And then again Rhoda Gray stared, and stared now as though bereft of her senses; and upon her crept, cold and deadly, a fear and a terror that seemed to engulf her very soul itself. That head that looked like a jack-in-the-box was gone; the gray beard seemed suddenly to be shorn away, and the gray hair too, and to fall and flutter to the table, and the bent shoulders were not bent any more, and it wasn't Nicky Viner at all--only a clever, a wonderfully clever, impersonation that had been helped out by the poor and meager light. And terror gripped at her again, for it wasn't Nicky Viner. Those narrowed eyes, that leering, gloating face, those working lips were Danglar's. And, as from some far distance, dulled because her consciousness was dulled, she heard Danglar speak. “Perhaps you'll take your hand out of that right-hand coat pocket of yours now!” sneered Danglar. “And take it out--empty!” The Adventurer's face, as nearly as Rhoda Gray could see, had not moved a muscle. He obeyed now, coolly, with a shrug of his shoulders. Danglar appeared to experience no further trouble with the surface of the table now. He suddenly jerked it almost off, displaying what Rhoda Gray now knew to be the remainder of the large package of banknotes he had taken from the garret earlier in the evening. “Help yourself to the rest!” he invited caustically. “There isn't fifty thousand there, but you are quite welcome to all there is--in return for those papers.” The Adventurer was apparently obsessed with an inspection of his finger nails; he began to polish those of one hand with the palm of the other. “Quite so, Danglar!” he said coolly. “I admit it--I am ashamed of myself. I hate to think that I could be caught by you; but I suppose I can find some self-extenuating circumstances. You seem to have risen to an amazingly higher order of intelligence. In fact, for you, Danglar, it is not at all bad!” He went on polishing his nails. “Would you mind taking that thing out of my face? Even you ought to be able to handle it effectively a few inches farther away.” Under the studied insult Danglar's face had grown a mottled red. “Damn you!” he snarled. “I'll take it away when I get good and ready; and by that time I'll have you talking out of the other side of your mouth! See? Do you know what you're up against, you slick dude?” “I have a fairly good imagination,” replied the Adventurer smoothly. “You have, eh?” mimicked Danglar wickedly. “Well, you don't need to imagine anything! I'll give you the straight goods so's there won't be any chance of a mistake. And never mind about the higher order of intelligence! It was high enough, and a little to spare, to make you walk into the trap! I hoped I'd get you both, you and your she-pal, the White Moll; that you'd come here together--but I'm not kicking. It's a pretty good start to get you!” “Is it necessary to make a speech?” complained the Adventurer monotonously. “I can't help listening, of course.”