"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 me off at 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 rasp a little, as though it were not wholly within control.
"And suppose, Miss Gray, that I refuse to leave you, or to 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, as we have met three times now through the same peculiar 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 Nan's 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 in that, I left a message for you in the hope that, since she had tricked Rorke 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 the other night makes Gypsy Nan's 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 then in haunting the vicinity of Gypsy Nan's house to warn you away in case you should try to reach her."
"I - I don't understand," she said a little uncertainly.
"It is 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 Gypsy Nan than you are."
Rhoda Gray caught her breath.
"Not Gypsy Nan!" she repeated - and fought to keep her voice in control. "Who is she, then?"
The Adventurer laughed shortly.
"She is quite closely connected with that gentleman we left airing himself on the fire escape," he said grimly. "Gypsy Nan is Danglar'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 dispassionately? "I will remember it. But 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. Danglar's wife! It was dark here in the alley-way, and she did not know where it led to.
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! Gypsy Nan was Danglar's wife.
