“Buy them?” suggested the Adventurer pleasantly. “Yes, I'll--I'll buy them. I--I've got a little money, only a little, all I've been able to save in years, a--a hundred dollars. “How much did you say?” inquired the Adventurer coldly. “Two hundred.” The voice was a maudlin whine. The Adventurer took another backward step toward the door. “Three hundred!” Another step. “Five--a thousand!” The Adventurer laughed suddenly. “That's better!” he said. “Where you keep a thousand, you keep the rest. Where is the thousand, Mr. Viner?” The bent figure hesitated a moment; and then, with what sounded like a despairing cry, pointed to the table. “It's there,” he whimpered. “God's curses on you, for the thief you are.” Rhoda Gray found her eyes fixed in sudden, strained fascination on the table--as, she imagined, the Adventurer's were too. It was bare of any covering, nor were there any articles on its surface, nor, as far as she could see, was there any drawer. And now the Adventurer, his right hand still in his coat pocket, and bulging there where she knew quite well it grasped his revolver, stepped abruptly to the table, facing the other with the table between them. The bent old figure still hesitated, and then, with the despairing cry again, grasped at the top of the table, and jerked it toward him. The surface seemed to slide sideways a little way, a matter of two or three inches, and then stick there; but the Adventurer, in an instant, had thrust the fingers of his left hand into the crevice. He drew out a number of loose banknotes, and thrust his fingers in again for a further supply. “Open it wider!” he commanded curtly. “I--I'm trying to,” the other mumbled, and bent down to peer under the table. “It's stuck. The catch is underneath, and--” It seemed to Rhoda Gray, gazing into that dimly lighted room, as though she were suddenly held spellbound as in some horrible and amazing trance. Like a hideous jack-in-the-box the gray head popped above the level of the table again, and quick as a flash, a revolver was thrust into the Adventurer's face; and the Adventurer, caught at a disadvantage, since his hand in his coat pocket was below the intervening table top, stood there as though instantaneously transformed into some motionless, inanimate thing, his fingers still gripping at another sheaf of banknotes that he had been in the act of scooping out from the narrow aperture.