuffed one of the three. Got to see your pretty face anyhow. She put up her hands frantically and clutched at her veil, but just an instant too late to save it from being wrenched aside. wildly her eyes flew to Dangler. His attention had been caught by the scene. She saw him rise from his seat. She saw his eyes widen, and then, stumbling over his chair and haste he made toward her. Dangler had recognized the white mall. She turned and ran. Fear, horror, desperation lent her strength. It was not like this that she had counted on her reckoning with Dangler. She brushed the roisterers aside. and darted for the door. Over her shoulder she glimpsed Dangler following her. She reached the door, burst through a knot of people there, and her torn veil clutched in her hand dashed down the steps.

She could only run, run, and pray that in some way she might escape. And then a mad exultation came upon her. She saw the man in the chauffeur seat of the first car in the line, lean out and swing the door open. And in a flash she grasped the situation. The man, man was waiting for just this, for a woman to come running for her life down the steps of the Silver Sphinx. She put her hand up to her face, hiding it with her torn veil, raced for the car, and flung herself into the tonneau. The door slammed. The car leapt from the curb. Dangler was coming down the steps. She heard him shout. The chauffeur, in a startled way, leaned out as he evidently recognized Dangler's voice, but Rhoda Gray was mistress of herself now.

the tonneau of the car was not separated from the driver's seat and bending forward she wrenched her revolver from her pocket and pressed the muzzle of the weapon to the back of the man's neck don't stop she gasped struggling for breath go on quick the man with a frightened oath obeyed the car gained speed a glance through the window behind showed dangler climbing into the other car and then for a moment rhoda gray sat there fighting herself control with a certain knowledge in her soul that upon her wits and her wits alone her life depended now she studied the car's mechanism over the chauffeur's shoulder even as she continued to hold the revolver pressed steadily against the back of the man's neck she could drive a car she could drive this one the presence of this chauffeur one of the gang was an added menace there were too many tricks he might play before she could forestall them any one of which would deliver her into the hands of dangler behind there an apparently inadvertent stoppage due to traffic for instance that would bring the pursuing car alongside that or a dozen other things would achieve the same end open the door on your side she commanded abruptly and get out without slowing the car do you understand he turned his head for a half-incredulous half-frightened look at her she met his eyes steadily the torn veil quite discarded now was in her pocket she did not know the man but it was quite evident from the almost ludicrous dismay which spread over his face that he knew her The white mall, he stammered. It's the white mall.

Jump, she ordered imperatively, and the revolver pressed more significantly against the man's flesh. He seemed even in frantic haste to obey her. He whipped the door open, and before she could reach to the wheel, he had leapt to the street. The car swerved sharply.

She flung herself over into the vacated seat and snatched at the wheel barely in time to prevent the machine from mounting the street. curb. She looked around again through the window of the hood. The man had swung aboard Dangler's car, which was only a few yards behind, Rota Gray drove steadily. Here in the city streets, her one aim must be never to let the other car come abreast of her, but she could prevent that easily enough by watching Dangler's movements, and cutting across in front of him if he attempted anything of the sort. But ultimately what was she to do? How was she to escape?

hands gripped and clenched in a sudden, almost panic-like desperation at the wheel. Turned suddenly around a corner and jumped from the car herself? It was useless to attempt it. They would keep too close behind her to give her a chance to get out of sight. Well, then, suppose she jumped from the car and trusted herself to the protection of the people on the street. She shook her head grimly. Dangler, she knew only too well, would risk anything, go to any length. to put an end to the white mall. He would not hesitate an instant to shoot her down as she jumped, and he would be fairly safe himself in doing it. A few revolver shots from a car that speeded away in the

darkness offered an even chance of escape. And yet, unless she forced an issue such as that, she knew that Dangler would not resort to firing at her here in the city. He would want to be sure that that was the only chance of getting her before he accepted the risk that he would run of being caught for it by the police. She found herself becoming strangely, almost unnaturally cool and collected now. The one danger, greater than all the others, that minister was a traffic block

that would cause her to stop and allow those in the other car behind her to rush in upon her as she sat here at the wheel. And sooner or later, if she stayed in the city, a block such as that was inevitable. She must get out of the city then. It was only to invite risk, The risk that Dangler was in the faster car of the two, but there was no other way.

She drove more quickly, made her way to the bridge, and crossed it. The car behind followed with immutable persistence. It made no effort to close the short gap between them, but neither, on the other hand, did it permit the gap to widen. They passed through Brooklyn, and then, reaching the outskirts, rode a gray with headlights streaming into the black, with an open long island road before her, flung her throttle wide, and the car leaped like a thing of life into the night. And it was a sudden start. It gained her a hundred yards, but that was all.

The wind tore at her and whipped her face. The car rocked and reeled as in some mad frenzy. There was not much traffic, but such as it was cleared away from before her, as if by magic, as seeking shelter from the wild meteoric thing running amok, the few vehicles, motor or horse that she encountered hugged the edge of the road. and the wind whisked to her ears fragments of shouts and excretions. Again and again she looked back. Two fiery balls of light blazed behind her, always those same two fiery balls.

She neither gained nor lost. Rid, like steel, her little figure was crouched over the wheel. She did not know the road. She knew nothing save that she was racing for her life. She did not know the end. She could not see the end. perhaps there would be some merciful piece of luck for her that would win her through a breakdown to that roaring thing with its eyes that were balls of fire behind her. She passed through a town with lighted streets and lighted windows, or was it only imagination.

It was gone again anyhow, and there was just the black road ahead. Over the roar of the car and the sweep of the wind then she caught, or fancied she caught, a series of faint reports. She looked behind her. They were firing now. Little flashes leaped out above and at the sides of those blazing headlights. How long was it since she had left the Silver Sphinx? Minutes or hours would not measure it, would they? But it could not last much longer. She was growing very tired. The strain upon her arms, yes, and the strain upon her eyes, was becoming unbearable. She swayed a little in her seat, and the car swerved, and she jerked it back again into the strait.

She began to laugh a little hysterically, and then, suddenly, she straightened up, tense, and alert once more. That swerve was the germ of inspiration. It took root swiftly now. It was desperate, but she was desperate. She could not drive much more, or much longer like this. Her body and mind were almost undone. And besides, she was not out distancing that car behind her there by a foot, and sooner or later they would hit her with one of their shots, or perhaps what they were really trying to do was puncture one of her tires. Again, she glanced over her shoulder. Yes, Dangler was just far enough behind her to make the plan possible.

She began to allow the car to swerve noticeably at intervals, as though she were weakening, and the car was getting beyond her control, which was indeed almost too literally the case. And now it seemed to her that each time she swerved, there came an exultant shout from the car behind. Well, she asked for nothing better. That was what she was trying to do, wasn't it? Inspire them with the belief that she was breaking under the strain. Her eyes searched anxiously down the luminous pathway made by her high-powered headlights. If only she could reach a piece of road that combined two things, an embankment of some sort, and a curve just sharp enough to throw those headlights behind her off at a tangent for an instant as they rounded it too in following

her. A minute, two, another passed, and then, Rhoda Gray, tight-lipped, her face drawn hard, as her headlights suddenly edged away from the road, and opened what looked like a ravine to her left, while the road curved to the right, flung a frenzied glance back of her. It was her chance, her one chance. Dangler was perhaps a little more than a hundred yards to the rear. Yes, now. His headlights were streaming out on her left as he, he too touched the curve. The right-hand side of her car, the right-hand side of the road were in blackness. She checked violently, almost to a stop, then almost instantly opened the throttle wide once more, wrenching the wheel over to head the machine for the ravine, and before the car picked up its momentum

again, she dropped from the right side, darted for the edge of the road, and flung herself flat down upon the ground. The great, black body of her car seemed to sail into nothingness, like some weird aerial monster, the headlights streaming uncannily through space, then blackness, and a terrific crash. And now the other car came to a stop almost opposite where she lay. Dangler and the two chauffers, shouting at each other in wild excitement, leaped out and rushed to the edge of the embankment. And then suddenly the sky grew red as a great tongue flame shot up from below. It outlined the forms of the three men as they stood there, until abruptly as though with one accord they rushed pell-mell down the embankment toward the burning wreckage.

And as they disappeared from sight, Rhoda Gray jumped to her feet, sprang for Dangler's car, flung herself into the driver's seat, and the car shot forward again along the road. A shout, a wild chorus of yells, the reports of a fuselade of shots reached her. She caught a glimpse of the forms running insanely after her along the edge of the embankment, then silence, save for the roar of the speeding car. She drove on and on. Somewhere, nearing a town, she saw a train in the distance coming in her direction. She reached the station first, and left the car standing there, and with a torn veil over her face again, took the train. She was weak, undone, exhausted. Even her mind refused its functions further.

It was only in a subconscious way she realized that, where she had thought never to go to the garret again, the garret and the role of Gypsy Nan were, more than ever now, her sole refuge. The plot against Clorin had failed, but they could not blame that on Bertha's non-appearance, and since it had failed, she would not now be expected to assume the dead woman's personality. True, she had not, as had been arranged, reached the Silver Sphinx at eleven, but there were a hundred excuses she could give to account for her being late in keeping the appointment so that she had arrived just in time, say, to see Dangler dash wildly in pursuit of a woman who had jumped into the car that she was supposed to take. The garret. The garret again, and Gypsy Nan. Her surroundings

seemed to become 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 stumbled 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 temerously inquisitive of this shawed and desolate figure, prone and motionless. This figure who would in other dawns had found neither sleep nor rest, this figure who lay there now as one dead.

End of Chapter 17. The White Mall This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, USA. the white mall by frank l packard chapter eighteen 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 she was sitting bolt upright alert and tense as the full flood of memory swept upon her there was still a meagre light creeping in through the small grimy window-panes but it was the light of wanting day

she must have slept then all through the morning and the afternoon slept the dead heavy sleep of exhaustion from the moment she 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 in view of last night in view of her failure to keep that appointment in the role of dangler's wife it was 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 that 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 roll of gypsy nan upon her from the 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 would 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 dangler with the crime of murder she could ring from the man all that now remained necessary to substantiate her story and clear herself in the eyes of the law of that robbery at scarbolov'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. Tonight, as the white mall, she had only to find N-corner Dangler as she had planned to do last night. She still had only to get the man alone somewhere. Rota Gray's hands clenched tightly. That was all that was necessary. Just the substantiation of her own story that the plot to Rob Scarbalov lay at the door of Dangler and his gang, or rather, perhaps that the plot was in existence before she had ever heard of Scarbalov. 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, Dangler's wife, who had died that night, bad in 11th-hour penitence, refused to implicate her criminal associates. There was a crime projected which, unless she, Rode Gray, would agree to forestall it in person, and would give her oath not to warn the police about it, and to 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

dangler 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 gipsy nan had gone into hiding she 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 of depredations she knew where their secret hoard of ill-gotten gain was hidden here in this attic behind the 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 scarbalov 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 Rourke of headquarters. She did not have it now, but she would have it. Stake all and everything in her life she had to have it, for it and itself literally meant everything and all. And Dangler would make a written confession, or else, or else. She smiled mirthlessly.

That was all. Last night she had failed. Tonight she would not fail. Before morning came, if it were humanly within her power, she and Dangler 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 one of the one? Was there any one? 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-war stand 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 now in danger? 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 didn't 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 passed there had been not a sign from Dangler 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 Dangler's wife? Why was it? What did it mean? Surely Dangler would never allow what had happened to pass unchallenged, and—was that someone now? She halted suddenly by the door to listen, her hand going instinctively into the wide, voluminous pocket of her greasy skirt for her revolver. Yes, there was a footstep in the hall below, but it was descending to the ground floor, not coming up. She even heard the street door close, but still she clung 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 soul covering, then snatched the blanket completely off the cot and shook it, and then, down on her knees, searched the floor under the cot. There was no sign of the revolver. Rota Gray stood up and stared in a stunned way about her. Was this then the explanation of her having seemingly been left undisturbed all through the day? Had someone, after all, been here and—'

she shook her head suddenly with a quick emphatic gesture of descent the door was still locked she could see the key on the inside and besides as a theory it wasn't logical they wouldn't have taken her revolver and left her placidly asleep the loss of the revolver was a vital matter it was her one safeguard the one means by which she could first gain and afterwards hold the whip hand over dangler in the interview she proposed to have with him the one means of escape, the last resort, if she herself were cornered and fell into his power. It had sustained her more than once, that resolution to turn it against herself if she were in extremity. It meant everything to her, that weapon, and it was gone, but the panic that had seized her was gone, too, and she could think rationally and collectively again. Last night, or rather this morning, when she had made her way back to the shed out there in the lane behind the garret, she had been in a state of other.

her exhaustion. She had changed from the clothes of the white mall to those of Gypsy Nan, but she must have done so almost mechanically, for she had no concrete recollection of it. It was quite likely, then, even more than probable, that she had left the revolver in the pocket of her other clothes, for she had certainly had, not only her revolver, but her flashlight and her skeleton keys as well when she had visited Old Lurts's place last night, and later on too, when she had jumped into the automobile in front of the silver spin. She had had her revolver, for she had used it to force the chauffeur out of the car, and she had no one of those articles now. Of course. That was it. She stepped impulsively to the door, and opening it, made her way quickly down the stairs to the street.

The revolver was undoubtedly in the pocket of her other skirt, and she felt a surge of relief sweep upon her, but a sense of relief was far from enough. She would not be safe until the weapon was again in her possession, Intuitively, she felt that she had no time to lose in securing it. She had already been left too long alone, not to make a break in that unaccountable isolation. They had accorded her as something to be expected at any moment. She hurried down the street to the lane that intervened between Gypsy Nan's house and the next corner, glanced quickly about her,

and seeing no one in her immediate vicinity, slipped into the lane. She gained the deserted shed some fifty yards along the lane, entered through the broken door that hung, half open on sagging hinges, and dropping to her knees, reached under the decayed and rotting flooring. She pushed aside impatiently the package of jewels, at whose magnificence she had gazed awestruck and bewildered the night before, and drew out the bundle that comprised her own clothing. Her hand sought the pocket eagerly. Yes, it was here, at least the flashlight was, and so were the skeleton keys. That was what had happened. she had been near utter collapse last night and she had forgotten and rhoda gray unconscious even that she still had the clothing in her hands rose mechanically to her feet

there was a sudden weariness in her eyes as she stared unseeingly about her yes the flashlight and the keys were here but the revolver was not her brain harked back in lightning flashes over the events of the preceding night She must have lost it somewhere. Where? She had had it in the automobile that she knew positively, but after that she did not remember, unless, Yes, it must have been that, when she had jumped from the car and flung herself down at the roadside. It must have fallen out of her pocket then.

Her heart seemed to stand still. Suppose they had found it. They would certainly recognize it as belonging to Gypsy Nan. They were not fools. the deduction would become obvious the identity of the white mall would be solved was that why no one had apparently come near her were they playing at cat and mouse watching her before they struck so that she would lead them to the jewels under the flooring here that were worth a king's ransom they certainly believed that the white mall had them the adventurer's note so ironically true that he had intended as an alibi for himself and which he had exchanged for the package in old lurches place would have left no doubt in their minds that the stones were in her possession was that it Were they? She held her breath. It seemed as though suddenly her limbs were refusing to support her weight. In the soft earth outside she had heard no step, but she saw now a shadow fall athwart the half-open doorway.

There was no time to move, even if she had been capable of action. It seemed as though even her soul had turned a stone, and, with the white maule's clothes in her hands, she stood there staring at the doorway, and something that was greater than fear, because it mingled horror, ugly and forbidding, fell upon her. It was still just light enough to see. The shadow moved forward and came inside. She wanted to scream, to rush madly and retreat to the farthest corner of the shed, but she could not move. It was Dangler who was standing there. He swayed a little on his feet, and the dark, sinister face seemed blotched, and he seemed to smile as though possessed by some unholy and perverted sense of humor. She was helpless, at his mercy, unarmed, save for her wits.

Her wits. Were wits any longer of avail? She could believe nothing else now, except that he had been watching her, before he struck. What are you doing here? And what are those clothes you've got in your hands, he rasped out? She could only fence for a time in the meager hope that some loophole would present itself. She forced and assumed defiance into her tone. and manner that was in keeping with the sort of armed truce, which from her first meeting with Dangler she had inaugurated as a barrier between them. You've asked me two questions, she said tartly. Which one do you want me to answer first? Look here, he snapped. You cut that out. There's one or two things need explaining. See? What are those clothes? Her wits. Perhaps he did

not know as much as she was afraid he did. She seemed to have become abominable. She seemed to have become Unnormally contained, her mind abnormally acute and active. It was not likely that the woman, his wife, whom he believed she was, had worn her own clothes in his presence since the day some two years ago when she had adopted the disguise of Gypsy Nan, and she, Rota Gray, remembered that on the night Gypsy Nan, reassuming her true personality, had gone to the hospital, the woman's clothes like these she now held, had been of dark material. It was not likely that a man would be able to differentiate between those clothes and the clothes of the white mall,

especially as the latter hung folded in her hands now, and even though he had seen them on her at the Silver Spinks last night. What clothes do you suppose they are but my own? Though I haven't had a chance to wear them much lately, she countered crisply. He scowled at her speculatively. What are you doing with them out here in this hole, then? he demanded. I had to wear them last. night hadn't I? She retorted. I'd have looked well coming out of Gypsy Nans Garrett dressed as myself if anyone had seen me. She scowled at him in turn. She was beginning to believe that he

had not even an inkling of her identity. Her safest play was to stake everything on that belief. Say, what's the matter with you? She inquired disdainfully. I came out here and changed last night. I had to change into these rags I'm wearing now when I got back again. and I left my own clothes here because I was expecting to get word that I could put them on again soon for keeps, though I might have known from past experience that something would have queered the fine promises you made at Maddie's last night, and the reason I'm out here now is because I left some things in the pocket amongst them. She stared at him mockingly, my marriage certificate. Dangler's face blackened.

Curse you, he burst out angrily. When you get your tantrums on, you've got a tongue, haven't you? you'd have been wearing your clothes now if you had done as you were told you were the one who queered things last night his voice was rising he was rocking even more unsteadily on his feet why the hell weren't you at the silver sphinx rhoda gray squinted at him through gypsy nan's spectacles she knew an hysterical impulse to laugh outright in the sure consciousness of supremacy over him the man had been drinking he was by no means drunk but on the other hand he was by no means sober and she was certain now that though she did not know how he had found her here in the shed not the slightest suspicion of her had entered his mind i was at the silver sphinx she announced coolly you lie he said hoarsely you weren't i told you to be there at eleven and you weren't you lie what are you lying to me for eh i'll find out you you Rhoda Gray dashed her clothes down on the floor at her feet, and faced the man as though suddenly overcome, in turn, herself, with passion, shaking both her fists at him. Don't you talk to me like that, Pierre Dangler, she shrilled.

I lie, do I? Well, I'll prove to you I don't. You said you were going to have supper with Clorin at eleven o'clock, and perhaps I was a few minutes after that, but maybe you think it's easy to get all this gypsy nan stuff off my face and all, and rig up in my own clothes that I haven't seen for so long it's a wonder they hold together at all? I lie, do I? Well, just as I got to the Silver Sphinx, I saw a woman breaking her neck to get down the steps with you after her. She jumped into the automobile that was doped out I was to take, and you jumped in the other one, and both beat it down the street. I thought you'd gone crazy. I was afraid Clorin would come out and recognize me, so I turned and ran, too. The safest thing I could do, and I could do. The safest thing I could do was come back into the Gypsy Nan game again, and that's what I did.

And I've been lying low ever since, waiting to get some word from you, and not a soul came near me. You're a nice lot, you are. And now you come sneaking here and call me a liar. How'd you get to this shed, anyway? Dangler pushed his hand in a heavy, confused way across his eyes. My God, he said heavily, so that's it, is it? His voice became suddenly concilitating in its tone.

"'Look here, Bertha old girl. Don't get sore. I didn't understand, see? And there was a whole lot that looked queer. We even lost the jewels at old Lertzes last night. Do you know who that woman was? It was the white mall. She led us on a chase all over Long Island and—' "'The white mall?' ejaculated Rhoda Gray, and then her laugh, short and jeering rang out. The tables were turned. She had him on the defensive now. You needn't tell me she got away again, of course. Why don't you hire a detective to help you? You make me weary.

So it was the white mall, was it? Well, I'm listening, only I'd like to know first how you got here to this shed. There's nothing in that, he answered impatiently. There's something more important to talk about. I was coming over to the garret, and just as I reached the corner I saw you go into the lane, and I followed you. That's all there is to the room. That, oh, she sniffed.

She stared at him for a moment. There was something in which there was the uttermost of irony, it seemed, in this meeting between them. Last night she had striven to meet him alone, and she had meant to devote to-night to the same purpose, and she was here with him now, and in a place then which, in her wildest hopes, she could imagine one no better suited to the reckoning she would have demanded and forced. And she was helpless, powerless to make use of it.

She was unarmed. Her revolver was gone. Without that to protect her, at an intimation that she was the white mall, she would never leave this shed alive. The spot would be quite as ideal under those circumstances for him as it would have been under other circumstances for her. She shrugged her shoulders. Danglars continued silence evidently invited further comment on her part. Oh, she sniffed again. and I suppose then that you have been chasing the white mall ever since last night at 11, and that's why you didn't get around sooner to allay my fears, even though you knew I must be half mad with anxiety at the way things broke last night. She'll have us down and out for keeps if you haven't got brains enough to beat her,

and how much longer is this thing going on? Dangler's little black eyes narrowed. She caught a sudden glint of triumph in them. It was Dangler now, who laughed. "'Not much longer,' his voice was arrogant with malicious satisfaction. "'The luck had to turn, hadn't it? "'Well, it's turned. "'I've got the white mall at last.'

"'She felt the color leave her face. "'It seemed as though something had closed with an icy clutch upon her heart. "'She had heard aright, hadn't she, "'that he had said he had got the white mall at last? "'And there was no mistaking the man's sinister delight "'in making that announcement. Had she been premature, terribly premature, in assuring herself that her identity was still safe as far as he was concerned? Did it mean that, after all, he had been playing at cat and mouse with her as she had first feared?

You—you've got the white mall? She forced the words from her lips, striving to keep her voice steady and in control, and to infuse into it an ironical incredulity. Sure, he said complacently, the showdown comes to know. night. In another hour or so, we'll have her where we want her, and—' Oh, she laughed, almost hysterically in relief. I thought so. You haven't got her yet. You're only going to get her in another hour or so. You make me tired. It's always in another hour or so with you, and it never comes off. Danglars scowled under her taunt. It'll come off this time,

he snarled in savage menace. You hold that tongue of v. You hold that tongue of years. Yes, it'll come off, and when it does, a sweep of fury sent the red into his working face. I'll keep the promise I made her once, that she'd wish she'd never been born. Do you hear, Bertha? I hear, she said indifferently. But would you mind telling me how you're going to do it? I might believe you then, perhaps. Damn you, Bertha, he exploded. Sometimes I'd like to ring that pretty neck of yours, and sometimes... He moved suddenly toward her. I would sell my soul for you, and—

She retreated from him coolly. Never mind that. This isn't a love scene, she purred caustically. And as for the other, save it for the white mall. What makes you think you've got her at last? I don't think. I know. He stood gnawing at his lips, eyeing her uncertainly, half angrily, half hungrily.

And then he shrugged his shoulders. "'Listen,' he said, "'I've got someone else, too. "'And I know where the leak "'that's queered every one of our games, "'and put the white mall wise to every one of our plans "'beforehand has come from. "'I guess you'll believe me now, won't you?

"'We've got that dude-pal of hers "'fastened up tighter than the night he fastened me "'with his cursed handcuffs. "'Do you know who that same dude-pal is?' "'He laughed in an ugly, immoderate way. "'You don't, of course, so I'll tell you. "'It's the pug.' Rhoda Gray didn't answer.

It was growing dark here in the shed. Perhaps that's why the man's form blended suddenly into the doorway and the wall, and blurred before her. She tried to think, but there seemed to have fallen upon her a numbed and agonized duplication. There was no confusing this issue. Dangler had found out that the adventurer was the pug, and it meant, "'Oh, what did it mean?' they would kill him of course they would kill him the adventurer discovered would be safer at the mercy of a pack of starved pumas and-i thought that would hold you said dangler with brutal serenity that's why i didn't get around till now i didn't get back from that chase until daylight the she-fean stole our car and then i went to bed to get a little sleep about three o'clock this afternoon pinky bonn woke me up he was half batty with excitement

He said he was over in the tenement in the pug's room. The pug wasn't in, and Pinky was waiting for him, and then all of a sudden he heard a woman screaming like mad from somewhere. He went to the door and looked out, and saw a man dash out of a room across the hall, and burst in the door of the next room. There was a woman in there with her clothes on fire. She upset a coal-oil stove or something. The man Pinky had seen beats the fire out,

and everybody in the tenement begins to collect around the door. And then Pinky goes pop-eyed. The man's face was the face of the white mall's dude pal, but he had on the pug's clothes. Pinky's a wise guy. He slips away to me without getting himself in the limelight or spilling any beans. And I didn't ask him if he'd been punching the needle again over time either. It fitted like a glove with what happened at Old Lertz's last night.

You don't know about that. Pinky in this double-crossing snitch went there and only found a note from the white mall. He'd tipped her off before, of course, and the note made a nice little play so he'd be safe himself with us. Well, that's about all. We had to get him, where we wanted him, and we got him. We waited until he showed up again as the pug, and then we put over a frame-up deal on him that got him to go over to that old iron plant in Harlem, you know, behind Jake Malley's saloon, where we had it fixed up to hand Clorin his last night, and the pug's there now. He's nicely gagged and tied and quite safe.

The plant's been shut down for the last two months, and there's only the watchman there, and he's squared. We gave the pug two hours of solitary confinement to think it over and come across. We just ask him for the White Mall's address, so as we could get her, and the sparklers she swiped at Old Lertz's place last night. Still, Rhoda Gray did not speak for a moment. She seemed to be held in the thrall of both terror and a sickening dismay. It didn't seem real, her surroundings here, this man, and the voice that was gloatingly pronouncing the death sentence upon the man who had come unbidden into her life and into her heart, the man she loved. Yes, she understood. Dangler's words had been plain enough. The adventurer had been trapped, not through Dangler's cunning, or lack of cunning on the adventurer's own part, but through force of circumstances that had caused him to fling all thought of self-consideration to the winds.

in an effort to save another's life. Her hands, hidden in the folds of her skirt, clenched until they hurt. And it was another's self, it seemed, subconsciously enacting the role of Gypsy Nan, alias Dangler's wife, who spoke at last. You are a fool. You are all fools, she cried tempestuously.

What do you expect to gain by that? Do you imagine you can make the pug come across with any information by a threat to kill him if he doesn't? You tried that once. You had him cold, or at least you thought you had, and so did he, that night in old Nikki Viner's room, and he laughed at you even when he expected you to fire the next second. He's not likely to have changed since then, is he? No, said Dangler with a vicious chuckle, and that's why I'm not trying the same game twice. That's why we've got him over at the old iron plant now. There was something she didn't like in Dangler's voice, something of ominous assurance.

something that startled her. What do you mean? she demanded sharply. It's a lonely place, said Dangler complacently. There's no one around but the watchman, and he's an old friend of sluckers, and it's so roomy over there that no one could expect him to be everywhere at once. See? That lets him out. He's been well greased, and he won't know anything.

Don't you worry, old girl. That's what I came here for, to tell you that everything is all right after I'm. all. The pug will talk. Maybe he wouldn't if he just had his choice between that and a quick, painless end that a bullet would bring, but there are things that a man can't stand. Get me? We'll try a few of those on the pug, and believe me, before we're through, there won't be any secrets wrapped up in his bosom. Rota Gray stood motionless. Thank God it had grown dark, dark enough to hide the whiteness that she knew had crept over her face, and the horror that

crept into her eyes. You mean, her voice was very low. You mean you're going to torture him into talking? Sure, Dangler said. What do you think? And after that? We bump him off, of course, said Dangler callously. He knows all about us, don't he?

And I guess we'll square up on what's coming to him. He's put the crimp into us for the last time. Dangler's voice pitched suddenly hoarse in fury. That's a hell of a question. to ask, what do you think we'd do with a yellow cur that's double-crossed us like that? Plead for the adventurer's life? It was useless. It was worse than useless. It would only arouse suspicion toward her. From the standpoint of anyone of the gang, the adventurer's life was forfeit. Her mind was swift, cruelly swift in its workings. There came a prompting to disclose her own

identity, to tell Dangler that he need not go to the adventurer to discover the whereabouts of the white mall, that she was here now before him. There came the prompting to offer herself in lieu of the man she loved. But that too was useless, and worse than useless. They would still do away with the adventurer because he had been the pug, and the only chance he had now, as represented by whatever she might be able to do, would be gone, since she would have delivered herself into their hands. drew back suddenly. Dangler had stepped toward her. She was unable to avoid him, and his arm encircled her waist. She shivered as the pressure of his arm tightened. It's all right, old girl, he said exuberantly. You've been through hell, you have, and it's all right at last. You leave it to me. Your husband's got a

kiss to make up for every drop of that grease you've had to put on the prettiest face in New York. It seemed as though she must scream out. It was his. hideous. She could not force herself to endure it another instant even for safety's sake. She pushed him away. It was unbearable. At any risk, cost what it might. Mind, soul, and body recoiled from the embrace. Leave me alone, she panted. You've been drinking. Leave me alone. He drew back and laughed. Not very much, he said. The celebration hasn't started yet, and you'll be in on that. I guess you're new. Nerves have been getting shaky lately, haven't they?

Well, you can figure on the swellest recure you ever heard of, Bertha. Take it from me. We're going down to keep the pug company presently. You blow around Maddie's about midnight and get the election returns. We'll finish the job by getting Clorin out of the road some way before morning, and that will let you out for keeps. There won't be anyone left to recognize the woman who was with Demer the night he shuffled out. He backed to the doorway.

Get me? Come over to Maddie's and see the Raja's sparklers about midnight. We'll have him then, and the she-fean, too. So long, Bertha. She scarcely heard him. She answered mechanically. Good night, she said. End of Chapter 18.

The White Mall. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, USA. The White Mall by Frank L. Packard. Chapter 19 Bread upon the waters.

For a moment after Dangler had gone, Rhoda Gray stood motionless, and then the necessity for instant action upon her. She moved quickly toward the door. herself. There was only one thing she could do, just one. She must be sure first that Dangler was well started on his way. She reached the doorway and looked out, and suddenly caught her breath in a low, quick inhalation. In the semi-darkness she could make out Dangler's form, perhaps 25 yards away, heading along the lane toward the street. But behind Dangler, at a well-guarded distance in the

rear, hugging the shadows of the fence, she saw the form of another man. Her brows knitted in a perplexed and anxious frown. The second man was undoubtedly following Dangler. That was evident. But why? Who was it? What did it mean? She retreated back into the shed and commenced hastily to disrobe

and dress again in her own clothes which she had flung down upon the floor. In the last analysis, did it matter who it was that was following Dangler, even if it were one of the police? supposing that man who was shadowing Dangler was a plain clothesman, and suppose he even followed Dangler and the rest of the gang to the old iron plant, and supposed that with the necessary assistance he rounded them all up, and in that sense affected the adventurer's rescue. It scarcely meant a better fate for the adventurer. It simply meant that the adventurer, as one of the gang, and against whom every one of the rest of them would testify, as the soul means left to them

of wreaking their vengeance upon one who had tricked and outwitted them again and again for his own ends, would stand his trial with the others, and with the others go behind bars for a long term of years. She hurried now, completing the last touches that transformed her from Gypsy Nan into the veiled figure of the white mall, stepped out into the lane, and walking rapidly, reached the street and headed not in the direction of Harlem, but deeper over into the east side. Even as Dangler had been speaking, she had realized that, for the adventurer's own sake, and irrespective of what any premature disclosure of her own identity to the authorities might mean to her, she could not call upon the police for aid. There was only one way, just one, to go herself,

to reach the adventurer before Dangler returned there and had an opportunity of putting his worse than murderous intentions into effect. Well, she was going there wasn't she, and if she lost no time she should be there easily ahead of them and her chances would be excellent of releasing the adventurer with very little risk from what dangler had said the adventurer was there alone once tied and gagged there had been no need to leave anybody to guard him save that the watchman would ordinarily serve to keep anyone off the premises which was all that was necessary but that he had been left at all worried her greatly he had of course already refused to talk. What they had done to him she did not know, but the solitary confinement Dangler had referred to was undoubtedly the first step in their efforts to break his spirit. Her lips tightened as she went along. Surely she could accomplish it. She had but to avoid the watchman, only, first, the lost revolver, the only safeguard against an adverse turn of fortune,

must be replaced, and that was where she was going now. She knew, from her assistant, from her associations with the underworld as the white mall in the old days, where such things could be purchased and no questions ask if one were known. And she was known in the establishment to which she was going, for evil days had once fallen upon its proprietor, one Daddy Jacks, in that he had incurred the enmity of certain of his own ilk in the underworld, and on a certain night, which he would be not likely to forget, she had stood between him and a man-handling that would probably have cost him his life, and, yes, this was the place. She entered a dirty-windowed, small and musty pawn-shop.

A little old man, almost dwarf-like in stature, with an unkempt, tawny beard, who wore a greasy and ill-fitting suit, and upon whose bald head was perched an equally greasy skull-cap, gazed at her inquiringly from behind the counter. "'I want a gun, and a good one, please,' she said, after a glance around her, to assure herself that they were alone. The other squinted at her through his spectacles, as he shook his head. "'I haven't got one, lady,' he answered. We're not allowed to sell them without—' "'Oh, yes, you have, Daddy,' she contradicted quietly as she raised her veil. And quick, please, I'm in a hurry.' The little old man leaned forward, staring at her for a moment as though fascinated,

and then his hand, in a fumbling way, removed his skull-cap from his head. There was a curious, almost wistful reverence in his voice as he spoke. The white mall, he said. Yes, she smiled. But the gun, Daddy. Quick, I haven't an instant to lose. Yes, yes, he said eagerly, and shuffled away. He was back in a moment, and automatic in his hand.

It's loaded, of course, she said, as she took the weapon. She slipped it into her pocket as he nodded affirmatively. How much, Daddy? The white mall. He seems still under the spell of amazement. It's nothing. There is no charge. It's nothing, of course. Thank you, Daddy, she said softly, and laid a bill upon the counter and stepped back to the door. Good night, she smiled. She heard him call to her, but she was already on the street again and hurrying along. She felt better somehow, in a mental way, for that little encounter with the shady old pawnbroker.

She was not so much alone, perhaps, as she had thought. There were many, perhaps, even if they were of the underworld, who had not swerved from the loyalty they had once professed to the white mall. It brought a new train of thought, and she paused suddenly in her walk. She might rally around her some of those underworld intimates, upon whose allegiance she felt she could depend, and use them now, tonight, in behalf of the adventurer. She would be sure then to be a match for Dangler,

no matter what turn of affairs took. And then, with an impatient shake of her head, she hurried on again. There was no time for that. It would take a great deal of time to find and pick her men. She had even wasted time herself, where there was no time to spare, in the momentary pause during which she had given the thought consideration. She reached the nearest subway station, which was her objective, and boarded a train to Harlem,

satisfied that her heavy veil would protect her against recognition. unobtrusively she took a window seat no one paid her any attention hours passed it seemed to her impatience while the black walls rushed by punctuated by occasional scintillating signal lights and at longer intervals by the fuller glare from the station platforms in the neighborhood of one hundred and twenty-fifth street she left the train and entering the first drug store she found consulted a directory she did not know this section of new york at all she did not know either the location or the firm name of the iron plant to which dangler assuming naturally of course that she was conversant with it had referred and she did not care to ask to be directed to jake mally's saloon which was the only clue she had to guide her the problem however did not appear to be a very difficult one she found the saloon's address and asking the clerk to direct her to the street indicated left the drug store again but after all it was not so easy no easier than for one unacquainted with the locality to find one's way about several times she found herself at fault and several times she was obliged to ask directions again she began to grow panicky with fear and dread at the time she had lost before her own her own she began to grow panicky with fear and dread at the time she had lost before her finally she found the saloon. She was quite sure that it was already more than half an hour since she had left the drugstore, and that half an hour might easily be the difference between safety

and disaster, not only for the adventurer, but for herself as well. Dangler might have been in no particular hurry, and he would probably have gone first to whatever rendezvous he had appointed for those of the gang selected to accompany him, but even to have done so in a leisurely way would surely not have taken more than that half hour. Yes, that was Jake Malley's saloon, across the road from her, but she could not recall the time that was already lost. They might be there now, ahead of her. She quickened her steps almost to a run.

There should be no difficulty in finding the iron plant now. Behind Jake Malley's saloon, Dangler had said. She turned down the cross street, past the side entrance to the saloon, and hastened along. The locality was lonely, deserted, and none too well lighted. The arc lamps, powerful enough in themselves, were so far apart that they left great areas of shadow, almost blackness between them. And the street, too, was very narrow, and the buildings, such as they were, were dark and unlighted. Certainly it was not a residential district. And she became aware that she was close to the river, for the sound of a passing craft caught her attention.

Of course! She understood now. The iron plant for shipping facilities was undoubtedly on the bank of the river itself, and yes, this was it, wasn't it? This picket fence that began to parallel the right-hand side of the street and enclosed seemingly a very large area. She halted and stared at it, and suddenly her heart sank with a miserable sense of impotence and dismay. Yes, this was the place beyond question. Through the picket fence she could make out the looming shadows of many buildings, and spidery iron structures that seemed to cobweb the darkness, and—and—her face mirrored her misery. She had thought of a single building, where inside there, amongst all those rambling structures, with little time, perhaps

none at all to search, was she to find the adventurer. She did not try to answer her own question. She was afraid that her dismay would get the better of her if she hesitated for an instant. she crossed the street choosing a spot between two of the arc lamps where the shadows were blackest it was a high fence but not too high to climb she reached up preparatory to pulling herself to the top and drew back with a stifled cry she was too late then already too late they were ahead of her and on guard after all a man's form appearing suddenly out of the darkness but a few feet away was making quickly toward her She wrenched the automatic from her pocket. The touch of the weapon in her hand restored her self-control. Don't come any nearer, she cried out sharply. I will fire if you do. And then the man spoke. It's you, ain't it? he called in guarded eagerness. It's the white mall, ain't it? Thank God it's you. Her extended hand with the automatic fell to her side. She recognized his voice.

It wasn't Dangler. It wasn't one of the gang, or the. the watchman who was no better than an accomplice. It was Marty Finch, alias, the sparrow. Marty, she exclaimed, you, what are you doing here? I'm here to keep you from going in there, he said excitedly, and, and say, I was afraid I was too late. Don't you go in there. For God's sake, don't you go? They're laying a trap for you. They're going to bump you off. I know all about it. You know? What do you mean? She asked quickly. How do you know? I quit my job a few days after that fellow you called Dangler tried to murder me that night you saved me, said the sparrow with a savage laugh. I knew he had it in for you, and I guess I had something

coming to him on my own account too, hadn't I? That's the job I've been on ever since, trying to find the dirty pup. And I found him. But it wasn't till tonight, though you can believe me there weren't many joints in the old town where I didn't look for him. My luck turned tonight. I spot at him coming out of Italian Joe's bar, see? I followed him. After a while he slips into a lane, and from the street I saw him go into a shed there. I worked my way up quiet, and got as near as I dared without being heard, and I seen, and I listened. He was talking to a woman. I couldn't hear everything they said, and they quarreled a lot, but I heard him say something about framing up a job to get somebody down to the old iron plant behind Jake Malley's saloon, and bump him off,

and I heard him say there wouldn't be any white mall by morning, and I put two and two together and beat it for here. Rota Gray reached out and caught the sparrow's hand. Thank you, Marty. You haven't got it quite right, though thank heaven you got it the way you did since you are here now, she said fervently. It wasn't me. It wasn't the white mall they expected to get here. It's the man who helped me that night to clear you of the Hayden Bond robbery that dangler meant to make you shoulder. He risk his life to do it, Marty. They got him prisoner somewhere in there, and they're coming back to, to torture him into telling them where I am, and, and afterwards to do away with him. That's why I'm here, Marty, to get him away, if I can,

before they come back. The sparrow whistled low under his breath. Well, then I guess it's my hunt, too, he said coolly, and I guess this is where a prison bird horns in with the goods. Ever since I've been looking for that dangler guy, I've been carrying a full kit, because I didn't know what might break, or what kind of mess I might want to get out of. Come on, we ain't got no time. There's a couple of broken pickets down there. We might be seen climbing the fence. Come on.

Bread upon the waters. With a sense of warm gratitude upon her, Rhoda Gray followed the ex-convict. They made their way through the fence. A long, low building, a storied shed evidently, showed a few yards in front of them. It seemed to be quite close to the river, for now she could see the reflection of lights from here, and they're playing on the black, mirror-like surface of the water.

Further on, over beyond the shed, the yard of the plant dotted with other buildings, and those spitery iron structures which she had previously noticed, stretched away until it was lost in the darkness. Here, however, within the radius of one of the three, street arc lamps, it was quite light. Rota Gray paused in almost helpless indecision as to how or where to begin her search, when the sparrow spoke again. It looks like we got a long hunt, whispered the sparrow, but a few minutes before you came, a guy with a lantern comes over from

across the yard there, and nosed around that shed, and acted kind of queer, and I could see him stick his head up against them side doors there as though he was listening for something inside. Does that wise you up to anything? Yes, she breathed tensely. That was the watchman. He's one of them. The man we want is in that shed beyond a doubt. Hurry, Marty. They ran together and reached the double-side door. It was evidently for freight purposes only, and probably barred on the inside, for they found there was no way of opening it from without. There must be an entrance, she said feverishly, and led the way toward the front of the building in the direction away from the river. Yes, here it is,

she exclaimed, as they rounded the end of the shed. She tried the door. It was locked. She felt in her pocket for her skeleton keys, for she had not been unprepared for just such an emergency, but the sparrow brushed her aside. Leave it to me, he said quickly. I'll pick that lock like one o'clock. It won't take me more in a minute. Rota Gray did not stand and watch him. Minutes were priceless things, and she could put the minute he asked for to better advantage than by idling it away. With an added injunction to hurry, and that she would be back in an instant, she was already racing around the opposite side of the shed. If they were pressed, cornered by the arrival of Dangler, it might well mean the difference between life and death to all of them

if she had an intimate knowledge of the surroundings. She was running at top speed. Halfway down the length of the shed she tripped and fell over some object. She pushed it aside as she rose. It was an iron, in casting, more bulky in shape than in weight, though she found it none too light to lift comfortably. She ran on. The wharf projected out, she found, from this side of the shed. At the edge, she peered over. It was quite light here again. Away from the protecting shadows of the shed, the rays of the arc lamp played without hindrance on the wharf, just as they did on the shed's side door. Below some ten or twelve feet below, and at the corner of the wharf, a boat, or rather a sort of scow, for it was larger than a boat, though oars lay along its thwarts, was moored.

It was partly decked over, and she could see a small black opening into the forward end of it, though the opening itself was almost hidden by a heap of tarpaulian or sailcloth, or something of the kind, that lay in the bottom of the craft. She nodded her head. They might all of them use that boat to advantage. Rota Gray turned and ran back. The sparrow, with a grunt of satisfaction, was just a moment of. just opening the door. She stepped through the doorway. The sparrow followed. Close it, said Rhoda Gray under her breath. She felt her heartbeat quicken. The blood flood her face and then recede. Her imagination had suddenly become too horribly vivid. Suppose they. They had already gone

farther than. With an effort she controlled herself, and the round white ray of her flashlight swept the place. A moment more, and with a low cry, she was running forward to where, on the floor near the wall of the shed, opposite the side door, she made out the motionless form of a man. She reached him and dropped to her knees beside him. It was the adventurer. She spoke to him. He did not answer. And then she remembered what Dangler had said and saw that he was gagged. But, but she was not sure that was the reason why he did not answer. The flashlight in her hand wavered unsteadily as she played it over him. Perhaps the whiteness of the ray itself exaggerated it, but his face held a deathly pallor.

His eyes were closed. His hands and feet were twisted cruelly and tightly bound. Give me your knife, quick, Sparrow, she called. Then go and keep watch just outside. Sparrow handed her the knife and hurried back to the door. She worked in the darkness. She could not use both hands and still hold the flashlight, and besides, with the door partially open now where the sparrow, was on guard there was always the chance if dangler and those of the gang with him were already in the vicinity of the light bringing them more quickly to the scene again she spoke to the adventurer as she removed the gag and a fear that made her sick at heart seized up on her there was still no answer and now as she worked cutting at the cords on his hands and feet the love that she knew for the man its restraint broken by a sense of dread and fear at his condition rose dominant within her and impulse that she could not hold in least took possession of her and in the darkness since he would not know and there was none to see she bent her head and, half crying, her lips pressed upon his forehead. She drew back startled, a crimson in her face that the darkness hid.

What had she done? Did he know? Had he returned to consciousness, if he really had been unconscious, in time to know? She could not see, but she knew his eyes had opened. She worked frantically with his bonds. He was free now. She cast them off. He spoke, then, thickly with great difficulty.

it's you the white mall isn't it yes she answered he raised himself on his elbow only to fall back with a suppressed groan i don't know how you found me but get away at once for god's sake get away he cried dangler'll be here any minute it's you he wants he thinks you know where some some jewels are and that i-i i know all about dangler she said hurriedly and i know all about the jewels for i've got them myself He was up on his knees now, swaying there. She caught at his shoulder to support him. You? he cried out incredulously. You—you've got them? Say that again. You—you've—

Yes, she said, and with an effort steadied her voice. He—he was a thief. Cost her what it might, with all its bitter hurt. She must remember that, even—even if she had forgotten once. Yes, she said, and I mean to turn them over to the police. and expose everyone of Dangler's gang. I, you are entitled to a chance. You once stood between me and the police. I can do no less by you. I couldn't turn the police loose on the gang without giving you warning, for you see, I know you are the pug. Good God, he stammered. You know that, too?

Try and walk, she said breathlessly. There isn't any time. And once you are away from here, remember that when Dangler is in the hands of the police, he will take the only chance for vengeance he has left, and give the police all the information he can, so that they will get you too. He stumbled pitifully. I can't walk much yet. He was striving to speak coolly. They trust me up a bit, you know? But I'll be all right in a little while when I get the cramps out of my joints and the circulation back. And so, Miss Gray, won't you please go at once?

I'm free now, and I'll manage all right. And the sparrow came running back from the door. They're coming, he said excitedly. They're coming from a different way than we came in. I saw them a way up there across the yard for a second when they showed up under a patch of light from an arc lamp on the other street. There's three of them. We got about a couple of minutes and—

Get those side doors open. Quick and no noise, ordered Rhoda Gray, tensely. And then to the adventurer, try, try and walk. I'll help you. the adventurer made a desperate attempt at a few steps it was miserably slow at that rate dangler would be upon them before they could even cross the shed itself i can crawl faster laughed the adventure with bitter whimsicality give me a revolver miss gray and you two go and god bless you the sparrow was opening the side door but she realized now even if they could carry the adventurer they could not get away in time her mind itself seemed stunned for an instant and then in a lightning flash inspiration came she remembered that iron casting and the wharf and the other side of the shed in shadow it was desperate perhaps almost hopeless but it was the only way that gave the adventurer a chance for his life she spoke rapidly the little margin of time they had must be narrowing perilously

marty help this gentleman crawl to the street if you have to the only thing is that you are not to make the slightest noise and-what are you going to do demanded the adventurer hoarsely i'm going to take the only chance there is for all of us she answered she started back toward the front door of the shed but he reached out and held her back you're going to take the only chance there is for me he cried brokenly you're going out there where they are and oh my god i know-i know-i'll go-and you're going to take the only chance there is for me he cried brokenly you're going out there where they are And oh my God, I know, you love me. I, I was only half conscious, but I am sure you kissed me a little while ago. And but for this you would never have known that I knew it, because, please God, whatever else I am, I am not coward enough to take that advantage of you. But I love you, too, Rhoda. And I have the right to speak, the right our love gives me. You are not to go that way. Run, run through the side door there.

They will not see you. She was trembling. Repudiate her love? Tell him there could be nothing between them because he was a thief. She might never live to see him again. Her soul was in riot, the blood flaming hot in her cheeks. He was clinging to her arm. She tore herself forcibly away. The seconds were counting now. She tried to bid him goodbye, but the words choked in her throat. She found herself running for the front door. Sparrow, quick, do as I told you, she half sobbed over her shoulder, and opening the door, she stepped out and closed it behind her. End of Chapter 19. The White Mall. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org.

Reading by Rowdy Delaney. Idaho, USA The White Mall By Frank L. Packard Chapter 20 A Lone Hand Rota Gray was in the radius of the arc lamp and distinctly visible to anyone coming down the yard.

How near were they? Yes, she saw them now, three forms perhaps a little more than a hundred yards away. She moved a few steps deliberately toward them, as though quite unconscious of their presence, and then, as a shout from one of them announced that she was seen, she halted, hesitated as though surprised, terrified and uncertain, and as they sprang forward, she turned and ran, making for the side of the shed away from the side door. A voice rang out. Danglers, by God, it's the white mall. It was the only way. She had the pack and cry now. They would pay no attention to the adventurer while the white mall was seemingly almost within their grasp. if she could only hold them for a little while just a little while the adventurer wasn't hurt only cramped and numbed he would be all right again and able to take care of himself in a little while and meanwhile the sparrow would help him get away she was running with all her speed she heard them behind her the pound pound of feet she had gained the side of the shed the light from the arc lamp was shut off from her now and they would only be able to see her she knew as a dim

fleeting shadow. Where was that iron casting? Pray God it was heavy enough, and pray God it was not too heavy. Yes, here it was. She pretended to stumble and caught the thing up in her arms. An exultant cry went up from behind her as she appeared to fall, oaths, a chorus of them as she went on again. They had not gained on her before, but with the weight in her arms, especially since she was obliged to carry it awkwardly to shield it from their view with her body she could not run so fast now and they were beginning to close up on her but she was on the wharf and there was not much further to go and surely she could hold all the lead she needed until she reached the edge the light from the arc lamp held her in view again out here on the wharf where she was clear of the shed but she knew they would not fire at her

except as a last resort they could not afford to sound an alarm that would attract notice to the spot, when they had, or believed they had both the adventurer and the white mall within their grasp. She was running with short, hard, panting gasps. There were still five yards to go. Three, one. She looked around her like a hunted animal at bay as she reached the end of the wharf and stood there poised at the edge. Yes, thank God, they were still far enough behind to give her the few seconds she needed. She cried out loudly, as though in despair and terror, and sprang from the edge of the wharf. And as she sprang, she dropped the casting, but even as it struck the water with a loud splash, Rhoda Gray, in frantic haste,

was crawling through the little locker-like opening under the decked-over bow of the half-scow, half-boat into which she had leapt. And as quick as a flash, huddled inside, she reached out and drew the heap of what proved to be sailcloth nearer to her to cover the opening, and lay still. A few seconds passed. Then, she heard them at the edge of the wharf and heard Dangler's voice. Watch where she comes up. She can't get away. A queer, wan smile twisted Rhoda's lips. The casting had served her well. The splash had been loud enough. She listened, straining her ears to catch every sound from above. It was miserably small this hiding place into which she had

crawled, scarcely large enough to hold her. She was beginning to be painfully cramped and uncomfortable already. Another voice that she recognized as Pinky Bonds reached her. It's damned hard to spot anything out there. The water's blacker in hell. Came a savage and impatient oath from Dangler. She's got to come up, ain't she? Or drowned? He rasp. Maybe she swum under the wharf, or maybe she swum under water far enough out so as we can't see her from here. Anyway, jump into that boat, and we'll paddle around till we get her. Rota Gray held her breath. The boat rocked violently as one after another the men jumped into it. Her right hand was doubled under her. It was hard to reach her pocket and her automatic. She moved a little. They were

cursing, splashing with their oars, making too much noise to hear any slight rustle that she might make. A minute, two went by. She had her automatic now, and she lay there, grim-lipped, waiting. Even if they found her now, she had her own way out. and by now beyond any question the adventurer and the sparrow would have reached the street and even if they had to hide out there somewhere until the adventurer had recovered the use of his limbs they would be safe she could not see of course once the boat bumped and again they were probably searching under the wharf she could not hear what they said for they were keeping quiet now talking in whispers so as not to give her warning of their whereabouts undoubtedly the time dragged on her cramped position was bringing her excruciating agony now she could understand how the adventurer in far worse case in the brutal position in which they had bound him had fainted she was afraid she would faint herself it was not only the pain but it was terribly close in the confined space and her head was swimming occasionally the oars splashed and then after an interminable time the men as though helpless of success and as though caution were no longer of any service, began to talk louder.

The third man was Schlucker. She recognized his voice, too. It's no use, he snarled. If she's a good swimmer, she could get across the river easy. She's got away, that's sure. What the hell's the good of this? We're playing the fool. Beat it back. She was nosing around the shed. How do we know she didn't let the pug loose before we saw her? Pinky Bonn whined. If he's gone to... too we're crimped. The whole works is bust up. The pug knows everything, where our money is and everything. They'll have us cold. Close your face, Pinky. It was Dangler speaking, his voice hoarse with uncontrollable rage. Go back then, schlucker. Quick. Rota Gray heard the hurried splashing of the

oars now, and presently she felt the bumping of the boat against the wharf, and it's violent, rocking as the men climbed out of it again. But she did not move, save it. with her hand to push the folds of the sail-cloth a cautious inch or two away from the opening. It did not ease the agony she was suffering from her cramped position, but it gave her fresher air, and she could hear better, the ring of their boots on the wharf above, for instance. The footsteps died away. There was silence then for a moment, and then, faintly, from the direction of the shed, there came a chorus of baffled rage and excration. She smiled a little wearily to herself. It was all right. That was what she wanted to know. The adventurer had got away.

Still, she lay there. She dared not leave the boat yet, but she could change position now. She crawled half out from under the decking and lay with her head on the sailcloth. It was exquisite relief. They could not come back along the wharf without her hearing them, and she could retreat under the decking again in an instant if necessary. Voices reached her occasionally from the direction of the shed. Finally a silence fell. The minutes passed, ten, fifteen, twenty of them. And then Rhoda Gray climbed warily to the wharf, made her way warily past the shed and gained the road. And three-quarters of an hour later, in another shed, in the lane behind the garret, she was changing quickly into the rags of Gypsy Nan again.

It was almost the end. Tonight she would keep the appointment Dangler had given her. and keep it ahead of time it was almost the end her lips set tightly the adventurer had been warned there was nothing now to stand in the way of her going to the police save only the substantiation of that one point in her story which dangler must supply her transformation completed she reached under the flooring and took out the package of jewels they would help very materially when she faced dangler and though it was somewhat large tucked inside her blouse it could not be noticed the black greasy shaw hid it effectively she stepped out into the lane and from there to the street and began to make her way across town she did not have to search for dangler to-night she was to meet him at mattie's at midnight and it was not more than half-past eleven and it was not more than half-past eleven now. Three hours and a half. Was that all since at eight o'clock, as nearly as she could place it, he had left her in the lane? It seemed as many years, but it was only twenty minutes after eleven she had noticed when she had left the subway on a return a few minutes ago. Her hand clenched suddenly. She was to meet him at Maddie's, and, thereafter, if it took all night, she would not

leave him until she got him alone somewhere and disclosed herself. The map. The map. The map. was a coward in soul. She could trust to the effect upon him of an automatic in the hands of the white mall to make him talk. Rota Gray walked quickly. It was not very far. She turned the corner into the street where Dangler's deformed brother Maddie cloaked the executive activities of the gang with his cheap little notion store and halted abruptly. The store was just ahead of her, and Dangler himself, coming out, had just closed the door. He saw him. He saw him. He saw him, her, and stepping instantly to her side, grasped her arm roughly, and wheeled her about. Come on, he said, and a vicious oath broke from his lips.

The man was in a towering, ungovernable passion. She cast a fruit of glance at his face. She had seen him before in anger, but now, with his lips drawn back and working, his whole face contorted he seemed utterly beside himself. What's the matter? she inquired innocently. Wouldn't the pug talk? or is it a case of another hour or so, and— He swung on her furiously.

Hold your cursed tongue, he flared. You'll snicker on the wrong side of your face this time. He gulped, stared at her threateningly, and quickened his step, forcing her to keep pace with him. But he spoke again after a minute, savagely, bitterly, but more in control of himself. The pug got away. The white mall queered us again.

But it's worse than that. The game's up. I told you to be here at midnight. It's only half past eleven yet. I figured you would still be over in the garret, and I was going there for you. That's where we're going now. There's no chance at those Raj's jewels now. There's no chance of fixing chlorine so as you can swell it around in the open again. The only chance we've got is to save what we can and beat it. She did not need to simulate either excitement or disquiet. What is it? What's happened? she asked, The gang's thrown us down, he said between his teeth.

They're scared. They've got cold feet. They're going to quit. Schlucker and Pinky were with me at the iron plant. We went back to Maddie's from there. Maddie's with them too. They say the pug knows every one of us, and every game we've pulled, and that in revenge for our trying to murder him, he'll wise up the police, that he could do it easily enough without getting nipped himself, by sending them a letter, or even telephoning the name, and addresses of the whole layout. They're scared, the curs. They say he knows where all our coin is,

too, and therefore splitting it up tonight, and ducking it out of New York for a while to get undercover. He laughed out, suddenly, raucously. They will, eh? I'll show them, the yellow-streaked pups. They wouldn't listen to me, and it meant that you and I were thrown down for fair. If we're caught, it's the chair. I'll show them. When I saw it wasn't any use trying to get them. to stick, I pretended to agree with them. See? I said they could go around and dig up the rest of the gang, and if the others felt the same way about it, they were all to come over to the garret, and I'd be waiting for them. And we'd split up the swag, and everybody'd be on his own after that. Again, he laughed out raucously. It'll take them half an hour to get together, but it won't

take that long for us to grab all that's worth grabbing out of that trap-door and making our getaway. See? I'll teach them to throw Pierre Dan. Dangler down. Come on, hurry. Sure, she mumbled mechanically. Her mind was sifting, sorting, weighing what he had said. She was not surprised. She remembered Pinky's outburst in the boat.

She walked on beside Dangler. The man was muttering and cursing under his breath. Well, why wouldn't she appear to fall in with his plan? Under what choice or surroundings could she get him alone than in the garret? and half an hour would be ample time for her, too. Yes, yes, she began to see. With Dangler, when she had got what she wanted out of him, held up at the point of her automatic,

she could back to the door and lock him in there, and then notify the police. And the police would not only get Dangler and the ill-gotten horde hidden in the ceiling behind the trap door, but they would get all of the rest of the gang as the latter in due course appeared on the scene. Yes, why not? she experienced an exhilaration creeping upon her she even increased unconsciously the rapid pace which dangler had set that's the stuff he grunted in savage approval we need every minute we've got

they reached the house where once so long ago it seemed rhoda gray had first found the original gypsy nan and dangler leading mounted the dark narrow stairway to the hall above and from there up the short ladder-like steps to the garret He groped in the aperture under the partition for the key, opened the door, and stepped inside. Rhoda Gray, following, removed the key, inserted it on the inside of the door, and as she, too, entered, locked the door behind her. It was pitch black here in the attic. Her face was set now, her lips firm. She had been waiting for this, hadn't she? It was near the end at last. She had dangler, alone. But not in the darkness. He was too tricky. She crossed the garret to where the stub candle, stuck in the neck of the gym bottle, stood on the rickety washstand. Come over here and light the candle, she said. I can't find my matches. Her hand was in the pocket of her skirt, her fingers tight closed on the stock of her automatic, as he shuffled his way across the attic to her side. A match spurred into flame. The candle wick flickered, then steadied, dispersing little by little, as it grew brighter, the nearer shadows.

and there came a startled cry from Dangler, and Rhoda Gray, the weapon in her pocket forgotten, was staring as though stricken of her senses across the garret. The adventurer was sitting on the edge of the cot, and a revolver in his hand held a steady beat upon Dangler, and herself. End of Chapter 20. The White Mall. This is a Librevox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Reading by Rowdy Delaney, Idaho, USA. The White Mall

By Frank L. Packard. Chapter 21 The Reckoning It was the adventurer who spoke first. Both of you. What charming luck, he murmured whimsically. You'll forgive the intrusion, won't you? A friend of mine, the sparrow by name,

I think you are acquainted with him, Dangler, was good enough to open the door for me and lock it again on the outside. You see, I didn't wish to cause you any alarm through a premature suspicion that you might have a guest. His voice hardened suddenly as he rose from the cot, and though he limped badly, stepped quickly toward them. Don't move, Dangler. Or you, Mrs. Dangler, he ordered sharply, and with a lightning movement of his hand felt for and whipped Dangler's revolver from the latter's pocket. pardon me he said and his hand was in and out of rhoda gray's pocket he tossed the two weapons coolly over onto the cot well dangler he smiled grimly there's quite a change in the last few hours isn't there dangler made no answer his face was ashen his little black eyes like those of a cornered rat and as though searching for some avenue of escape were darting hunted glances around the garret Rhoda Gray, the first shock of surprise gone, leaned back against the war-stand with an air of composure that she did not altogether feel. What was the adventurer going to do? True, she need have no fear of personal violence. She had only to disclose herself. But there were other considerations.

She saw that reckoning of her own with Dangler at an end, though. Yes, perhaps the adventurer would become her ally in that matter. but then there was something else. The adventurer was a thief, and she could not let him get away with those packages of banknotes up there behind the trap door and the ceiling, if she could help it.

That was perhaps what he had come for, and... Her mind seemed to tumble into chaos. She did not know what to do. She stared at the adventurer. He was still dressed as the pug, though the eye patch was gone, and there was no longer any sign

of the artificial facial disfigurement. The adventurers spoke again. Won't you sit down, Mrs. Dangler? He pushed the single chair the Garrett possessed toward her and shrugged his shoulders as she remained motionless. You'll pardon me, then, if I sat down myself. He appropriated the chair and faced them, his revolver dangling with ominous carelessness in his hand.

I've had a rather upsetting experience this evening, and I am afraid I am still a little the worse for it. As perhaps you know, Dangler. You damn traitor, Dangler burst out wildly. I... Quite so, said the adventurer smoothly, but we'll get to that in a minute. Do you mind if I inflict a little story on you?

I promise you it won't take long. It's a little personal history, which I think will be interesting to both of you. But, in any case, as my hosts, I'm sure you will be polite enough to listen. It concerns the murder of a man named Deemer, but in order that you may understand my interest in the matter, I must go back a little further. Perhaps I even ought to introduce myself. My name, my real name,

you know, is David Holt. My father was in the American consular service in India when I was about 10. He eventually left it and went into business there through the advice of a very warm friend of his. A certain very rich and very powerful Raja in the state of Chota Nagpur, in the province of Bengal, where we then lived. I became an equally... intimate friend of the Rajah's son, and, do I bore you, Dangler? Dangler was crouched like an animal, his head drawn into his shoulders, his hands behind him, with fingers twisting and gripping at the edge of the war stand. What's your proposition, he snarled?

Curse you, name your price, and have done with it. You're as big a crook as I am. You are impatient, the adventurer's shoulders went up again. In due time the Raja decided that a trip through Europe and back, home through America would round out his son's education and broaden and fit him for his future duties in a way that nothing else would. It was also decided, I need hardly say to my intense delight, that I should accompany him. We come now to our journey through the United States. You see, Dangler, I am omitting everything but the essential details. In a certain city in the Middle West,

I think you will remember it well, Dangler, the young Raja met with an accident. He was out riding in the outskirts of town. His horse took fright and dashed for the riverbank. He was an excellent horseman, but, pitched from his seat, his foot became tangled in the stirrup, and as he hung there head down, a blow from the horse's hoof rendered him unconscious, and he was being dragged along,

when a man by the name of Deemer, at risk of his own life, save the Raj's son. The horse plunged over the bank and into the water with both of them. They were both nearly drowned. deemer, let me say in passing, did one of the bravest things that any man ever did. Submerged, half drowned himself, he stayed with the maddened animal until he had succeeded in freeing the unconscious man. All this was some two years ago. The adventurer paused. Rhoda Gray, hanging on his words, was leaning tensely forward. It seemed as though some great

dawning wonderment was lifting her out of herself, making her even unconscious of her surroundings. the raj's son remained at the hotel there for several days to recuperate continued the adventurer deliberately and during that time he saw a great deal of deemer and naturally so did i and incidentally dangler though i thought nothing much of it then i saw something of you and something of mrs dangler there too though if she will permit me to say it in a more becoming costume than she is now wearing once more he shrugged his shoulders as dangler snarled yes yes i will hurry i am almost through. While it was not made public throughout the country, inasmuch as the Raja's son was more or less an official guest of the government, the details of the accident were of course known locally, as also was the fact that the young Raja, in token of his gratitude, had presented Deemer with a collection of jewels of almost priceless worth. We resumed our journey. Deemer, who was a man in very moderate circumstances, and who had probably never had any means in his

life before, went to New York, presumably to have his first real holiday, and, as it turned out, to dispose of the stones, or at least a portion of them. When we reached the coast, we received two advices containing very ill news. The first, an urgent message to return instantly to India on account of the old Raj's serious illness. The second was to the effect that Deemer had been murdered by a woman in New York, and that the jewels had been stolen. Again, the adventurer paused. Again, the and eyeing Dangler smiled, not pleasantly. I will not attempt to explain to you, he went on, the young Raja's feelings when he heard that the gift he had given D'emer in return for his own life had cost Demer his.

Nor will I attempt to explain the racial characteristics of the people of whom the young Raja was one and who do not lightly forget or forgive. But an eye for an eye, Dangler, you will understand that. if it cost all he had there should be justice he could not stay himself so i stayed because he made me swear i would and because he made me swear that i would never allow the chase to lag until the murderers were found and so i came east again i remember you dangler that on several occasions when i had come upon deemer unawares you sometimes accompanied by a woman and sometimes not had been lurking in the background i went to cloron the house detective at the hotel here in New York where Deemer was murdered. He described the woman. She was the same woman that had been with you.

I went to the authorities and showed my credentials, with which the young Raja had seen to it, I was supplied from very high sources indeed. I did not wish to interfere with the authorities in their handling of the case, but, on the other hand, I had no wish to sit down idly and watch them, and it was necessary, therefore, that I should protect myself in anything I did. I also made myself known to one of New York's assistant district attorneys, who was an old friend of my father's. And then, Dangler, I started out after you. I discovered you after about a month. Then I wormed myself into your gang as the pug.

That took about a year. I was almost another year with you as an accepted member of the gang. You know what happened during that period? A little while ago I found out that the woman we wanted, with you, Dangler, was your wife, living in hiding in this garret as gypsy Nan. But the jewels themselves were still missing. Tonight they are not. A friend of mine, very much misjudged publicly, I might say, has them, and has told me that they would be handed to the police. And so, Dangler, after coming here tonight, I sent the sparrow out to gather together a few of the authorities who are interested in the case. my friend the assistant district attorney,

Clorin the house detective, rough work of headquarters, who on one occasion was very interested in Gypsy Nan, and enough men to make the round of arrests. They should be conveniently hidden across the road now, and waiting for my signal. My idea, you see, was to allow Mrs. Dangler to enter here

without having her suspicions aroused, and to see that she did not get away again if she arrived before those who were duly qualified, which I am not, to arrest her did. Also, in view of what transpired earlier this evening, I must confess I was a little anxious about those several years accumulation of stolen funds up there in the ceiling. As I said at the beginning, I hardly expected the luck to get you both at the same time, though we should have got you, Dangler, and every one of the rest of the gang before morning, and—' You, Rota Gray whispered, you are not a thief?

brain and soul seemed on fire. It seemed as though she had striven to voice those words a dozen times since he had been speaking, but that she had been afraid, afraid that this was not true, this great, wonderful thing, that it could not be true. You—you are not a thief? The adventurer's face lost its immobility. He half froze from his chair, staring at her in a startled way, but it was Dangler now who spoke. It's a lie, he screamed. screamed out. It's a lie. The man's reason appeared to be almost unhinged. A mad terror seemed to possess him. It's all a lie. I never heard of this Raja bunk before in my life. I never heard of Damer or any jewels before. You lie. I tell you, you lie. You can't prove it. You can't. But I can, said Rota

gray in a low voice. The shawl fell from her shoulders. From her blouse she took the package of jewels and held them out to the adventurer. Here are the stones. I got them from where you had put them in Old Lertz's room. I was hidden there all the time last night. She was removing her spectacles and her wig of tangled gray hair as she spoke, and now she turned full face upon Dangler.

I heard you discussed Deemer's murder with your brother last night, and planned to get rid of Clorin, who you thought was the only existing witness you need fear, and, Great God, the adventurer cried out. you rhoda the white mall i-i don't understand though i can see you are not the woman who originally masqueraded as gypsy nan for i knew her as i said by sight he was on his feet now his face aflame with a great light he took a step toward her wait she said hurriedly she glanced at dangler the man's face was blanched his body seemed to have shriveled up and there was a light in his eyes as they held upon her that were a light in his eyes as they held upon her that was a man's face. was near to the borderland of insanity.

That night at Scarbalov's, she said, and tried to hold her voice in control. Gypsy Nan, this man's wife, died that night in the hospital. I found her here, sick, and I had promised not to defulge her secret. I helped her get to the hospital. She was dying. She was penitent in a way. She wanted to prevent a crime that she said was to be perpetrated that night, but she would not inform on her accomplices. She begged me to forsoll them and return the money anonymously the next day.

That was the choice I had, either to allow the crime to be carried out or elsewhere to act alone in return for the information that would enable me to keep the money away from the thieves without bringing the police into it. I was caught. You—you saved me from Rough Rourke, but he followed me. I put on Gypsy Nans closed and managed to outwit him. I had had no opportunity to return the money, which would have been proof of my innocence. The only way I could prove it then was to try and find the authors of the crime myself.

I have lived since then as Gypsy Nan, fighting this hideous gang of Danglers here to try and save myself, and to-night I thought I could see my way clear. I knew enough at last about this man to make him give me a written statement that it was a pre-arranged plan to rob Scarbalov. that would substantiate my story. And, she looked again at Dangler. The man was still crouched there, eyeing her with that same mad light in his eyes. And he must be made to, to do it now for— But why didn't you ask me, cried the adventurer?

You knew me as the pug, and therefore must believe that I, too, knew all about it. Yes, she said, and turned her head away to hide the color she felt was mounting in her cheeks. I thought of that. but I thought you were a thief, and, and your testimony wouldn't have been much good unless with it I could have handed you too over to the police, as I intended to do with Dangler, and, and I, I couldn't do that, and, oh, don't you see, she ended desperately. Rhoda, Rhoda, there was a glad, buoyant note in the adventurer's voice. Yes, I see. Well, I can prove it for you now without any of those fears on my behalf to worry you. i went to scarbolov's myself knowing their plan to do exactly what you did i did not know you then and as rough rorke who was there because as i heard later his suspicions had been aroused through seeing some of the gang lurking around the back door in the lane the night before had taken the actual money from you I contrive to let you get away, because I was afraid you were some new factor in the game, some member of the gang I did not know about, and that I must watch, too.

Don't you understand? The jewels were still missing. I had not got the general warning that was sent out to the gang that night to lay low, for at the last moment it seems that Dangler here found out that Rough Rourke had suspicions about Scarbolov's place. He came close to her. With the muzzle of his revolver, he pushed Dangler's huddled figure back, a little further against the washstand.

Rhoda, you are clear. The assistant district attorney who had your case is the one I spoke of a few minutes ago. That night at Hayden Bonds, though I did not understand fully, I knew that you were the bravest, truest little woman

into whom God had ever breathed the breath of life. I told him the next day that there was some mistake, something strange behind it all. I told him what happened at Hayden Bonds. He agreed with me. You have never been,

been indicted. Your case has never come before the grand jury, and it never will. Rhoda, Rota, thank God for you. Thank God it has all come out right, and... Appeal of laughter, mad, insane, horrible in its perverted mirth, rang through the garret. Dangler's hands were creeping queerly up to his temples. And then, oblivious evidently in his frenzy of the revolver in the adventurer's hand, and his eye catching the weapons that lay on the cot, he made a sudden dash in that direction, and Rhoda Gray, divining his intention, sprang for the cot too at the same time. But Dangler never reached his objective. As Rhoda Gray caught up the weapons and thrust them into her pocket, she heard Dangler's furious snarl, and whirling around,

she saw the two men locked and struggling in each other's embrace. The adventurer's voice reached her, quick, imperative. Show the candle at the window, Rhoda. The sparrow is waiting for it in the yard below, then opened the door for them. A sudden terror and fear seized her. The adventurer was not fit after what he had been through tonight to cope with Dangler. He had been limping badly even a few minutes ago. It seemed to her, as she rushed across the garret and snatched up the candle that Dangler was getting the best of it even now, and the adventurer could have shot him down and been warranted in doing it. She reached the window, waved the candle frantically several times across the pane, then setting the candle down on the window ledge, she ran for the door.

She looked back again as she turned the key in the lock. With a crash, pitching over the chair, both men went to the floor, and the adventurer was underneath. She cried out in alarm, and wrenched the door open, and stood for an instant there on the threshold in a startled way. They couldn't be coming already. The sparrow hadn't had time even to get out of the yard, but there were footsteps in the hall below. Many of them. She stepped out on the landing. It was too dark to see, but... A sudden yell as she showed even in the faint light of the open Garrett door, the quicker rush of feet, reached her from below. The white mall! That's her! The white mall! She flung herself flat down, wrenching both the automatic and the revolver from her pocket.

She understood now. That was Pinky Bond's voice. It was the gang arriving to divide up the spoils, not the sparrow and the police. Her mind was racing now with lightning speed. If they got her, they would get the adventurer in there, too, before the police could intervene. She must hold this little landing where she lay now, hold those short, ladder-like steps that the oncoming footsteps from below there had almost reached. She fired once, twice, again, but high over their heads to check the rush. Yells answered her. A vicious tongue flame from a revolver. Another, and another leapt out at her from the black below. The spat, spat of bullets sounded from behind her as they struck the walls. Again she fired. They were at least more cautious now in their rush.

No one seemed anxious to be the first upon the stairs. She cast a wild glance through the open door into the garret at her side. The two forms in there, on their feet again, were spinning around and around with the strange, lurching gyrations of automaton's. And then she saw the saw the adventurer whip a terrific blow to Dangler's face, and Dangler fell and lie still, and the adventurer came leaping toward her. 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 Schlucker's voice shriek out. She jumped to her feet. Two of the gang had reached the landing and were smashing at the

adventurer. There seemed to be a swirling mob in a riot there below. The adventurer was fighting like a madman. It was hand to hand now. Quick, quick, she cried to the adventurer, jump back through the door. Oh, no, you don't. It was skinny. She could see the man's brutal face now. Oh, no, you don't, you she-devil, he shouted, and overreaching the adventurer's guard, struck at her furiously with his clubbed revolver. It's struck her a glancing blow on the head, and she reeled and staggered but recovered herself. And now it seemed as though it were another battle that she fought, and one more desperate, a battle to fight back a horrible giddiness from overpowering her, and with which her brain was

swimming, to fight it back for just a second, the fraction of a second that was needed until—until— "'Jump!' she cried again, and staggered over the threshold, and as the adventurer leapt backward beside her, she slammed the door and locked it and slid limply to the floor. When she regained consciousness she was lying on the cot. It seemed very still, very quiet in the garret. She opened her eyes. It, it must be all right, for that was the sparrow standing there watching her and shifting nervously from foot to foot, wasn't it? He couldn't be there otherwise. She held out her hand. Marty, she said and smiled with trim. lips. We—we owe you a great deal. The sparrow gulped.

Gee, you're all right again. They said it wasn't nothing, but you had me scared worsened down at the iron plant when I had to do the rough act with that gent friend of yours to stop him from crawling after you and fighting it out and queer in the whole works. You don't owe me nothing, Miss Gray. And besides, I'm getting a lot more than is coming to me, because that same gent friend of yours there says I'm going to horn in on the rewards, and I get you. guess that's going some, for they got the whole outfit from Dangler down, and the stuff up in the ceiling there, too. She turned her head. The adventurer was coming toward the cot. Better, he called cheerily? Yes, she said, quite, only I, I'd like to get away from here, from this, this horrible

place at once, and back to, to my flat, if they'll let me. Are, are they all gone? The adventurer's gray eyes lighted with a whimsical smile. Nearly all, he said softly, and, er, Sparrow, suppose you go and find a taxi. Me? Sure, of course, sure, said the sparrow hurriedly, and retreated through the door. She felt the blood, flutter face, and tried to avert it. He bent his head close to hers. Rhoda, his voice was low, passionate, I—' Wait, she said. Your friend. The assistant district attorney? Did he come? Yes, said the adventurer, but I shooed them all out. As soon as we found you were not seriously hurt. I thought you had had enough excitement for one night. He wants to see you in the morning.

To see me? She rose anxiously up on her elbow. In the morning? He was smiling at her. His hands reached out and took her face between them and made her look at him. Rhoda, he said gently, I knew tonight in the iron plant that you cared. I told him so. What he wants to see you for is to tell you he thinks that I am the luckiest man in all the world. You are clear, dear. Even Rough Rourke is singing your praises. He says you were the only woman who ever put one over on him. She did not answer for a moment, and then, with a little sob of glad surrender, she buried her face on his shoulder. It's very wonderful, she said brokenly, for, for even we, you and I, each thought the other was a, a thief and so we are thank god he whispered and lifted her head until his lips met hers we were both thieves rhoda weren't we and please god we will be all our lives for we have stolen each other's hearts

end of chapter twenty one the end of the white mall by frank l packard