It was almost the end now. To-night, she would keep the appointment Danglar had given her--and keep it ahead of time. It was almost the end. Her lips set tightly. The Adventurer had been warned. There was nothing now to stand in the way of her going to the police, save only the substantiation of that one point in her own story which Danglar must supply. Her transformation completed, she reached in under the flooring and took out the package of jewels--they would help very materially when she faced Danglar!--and, though it was somewhat large, tucked it inside her blouse. It could not be noticed. The black, greasy shawl hid it effectively. She stepped out into the lane, and from there to the street, and began to make her way across town. She did not have to search for Danglar to-night. She was to meet him at Matty's at midnight, and it was not more than halfpast eleven now. Three hours and a half! Was that all since at eight o'clock, as nearly as she could place it, he had left her in the lane? It seemed as many years; but it was only twenty minutes after eleven, she had noticed, when she had left the subway on her return a few minutes ago. Her hand clenched suddenly. She was to meet him at Matty's--and, thereafter, if it took all night, she would not leave him until she had got him alone somewhere and disclosed herself. The man was a coward in soul. She could trust to the effect upon him of an automatic in the hands of the White Mall to make him talk. Rhoda Gray walked quickly. It was not very far. She turned the corner into the street where Danglar's deformed brother, Matty, cloaked the executive activities of the gang with his cheap little notion store--and halted abruptly. The store was just ahead of her, and Danglar himself, coming out, had just closed the door. He saw her, and stepping instantly to her side, grasped her arm roughly and wheeled her about. “Come on!” he said--and a vicious oath broke from his lips. The man was in a towering, ungovernable passion. She cast a furtive glance at his face. She had seen him before in anger; but now, with his lips drawn back and working, his whole face contorted, he seemed utterly beside himself. “What's the matter?” she inquired innocently. “Wouldn't the Pug talk, or is it a case of 'another hour or so,' and--” He swung on her furiously.