“They won't follow!” panted the Adventurer. “Those shots of theirs outdoors will have alarmed the police, and they'll try and get Danglar free first. It's lucky your shot inside wasn't heard by the patrolman on the beat. I was afraid of that. But we're safe now--from Danglar's crowd, at least.” But still they ran. They crossed an intersecting street, and continued on along the lane; then swerving into the next intersecting street, moderated their pace to a rapid walk--and stopped finally only as Rhoda Gray drew suddenly into the shadows of another alley-way, and held out her hand. They were both safe now, as he had said. And there were so many reasons why, though her resolution faltered a little, she should go the rest of the way alone. She was not sure that she trusted this strange “gentleman,” who was a thief with his pockets crammed even now with the money that had lured him almost to his death; but, too, she was not altogether sure that she distrusted him. But all that was secondary. She must, as soon as she could, get back to Gypsy Nan's garret. Like that other night, she dared not take the risk that Danglar, by any chance, might return there--and find her gone after what had just happened. The man would be beside himself with fury, suspicious of everything-and suspicion would be fatal in its consequences for her. And so she must go. And she could not become Gypsy Nan again with the Adventurer looking on! “We part here,” she said a little unsteadily. “Good-night!” “Oh, I say, Miss Gray!” he protested quickly. “You don't mean that! Why, look here, I haven't had a chance to tell you what I think, or what I feel, about what you've done to-night--for me.” She shook her head. “There is nothing you need say,” she answered quietly. “We are only quits. You have done quite as much for me.” “But, see here, Miss Gray!” he pleaded. “Can't we come to some understanding? We seem to have a jolly lot in common. Is it quite necessary, really necessary, that you should keep me off at arm's-length? Couldn't you let down the bars just a little? Couldn't you tell me, for instance, where I could find you in case of--real necessity?” She shook her head again. “No,” she said. “It is impossible.” He drew a little closer. A sudden earnestness deepened his voice, made it rasp a little, as though it were not wholly within control. “And suppose, Miss Gray, that I refuse to leave you, or to let you go, now that I have you here, unless you give me more of your confidence? What then?” “The other night,” she said slowly, “you informed me, among other things, that you were a gentleman. I believed the other things.” He did not answer for a moment--and then he smiled whimsically. “You score, Miss Gray,” he murmured. “Good night, then!” she said again. “I will go by the alley here; you by the street.”