"Youse don't say!" observed Rhoda Gray, alias Gypsy Nan. "An' wot's
dat w' en it's at home?"

"In my case, first of all a gentleman, I trust," he said pleasantly;
"after that, I do not quarrel with the accepted definition of the
term - though it is not altogether complimentary."

Rhoda Gray scowled. As Rhoda Gray, she might have answered him; as
Gypsy Nan, it was too subtle, and she was beyond her depth.

"Youse look to me like a slick crook!" she said bluntly.

"I will admit," he said, "that I have at times, perhaps, taken
liberties with the law."

"Well, den," she snapped, "cut out de high-brow stuff, an' come
across wid wot brought youse here. I ain't holdin' no reception.
Who's de friend youse was talkin' about?"

The Adventurer looked around him, and lowered his voice.

"The White Moll," he said.

Rhoda Gray eyed the man for a long minute; then she shook her head.

"I take back wot I said about youse bein' a slick crook," she
announced coolly. "I guess youse're a dick from headquarters.
Well, youse have got de wrong number - see? Me fingers are crossed.
Try next door!"