in the direction you came from. We'll have a look at her on the
way." He started briskly forward with Rhoda Gray beside him. "Who
is she d'ye know?" he asked.

"She said her name was Charlotte Green," Rhoda Gray replied.
"That's all she could, or would, say about herself."

"Then she ain't a regular around here, or I guess you'd know her!"
grunted the policeman.

Rhoda Gray made no answer.

They reached Gypsy Nan. The officer bent over her, then picked her
up and carried her to the tenement doorway.

"I guess you're right, all right! She's bad! I'll send in a call,"
he said, and started on the run down the street.

Gypsy Nan had lost consciousness. Rhoda Gray settled herself on
the doorstep, supporting the woman's head in her lap. Her face had
set again in grim, hard, perplexed lines. There seemed something
unnatural, something menacingly weird, something even uncanny about
it all. Perhaps it was because it seemed as though she could so
surely foresee the end. Gypsy Nan would not live through the night.
Something told her that. The woman's masquerade, for whatever
purpose it had been assumed, was over. "You'll play the game,
won't you? You'll see me through?" There seemed something
pitifully futile in those words now!

The officer returned.