In the neighborhood of 125th 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 Danglar, a.s.suming naturally, of course, that she was conversant with it, had referred; and she did not care to ask to be directed to Jake Malley's saloon, which was the only clew 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 any 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 had begun to grow panicky with fear and dread at the time she had lost, before, finally, she found the saloon. She was quite sure that it was already more than half an hour since she had left the drug store; and that half an hour might easily mean the difference between safety and disaster, not only for the Adventurer, but for herself as well.

Danglar 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 now, 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," Danglar had said. She turned down the cross street, pa.s.sed 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 now she became aware that she was close to the river, for the sound of a pa.s.sing 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 enclose, 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 here 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 her 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 Moll, ain't it? Thank G.o.d, it's you!"

Her extended hand with the automatic fell to her side. She had recognized his voice. It wasn't Danglar, it wasn't one of the gang, or 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 goin' in there!" he answered excitedly.

"And--and, say, I was afraid I was too late. Don't you go in there! For G.o.d's sake, don't you go! They're layin' a trap for you! They're goin'

to b.u.mp 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 Danglar 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 comm'

to him on my own account too, hadn't I? That's the job I've been on ever since--tryin' to find the dirty pup. And I found him! But it wasn't until to-night, though you can believe me there weren't many joints in the old town where I didn't look for him. My luck turned to-night. I spotted him comin' 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 bein' heard and seen, and I listened. He was talkin' to a woman. I couldn't hear everything they said, and they quarreled a lot; but I heard him say something about framin' up a job to get somebody down to the old iron plant behind Jake Malley's saloon and b.u.mp 'em off, and I heard him say there wouldn't be any White Moll by morning, and I put two and two together and beat it for here."

Rhoda 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 Moll, they expected to get here; it's the man who helped me that night to clear you of the Hayden-Bond robbery that Danglar meant to make you shoulder. He risked his life to do it, Marty. They've got him a 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 Danglar guy, I've been carryin' a full kit--because I didn't know what might break, or what kind of a 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 climbin' the fence. Come on!"

Bread upon the waters! With a sense of warm grat.i.tude upon her, Rhoda Gray followed the ex-convict. They made their way through the fence.

A long, low building, a storage 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 there playing on the black, mirror-like surface of the water. Farther on, over beyond the shed, the yard of the plant, dotted with other buildings and those spidery 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 street arc lamps it was quite light.

Rhoda Gray had paused in almost hopeless 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 from over 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 listenin' 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--hurry!"

They ran together now, 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'n a minute."

Rhoda 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 Danglar, 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 old iron casting, more bulky in shape than in weight, though she found it none too light to lift comfortably. She ran on. A wharf projected out, she found, from this end 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 tarpaulin, 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!

Rhoda Gray turned and ran back. The Sparrow, with a grunt of satisfaction, was just opening the door. She stepped through the doorway. The Sparrow followed.

"Close it!" said Rhoda Gray, under her breath. She felt her heart beat 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 on her knees beside him. It was the Adventurer.

She spoke to him. He did not answer. And then she remembered what Danglar had said, and she 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 it played over him. Perhaps the whiteness of the ray itself exaggerated it, but his face held a deathly pallor; his eyes were closed; and 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."

The Sparrow handed her his knife, and hurried back to the door.

She worked in the darkness now. 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 Danglar and those of the gang with him were already in the vicinity, of the light bringing them all the 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 the 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 the bonds. He was free now. She cast them off.

He spoke then--thickly, with great difficulty.

"It's you, the White Moll, isn't it?"

"Yes," she answered.

He raised himself up 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 G.o.d's sake, get away!" he cried. "Danglar'll be here at any minute. It's you he wants. He thinks you know where some--some jewels are, and that I--I--"

"I know all about Danglar," 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.