The man's words ended in a gasp of surprised amazement. With a quick step forward, Rhoda Gray was in the room. Her revolver, suddenly outflung, covered the other; and her free hand, reaching behind her, closed and locked the door again.
There was an almost stupid look of bewilderment on Pinkie Bonn's face.
Rhoda Gray threw back her veil.
“My Gawd!” mumbled Pinkie Bonn—and licked his lips. “The White Moll!”
“Yes!” said Rhoda Gray tersely. “Put your hands up over your head and go over there and stand against the wall—with your face to it!”
Pinkie Bonn, like an automaton moved purely by mechanical means, obeyed.
Rhoda Gray followed him, and with the muzzle of her revolver pressed into the small of the man's back, felt rapidly over his clothes with her left hand for the bulge of his revolver. She found and possessed herself of the weapon, and, stepping back, ordered him to turn around again.
“I haven't much time,” she said icily. “I'll trouble you now for the cash you took from Marny Day and French Pete.”
“My Gawd!” he mumbled again. “You know about that!”
“Quick!” she said imperatively. “Put it on the table there, and then go back again to the wall!”