Produced by Polly Stratton THE WHITE MOLL By Frank Packard CONTENTS CHAPTER I. NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD II. SEVEN-THREE-NINE III. ALIAS GYPSY NAN IV. THE ADVENTURER V. A SECOND VISITOR VI. THE RENDEZVOUS VII. FELLOW THIEVES VIII. THE CODE MESSAGE IX. ROOM NUMBER ELEVEN X. ON THE BRINK XI. SOME OF THE LESSER BREED XII. CROOKS vs. CROOKS XIII. THE DOOR ACROSS THE HALL XIV. THE LAME MAN XV. IN THE COUNCIL CHAMBER XVI. THE SECRET PANEL XVII. THE SILVER SPHINX XVIII. THE OLD SHED XIX. BREAD UPON THE WATERS XX. A LONE HAND XXI. THE RECKONING I. NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD It was like some shadowy pantomime: The dark mouth of an alleyway thrown into murky relief by the rays of a distant street lamp...the swift, forward leap of a skulking figure...a girl's form swaying and struggling in the man's embrace. Then, a pantomime no longer, there came a half threatening, half triumphant oath; and then the girl's voice, quiet, strangely contained, almost imperious: “Now, give me back that purse, please. Instantly!” The man, already retreating into the alleyway, paused to fling back a jeering laugh. “Say, youse've got yer nerve, ain't youse!” The girl turned her head so that the rays of the street lamp, faint as they were, fell full upon her, disclosing a sweet, oval face, out of which the dark eyes gazed steadily at the man. And suddenly the man leaned forward, staring for an instant, and then his hand went awkwardly to touch his cap. “De White Moll!” he mumbled deferentially. He pulled the peak of his cap down over his eyes in a sort of shame-faced way, as though to avoid recognition, and, stepping nearer, returned the purse. “'Scuse me, miss,” he said uneasily. “I didn't know it was youse--honest to Gawd, I didn't! 'Scuse me, miss. Good-night!” For a moment the girl stood there motionless, looking down the alleyway after the retreating figure. From somewhere in the distance came the rumble of an elevated train. It drowned out the pound of the man's speeding footsteps; it died away itself--and now there was no other sound. A pucker, strangely wistful, curiously perturbed, came and furrowed her forehead into little wrinkles, and then she turned and walked slowly on along the deserted street.