“Wot do youse mean?” She had unconsciously towered her voice. The Adventurer shrugged his shoulders whimsically. He had laid the piece of paper on his knee, and, with a small gold pencil which he had taken from his pocket, was writing something upon it. “The fact that I can assure you that, whoever else it may be, the person outside there cannot be Rough Rorke, is simply a proof that, if I had the opportunity, I could be of real assistance to the White Moll,” he said imperturbably. “Well”--a grim little smile flickered suddenly across his lips--“do you hear any one now?” Quite low, but quite unmistakably, the short, ladder-like steps just outside the door were voicing a creaky protest now as some one mounted them. Rhoda Gray did not move. It seemed as though she could hear the sudden thumping of her own heart. Who was it this time? How was she to act? What was she to say? It was so easy to make the single little slip of word or manner that would spell ruin and disaster. “Rubber heels and rubber soles,” murmured the Adventurer. “But, at that, it is extremely well done.” He held out the torn piece of paper to Rhoda Gray. “If”--he smiled significantly--“if, by any good fortune, you see the White Moll again, please give her this and let her decide for herself. It is a telephone number. She can always reach me there by asking for--the Adventurer.” He was still extending the piece of paper. “Quick!” he whispered, as the door knob rattled. V. A SECOND VISITOR Mechanically Rhoda Gray thrust the paper into the pocket of her skirt. The door swung open. A tall man, well dressed, as far as could be seen in the uncertain light, a slouch hat pulled far down over his eyes, stood on the threshold, surveying the interior of the garret. The Adventurer rose composedly to his feet--and moved slightly back out of the direct radius of the candlelight. There was silence for a moment, and then the man in the doorway laughed unpleasantly. “Hello!” he flung out harshly. “Who's the dude, Nan?” Rhoda Gray, on the edge of the bed, shrugged her shoulders. The Adventurer was standing quite at his ease, his soft hat tucked under his right arm, his hand thrust into the side pocket of his coat. She could no longer see his face distinctly. “Well?” There was a snarl in the man's voice as he advanced from the doorway. “You heard me, didn't you? Who is he?” “Why don't youse ask him yerself?” inquired Rhoda Gray truculently. “I dunno.” “You don't, eh?” The man had halted close to where the candle stood on the floor between himself and the Adventurer. “Well, then, I guess we'll find out!” He was peering in the Adventurer's direction, and now there came a sudden savage scowl to his face. “It seems to me I've seen those clothes somewhere before, and I guess now we'll take a look at your face so that there won't be any question about recognition the next time we meet.” The Adventurer laughed softly.