She scuffled slowly, but without hesitation, up the shop. She intended to employ the vernacular that was part of the disguise of Gypsy Nan. If Shluker, for that was certainly Shluker there, gave the slightest indication that he took it amiss, her explanation would come glibly and logically enough--she had to be careful; how was she supposed to know whether there was any one else about, or not! “'Ello!” she said curtly, as she reached the doorway of the little office, and paused on the threshold. Shifty little black eyes met hers, as the bald head fringed with untrimmed gray hair, was lifted from a battered desk, and the wizened face of an old man was disclosed under the rays of the tin-shaded lamp. He grinned suddenly, showing discolored teeth--and instinctively she drew back a little. He was an uninviting and exceedingly disreputable old creature. “You, eh, Nan!” he grunted. “So you've come to see old Jake Shluker, have you? 'Tain't often you come! And what's brought you, eh?” “I can read, can't I?” Rhoda Gray glanced furtively around her, then leaned toward the other. “Say, wot's de lay? I been scared stiff all day. Is dat straight wot de papers said about youse-know-who gettin' pinched?” A scowl settled over Shluker's features as he nodded. “Yes; it's straight enough,” he answered. “Damn 'em, one and all! But they let him out again.” “Dat's de stuff!” applauded Rhoda Gray earnestly. “Where is he, den?” Shluker shook his head. “He didn't say,” said Shluker. “He didn't say?” echoed Rhoda Gray, a little tartly. “Wot d'youse mean, he didn't say? Have youse seen him?” Shluker jerked his hand toward the telephone instrument on the desk. “He was talkin' to me a little while ago.” “Well, den”--Rhoda Gray risked a more peremptory tone--“where is he?” Shluker shook his head again. “I dunno,” he said. “I'm tellin' you, he didn't say.” Rhoda Gray studied the wizened and repulsive old creature, that, huddled in his chair in the dirty, boxed-in little office, made her think of some crafty old spider lurking in its web for unwary prey. Was the man lying to her? Was he in any degree suspicious? Why should he be? He had given not the slightest sign that her uncouth language was either unexpected or unnecessary. Perhaps to Shluker, and perhaps to all the rest of the gang--except Danglar!--Gypsy Nan was accepted at face value as just Gypsy Nan; and, if that were so, the idea of playing up a natural wifely anxiety on Danglar's behalf could not be used unless Shluker gave her a lead in that direction. But, all that apart, she was getting nowhere. She bit her lips in disappointment. She had counted a great deal on this Shluker here, and Shluker was not proving the fount of information, far from it, that she had hoped he would. She tried again-even more peremptorily than before. “Aw, open up!” she snapped. “Wot's de use bein' a clam! Youse heard me, didn't youse? Where is he?”