Rough Rorke laughed gratingly.

"That you, Nan, my dear?"

"Who d'youse t'ink it is-me gran'mother?" demanded Rhoda Gray
caustically. "Who are youse?"

"Rorke," said Rorke shortly. "I guess you know, don't you?"

"Is dat so?" snorted Rhoda Gray. "Well den, youse can beat it - hop
it - on de jump! Wot t'hell right have youse got bustin' into me
room at dis time of night - eh? I ain't done nothin'!"

Rough Rorke, his feet scuffling to feel the way, came forward.

"Cut it out!" he snarled. "I ain't the only visitor you've got!
It's not you I want; it's the White Moll."

"Wot's dat got to do wid me?" Rhoda Gray flung back hotly. "She
ain't here, is she?"

"Yes, she's here!" Rough Rorke's voice held an ugly menace. "I lost
her around the corner, but a woman from a window across the street,
who heard the row, saw her run into this house. She ain't downstairs
- so you can figure the rest out the same way I do."

"De woman was kiddin' youse!" Rhoda Gray, alias Gypsy Nan, cackled
derisively. "Dere ain't nobody here but me."