"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 every one of Danglar's gang. I--you are ent.i.tled 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 G.o.d!" 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 Danglar is in the hands of the police he will take the only chance for revenge 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 trussed 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 comm'!" he said excitedly. "They're comm' from a different way than we came in. I saw 'em sway 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 'em. We got about a couple of minutes, and--"

"Get those side doors open! Quick! And no noise!"' ordered Rhoda Gray tersely. 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 Danglar would be upon them before they could even cross the shed itself.

"I can crawl faster," laughed the Adventurer with bitter whimsicality.

"Give me your revolver, Miss Gray, and you two go--and G.o.d bless you!"

The Sparrow was opening the side door, but she realized now that 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 hoa.r.s.ely.

"I'm going to take the only chance there is for all of us," she answered.

She started toward the front door of the shed; but he reached out and held her back.

"You are going to take the only chance there is for me!" he cried brokenly. "You're going out there--where they are. Oh, my G.o.d! 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 G.o.d, whatever else I am, I am not coward enough to take that advantage of you. But I love you, too! Rhoda! 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 good-by, 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, stepped out and dosed it behind her.

XX. A LONE HAND

And now Rhoda Gray was in the radius of the arc lamp, and distinctly visible to any one 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--Danglar's:

"By G.o.d, it's the White Moll!"

It was the only way! She had the pack in cry now. They would pay no attention to the Adventurer while the White Moll was seemingly almost within their grasp. If she could only hold them now 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 to get away.

She was running with all her speed. She heard them behind her--the pound, 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 G.o.d, it was heavy enough; and pray G.o.d, 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 as she was obliged to carry it awkwardly in order 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 now, and there was not much farther to go, and--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 Moll within their grasp now.

She was running now 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 G.o.d, 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 in through the little locker-like opening under the decked-over bow of the half scow, half boat into which she had leaped. And 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 pa.s.sed; then she heard them at the edge of the wharf, and heard Danglar s voice.

"Watch where she comes up! She can't get away!"

A queer, wan smile twisted Rhoda Gray'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 Pinkie Bonn's now, reached her:

"It's d.a.m.ned hard to spot anything out there; the water's blacker'n h.e.l.l."

Came a savage and impatient oath from Danglar.

"She's got to come up, ain't she--or drown!" he rasped. "Maybe she's swum under the wharf, or maybe she's swum under water far enough out so's we can't see her from here. Anyway, jump into that boat there, and we'll paddle around till we get her."

Rhoda 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 b.u.mped, and again. They were probably searching around 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 s.p.a.ce, and her head was swimming.

Occasionally the oars splashed; and then, after an interminable time, the men, as though hopeless of success, and as though caution were no longer of any service, began to talk louder.

The third man was Shluker. 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 h.e.l.l'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?"

Pinkie Bonn whined:

"If he's gone too, we're crimped! The whole works is bust up! The Pug knows everything, where our money is, an' everything. They'll have us cold!"

"Close your face, Pinkie!" It was Danglar speaking, his voice hoa.r.s.e with uncontrollable rage. "Go on back, then, Shluker. Quick!"

Rhoda Gray heard the hurried splashing of the oars now; and presently she felt the b.u.mping of the boat against the wharf, and its violent rocking as the men climbed out of it again. But she did not move--save with her hand to push the folds of sailcloth 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 boot-heels on the wharf above, for instance.