“I hear,” she said indifferently. “But would you mind telling me how you are going to do it? I might believe you then--perhaps!” “Damn you, Bertha!” he exploded. “Sometimes I'd like to wring that pretty neck of yours; and sometimes!”--he moved suddenly toward her--“I would sell my soul for you, and--” She retreated from him coolly. “Never mind about that! This isn't a love scene!” she purred caustically. “And as for the other, save it for the White Moll. What makes you think you've got her at last?” “I don't think--I know.” He stood gnawing at his lips, eying her uncertainly, half angrily, half hungrily. And then he shrugged his shoulders. “Listen!” he said. “I've got some one else, too! And I know now where the leak that's queered every one of our games and put the White Moll wise to every one of our plans beforehand has come from. I guess you'll believe me now, won't you? We've got that dude pal of hers fastened up tighter than the night he fastened me with his cursed handcuffs! Do you know who that same dude pal is?” He laughed in an ugly, immoderate way. “You don't, of course, so I'll tell you. It's the Pug!” Rhoda Gray did not answer. It was growing dark here in the shed now--perhaps that was why the man's form blended suddenly into the doorway and wall, and blurred before her. She tried to think, but there seemed to have fallen upon her a numbed and agonized stupefaction. There was no confusing this issue. Danglar had found out that the Adventurer was the Pug. And it meant--oh, what did it mean? They would kill him. Of course, they would kill him! The Adventurer, discovered, would be safer at the mercy of a pack of starved pumas, and...