Rhoda Gray smiled a little wearily, as, on the second floor now,
she groped her way to the rear, and began to mount a short,
ladder-like flight of steps to the attic. Gypsy Nan's lack of
cordiality did not absolve her, Rhoda Gray, from coming back
to-night to see how the woman was - to crowd one more visit on her
already over-expanded list. She had never had any personal
knowledge of Gypsy Nan before, but, in a sense, the woman was no
stranger to her. Gypsy Nan was a character known far and wide
in the under-world as one possessing an insatiable and unquenchable
thirst. As to who she was, or what she was, or where she got her
money for the gin she bought, it was not in the ethics of the Bad
Lands to inquire. She was just Gypsy Nan. So that she did not
obtrude herself too obviously upon their notice, the police
suffered her; so that she gave the underworld no reason for
complaint, the underworld accepted her at face value as one of its
own!

There was no hallway here at the head of the ladder-like stairs,
just a sort of narrow platform in front of the attic door. Rhoda
Gray, groping out with her hands again, felt for the door, and
knocked softly upon it. There was no answer. She knocked again.
Still receiving no reply, she tried the door, found it unlocked,
and, opening it, stood for an instant on the threshold. A lamp,
almost empty, ill-trimmed and smoking badly, stood on a chair
beside a cheap iron bed; it threw a dull, yellow glow about its
immediate vicinity, and threw the remainder of the garret into
deep, impenetrable shadows; but also it disclosed the motionless
form of a woman on the bed.