“Say, dis is de limit!” the Pug growled out suddenly. “Dere's more damned knots in dis board dan I ever save in any piece of wood in me life before, an'--” He drew back abruptly from the wall, twisting his head sharply around. “D'ye hear dat, Pinkie!” he whispered tensely. “Quick! Put out de light! Quick! Dere's some one down at de front door!” Rhoda Gray felt the blood ebb from her face. She had heard nothing save the rattle and bump of a wagon along the street below; but she had had reason to appreciate on a certain occasion before that the Pug, alias the Adventurer, was possessed of a sense of hearing that was abnormally acute. If it was some one else--who was it? What would it mean to her? What complication here in this room would result? What... The light was out. Pinkie Bonn had stepped silently across the room to the gas jet near the door. Her eyes, strained, she could just make out the Adventurer's form kneeling by the wall, and then--was she mad! Was the faint night-light of the city filtering in through the window mocking her? The Adventurer, hidden from his companion by the washstand, was working swiftly and without a sound--or else it was a phantasm of shadows that tricked her! A door in the wall opened; the Adventurer thrust in his hand, drew out a package, and, leaning around, slipped it quickly into the bottom of the washstand, where, with its little doors, there was a most convenient and very commodious apartment. He turned again then, seemed to take something from his pocket and place it in the opening in the wall, and then the panel closed. It had taken scarcely more than a second. Rhoda Gray brushed her hand across her eyes. No, it wasn't a phantasm! She had misjudged the Adventurer--quite misjudged him! The Adventurer, even with one of the gang present--to furnish an unimpeachable alibi for him!--was plucking the gang's fruit again for his own and undivided enrichment! Pinkie Bonn's voice came in a guarded whisper from the doorway. “I don't hear nothin'!” said Pinkie Bonn anxiously. The Pug tiptoed across the room, and joined his companion. She could not see them now, but apparently they stood together by the door listening. They stood there for a long time. Occasionally she heard them whisper to each other; and then finally the Pug spoke in a less guarded voice. “All right,” he said. “I guess me nerves are gettin' de creeps. Shoot de light on again, an' let's get back on de job. An' youse can take a turn dis time pushin' de knots, Pinkie; mabbe youse'll have better luck.” The light went on again. Both men came back across the room, and now Pinkie Bonn knelt at the wall while the Pug leaned over the washstand watching him. Pinkie Bonn was not immediately successful; the Pug's nerves, of which he had complained, appeared shortly to get the better of him. “Fer Gawd's sake, hurry up!” he urged irritably. “Or else lemme take another crack at it, Pinkie, an'...”