“You are a thief, a robber!” The old gray-bearded figure rocked on its feet and kept wringing its hands. “Get out of here! Get out! Do you hear? Get out! You come to steal from a poor old man, and--” “Must we go all over that again?” interrupted the Adventurer wearily. “I have not come to steal anything; I have simply come to sell you these papers, which I am quite sure, once you control yourself and give the matter a little calm consideration, you are really most anxious to buy--at any price. “It's a lie!” the other croaked hoarsely. “Those papers are a lie! I am innocent. And I haven't got any money. None! I haven't any. I am poor--an old man--and poor.” Rhoda Gray felt the blood flush hotly to her cheeks. Somehow she could feel no sympathy for that cringing figure in there; but she felt a hot resentment toward that dapper, immaculately dressed and self-possessed young man, who stood there, silently now, tapping the papers with provoking coolness against the edge of the plain deal table in front of him. And somehow the resentment seemed to take a most peculiar phase. She resented the fact that she should feel resentment, no matter what the man did or said. It was as though, instead of anger, impersonal anger, at this low, miserable act of his, she felt ashamed of him. Her hand clenched fiercely as she crouched there against the wall. It wasn't true! She felt nothing of the sort! Why should she be ashamed of him? What was he to her? He was frankly a thief, wasn't he? And he was at his pitiful calling now--down to the lowest dregs of it. What else did she expect? Because he had the appearance of a gentleman, was it that her sense of gratitude for what she owed him had made her, deep down in her soul, actually cherish the belief that he really was one--made her hope it, and nourish that hope into belief? Tighter her hand clenched. Her lips parted, and her breath came in short, hard inhalations. Was it true? Was it all only an added misery, where it had seemed there could be none to add to her life in these last few days? Was it true that there was no price she would not have paid to have found him in any role but this abased one that he was playing now? The Adventurer broke the silence. “Quite so, my dear Mr. Viner!” he agreed smoothly. “It would appear, then, from what you say that I have been mistaken--even stupidly so, I am afraid. And in that case, I can only apologize for my intrusion, and, as you so delicately put it, get out.” He slipped the papers, with a philosophic shrug of his shoulders, into his inside coat pocket, and took a backward step toward the door. “I bid you good-night, then, Mr. Viner. The papers, as you state, are doubtless of no value to you, so you can, of course, have no objection to my handing them over to the police, who--” “No, no! Wait! Wait!” the other whispered wildly. “Wait!” “Ah!” murmured the Adventurer. “I--I'll”--the bent old figure was clawing at his beard--“I'll--”