Failing to find any one here but herself, certain now that the White
Moll was here, only a fool could have failed in his deduction - and
Rough Rorke was not a fool. Her wits against Rough Rorke's! There
was the time left her while the garret was still in darkness, just
that, no more!

With a quick spring she leaped from the bed, seized the chair,
sending the lamp to the floor, and, dragging the chair after her to
make as much noise and confusion as she could, she rushed for the
door, screeching at the top of her voice:

"Run, dearie, run! Run!" She was scuffling with her feet,
clattering the chair, as she wrenched the door open. And then, in
her own voice: "Nan, I won't! I won't let you stand for this, I -"

Then as Gypsy Nan again: "Run, dearie! Don't youse mind old Nan!"
She banged the door shut, locked it, and whipped out the key. It had
taken scarcely a second. She was still screeching at the top of her
voice to cover the absence of flying footers on the stairs. "Run,
dearie, run! Run!"

And then, in the darkness, the candle still unlighted, Rough Rorke
was on her like a madman. With a sweep of his arm he sent her
crashing to the floor, and wrenched at the door. The next instant
he was on her again.

"The key! Give me that key!" he roared.

For answer she flung it from her. It fell with a tinkle on the
floor at the far end of the garret. The man was beside himself