The White Moll HTML version
A Second Visitor
Mechanically Rhoda 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 far down over his eyes, stood on the threshold, surveying the interior of the garret.
The Adventurer 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?"
Rhoda 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 youse ask him yerself?" inquired Rhoda Gray truculently. "I dunno."
"You don't, eh?" The man had halted close to where the candle stood on the floor
between himself and the Adventurer. "Well, then, I guess we'll find out!" He was peering
in the Adventurer's direction, and now there came a sudden savage scowl to his face. "It
seems to me I've seen those clothes somewhere before, and I guess now 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 Danglar, isn't it? I am surely not
mistaken. Parson Danglar, alias - ah! Please don't do that!"
It seemed to Rhoda Gray that it happened in the space of time it might take a watch to
tick: The newcomer stooping to the floor, and lifting the candle with the 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 candle wick and snuffed it out, and the garret
was in darkness.
There was a savage oath, a snarl of rage from the man whom the Adventurer had
addressed as Danglar; then an instant s silence; and then the Adventurer's voice - from the