bein' a clam! Youse heard me, didn't youse? Where is he?"
Shluker leaned abruptly forward, and looked at her in a suddenly perturbed way.
"Is there anything wrong?" he asked in a tense, lowered voice. "What makes you so anxious to know?"
Rhoda Gray laughed shortly.
"Nothin'!" she answered coolly. "I told youse once, didn't I? I got a scare readin' dem papers—an' I ain't over it yet. Dat's wot I want to know for, an' youse seem afraid to open up!"
Shluker sank back again in his chair with an air of relief.
"Oh!" he ejaculated. "Well, that's all right, then. You were beginning to give me a scare, too. I ain't playin' the clam, and I dunno where he is; but I can tell you there's nothing to worry you any more about the rest of it. He was after the White Moll last night, and it didn't come off. They pulled one on him instead, and fastened him to the fire escape the way the papers said. Skeeny and the Cricket, who were in on the play with him, didn't have time to get him loose before the bulls got there. So Danglar told them to beat it, and he handed the cops the story that was in the papers. He got away with it, all right, and they let go him to-day; but he phoned a little while ago that they were still stickin' around kind of close to him, and that I was to pass the word that the lid was to go down tight for the next few days, and"
Shluker stopped abruptly as the telephone rang, and reached for the instrument.
Rhoda Gray fumbled unnecessarily with her shawl, as the other answered the call. Failure! A curious bitterness came to her. Her plan then, for to-night
