The White Moll HTML version

Dread Upon The Waters
For a moment after Danglar had gone, Rhoda Gray stood motionless; and then, the
necessity for instant action upon her, she moved quickly toward the doorway herself.
There was only one thing she could do, just one; but she must be sure first that Danglar
was well started on his way. She reached the doorway, looked out - and suddenly caught
her breath in a low, quick inhalation, In the semi-darkness she could just make out
Danglar's form, perhaps twenty-five yards away now, heading along the lane toward the
street; but behind Danglar, 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 Danglar. 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 Danglar - even if it were one of the police? For, supposing
that the man who was shadowing Danglar was a plain-clothes man, and suppose he even
followed Danglar and the rest of the gang to the old iron plant, and suppose that with the
necessary assistance he rounded them all up, and in that sense effected 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 would testify as
the sole 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 prison 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 Moll, 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 Danglar 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 herself before Danglar 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 Danglar 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 any one 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' Danglar 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 evade the watchman - only, first, the lost revolver, the one safeguard against an
adverse turn of fortune, must be replaced, and that was where she was going now. She
knew, from her associations with the underworld as the White Moll in the old days,