The White Moll | Page 3

copies of it. Among other things, this requires that
you do not remove, alter or modify the etext or this "small print!"
statement. You may however, if you wish, distribute this etext in
machine readable binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,

including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- cessing or
hypertext software, but only so long as *EITHER*:
[*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and does *not*
contain characters other than those intended by the author of the work,
although tilde (~), asterisk (*) and underline (i) characters may be used
to convey punctuation intended by the author, and additional characters
may be used to indicate hypertext links; OR
[*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at no expense into
plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent form by the program that displays
the etext (as is the case, for instance, with most word processors); OR
[*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at no additional
cost, fee or expense, a copy of the etext in its original plain ASCII form
(or in EBCDIC or other equivalent proprietary form).
[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this "Small
Print!" statement.
[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the net profits
you derive calculated using the method you already use to calculate
your applicable taxes. If you don't derive profits, no royalty is due.
Royalties are payable to "Project Gutenberg
Association/Carnegie-Mellon University" within the 60 days following
each date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) your annual
(or equivalent periodic) tax return.
WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU
DON'T HAVE TO?
The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, scanning
machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty free copyright
licenses, and every other sort of contribution you can think of. Money
should be paid to "Project Gutenberg Association / Carnegie-Mellon
University".
*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN

ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*

This etext was prepared by Polly Stratton.

THE WHITE MOLL
by Frank Packard

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I.
NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD
II. SEVEN-THREE-NINE
III. ALIAS GYPSY NAN
IV. THE ADVENTURER
V. A SECOND VISITOR
VI. THE RENDEZVOUS
VII. FELLOW THIEVES
VIII. THE CODE MESSAGE
IX. ROOM NUMBER ELEVEN
X. ON THE BRINK
XI. SOME OF THE LESSER BREED

XII. CROOKS vs. CROOKS
XIII. THE DOOR ACROSS THE HALL
XIV. THE LAME MAN
XV. IN THE COUNCIL CHAMBER
XVI. THE SECRET PANEL
XVII. THE SILVER SPHINX
XVIII. THE OLD SHED
XIX. BREAD UPON THE WATERS
XX. A LONE HAND
XXI. THE RECKONING

I. NIGHT IN THE UNDERWORLD
It was like some shadowy pantomime: The dark mouth of an alleyway
thrown into murky relief by the rays of a distant street lamp...the swift,
forward leap of a skulking figure...a girl's form swaying and struggling
in the man's embrace. Then, a pantomime no longer, there came a half
threatening, half triumphant oath; and then the girl's voice, quiet,
strangely contained, almost imperious:
"Now, give me back that purse, please. Instantly!" The man, already
retreating into the alleyway, paused to fling back a jeering laugh.
"Say, youse've got yer nerve, ain't youse!"
The girl turned her head so that the rays of the street lamp, faint as they
were, fell full upon her, disclosing a sweet, oval face, out of which the
dark eyes gazed steadily at the man.

And suddenly the man leaned forward, staring for an instant, and then
his hand went awkwardly to touch his cap.
"De White Moll!" he mumbled deferentially. He pulled the peak of his
cap down over his eyes in a sort of shame-faced way, as though to
avoid recognition, and, stepping nearer, returned the purse.
"'Scuse me, miss," he said uneasily. "I didn't know it was youse -
honest to Gawd, I didn't! 'Scuse me, miss. Good-night!"
For a moment the girl stood there motionless, looking down the
alleyway after the retreating figure. From somewhere in the distance
came the rumble of an elevated train. It drowned out the pound of the
man's speeding footsteps; it died away itself - and now there was no
other sound. A pucker, strangely wistful, curiously perturbed, came and
furrowed her forehead into little wrinkles, and then she turned and
walked slowly on along the deserted street.
The White Moll! She shook her head a little. The attack had not
unnerved her. Why should it? It was simply that the man had not
recognized her at first in the darkness. The White Moll here at night in
one of the loneliest, as well as one of the most vicious and abandoned,
quarters of New York, was as safe and inviolate as - as - She shook her
head again. Her mind did not instantly suggest a comparison that
seemed wholly adequate. The pucker