THE CRAIG KENNEDY SERIES

CONSTANCE DUNLAP

BY

ARTHUR B. REEVE

WITH FRONTISPIECE

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I THE FORGERS

 II THE EMBEZZLERS

 III THE GUN RUNNERS

 IV THE GAMBLERS

 V THE EAVESDROPPERS

 VI THE CLAIRVOYANTS

 VII THE PLUNGERS

VIII THE ABDUCTORS

 IX THE SHOPLIFTERS

 X THE BLACKMAILERS

 XI THE DOPE FIENDS

 XII THE FUGITIVES

CONSTANCE DUNLAP

CHAPTER I

THE FORGERS

There was something of the look of the hunted animal brought to bayat last in Carlton Dunlap's face as he let himself into hisapartment late one night toward the close of the year. 

On his breath was the lingering odor of whisky, yet in his eye andhand none of the effects. He entered quietly, although there was noapparent reason for such excessive caution. Then he locked the doorwith the utmost care, although there was no apparent reason forcaution about that, either. 

Even when he had thus barricaded himself, he paused to listen withall the elemental fear of the cave man who dreaded the footsteps ofhis pursuers. In the dim light of the studio apartment he lookedanxiously for the figure of his wife. Constance was not there, asshe had been on other nights, uneasily awaiting his return. What wasthe matter? His hand shook a trifle now as he turned the knob of thebedroom door and pushed it softly open. 

She was asleep. He leaned over, not realizing that her every facultywas keenly alive to his presence, that she was acting a part. 

"Throw something around yourself, Constance, " he whispered hoarselyinto her ear, as she moved with a little well-feigned start at beingsuddenly wakened, "and come into the studio. There is something Imust tell you tonight, my dear. "

"My dear!" she exclaimed bitterly, now seeming to rouse herself withan effort and pretending to put back a stray wisp of her dark hairin order to hide from him the tears that still lingered on herflushed cheeks. "You can say that, Carlton, when it has been everynight the same old threadbare excuse of working at the office untilmidnight?"

She set her face in hard lines, but could not catch his eye. 

"Carlton Dunlap, " she added in a tone that rasped his very soul, "Iam nobody's fool. I may not know much about bookkeeping andaccounting, but I can add--and two and two, when the same man butdifferent women compose each two, do not make four, according to myarithmetic, but three, from which, "--she finished almosthysterically the little speech she had prepared, but it seemed tofall flat before the man's curiously altered manner--"from which Ishall subtract one. "

She burst into tears. 

"Listen, " he urged, taking her arm gently to lead her to an easy-chair. 

"No, no, no!" she cried, now thoroughly aroused, with eyes thatagain snapped accusation and defiance at him, "don't touch me. Talkto me, if you want to, but don't, don't come near me. " She was nowfacing him, standing in the high-ceilinged "studio, " as they calledthe room where she had kept up in a desultory manner for her ownamusement the art studies which had interested her before hermarriage. "What is it that you want to say? The other nights yousaid nothing at all. Have you at last thought up an excuse? I hopeit is at least a clever one. "

"Constance, " he remonstrated, looking fearfully about. Instinctivelyshe felt that her accusation was unjust. Not even that had dulledthe hunted look in his face. "Perhaps--perhaps if it were that ofwhich you suspect me, we could patch it up. I don't know. But, Constance, I--I must leave for the west on the first train in themorning. " He did not pause to notice her startled look, but racedon. "I have worked every night this week trying to straighten outthose accounts of mine by the first of the year and--and I can't doit. An expert begins on them in a couple of days. You must call upthe office to-morrow and tell them that I am ill, tell themanything. I must get at least a day or two start before they--"

"Carlton, " she interrupted, "what is the matter? What have you--"

She checked herself in surprise. He had been fumbling in his pocketand now laid down a pile of green and yellow banknotes on the table. 

"I have scraped together every last cent I can spare, " he continued, talking jerkily to suppress his emotion. "They cannot take thoseaway from you, Constance. And--when I am settled--in a new life, " heswallowed hard and averted his eyes further from her startled gaze, "under a new name, somewhere, if you have just a little spot in yourheart that still responds to me, I--I--no, it is too much even tohope. Constance, the accounts will not come out right because I am--I am an embezzler. "

He bit off the word viciously and then sank his head into his handsand bowed it to a depth that alone could express his shame. 

Why did she not say something, do something? Some women would havefainted. Some would have denounced him. But she stood there and hedared not look up to read what was written in her face. He feltalone, all alone, with every man's hand against him, he who hadnever in all his life felt so or had done anything to make him feelso before. He groaned as the sweat of his mental and physical agonypoured coldly out on his forehead. All that he knew was that she wasstanding there, silent, looking him through and through, as cold asa statue. Was she the personification of justice? Was this but aforetaste of the ostracism of the world?

"When we were first married, Constance, " he began sadly, "I was onlya clerk for Green & Co. , at two thousand a year. We talked it over. I stayed and in time became cashier at five thousand. But you knowas well as I that five thousand does not meet the social obligationslaid on us by our position in the circle in which we are forced tomove. "

His voice had become cold and hard, but he did not allow himself tobe betrayed into adding, as he might well have done in justice tohimself, that to her even a thousand dollars a month would have beenonly a beginning. It was not that she had be accustomed to so muchin the station of life from which he had taken her. The plain factwas that New York had had an over-tonic effect on her. 

"You were not a nagging woman, Constance, " he went on in a somewhatsoftened tone. "In fact you have been a good wife; you have neverthrown it up to me that I was unable to make good to the degree ofmany of our friends in purely commercial lines. All you have eversaid is the truth. A banking house pays low for its brains. My God!"he cried stiffening out in the chair and clenching his fists, "itpays low for its temptations, too. "

There had been nothing in the world Carlton would not have given tomake happy the woman who stood now, leaning on the table in coldsilence, with averted head, regarding neither him nor the pile ofgreenbacks. 

"Hundreds of thousands of dollars passed through my hands everyweek, " he resumed. "That business owed me for my care of it. It wastaking the best in me and in return was not paying what otherbusinesses paid for the best in other men. When a man gets thinkingthat way, with a woman whom he loves as I love you--somethinghappens. "

He paused in the bitterness of his thoughts. She moved as if tospeak. "No, no, " he interrupted. "Hear me out first. All I asked wasa chance to employ a little of the money that I saw about me--not totake it, but to employ it for a little while, a few days, perhapsonly a few hours. Money breeds money. Why should I not use some ofthis idle money to pay me what I ought to have?

"When Mr. Green was away last summer I heard some inside news abouta certain stock, go it happened that I began to juggle the accounts. It is too long a story to tell how I did it. Anybody in my positioncould have done it--for a time. It would not interest you anyhow. But I did it. The first venture was successful. Also the spending ofthe money was very successful, in its way. That was the money thattook us to the fashionable hotel in Atlantic City where we met somany people. Instead of helping me, it got me in deeper. 

"When the profit from this first deal was spent there was nothing todo but to repeat what I had done successfully before. I could notquit now. I tried again, a little hypothecation of some bonds. Stocks went down. I had made a bad bet and five thousand dollars waswiped out, a whole year's salary. I tried again, and wiped out fivethousand more. I was at my wits' end. I have borrowed underfictitious names, used names of obscure persons as borrowers, haveput up dummy security. It was possible because I controlled theaudits. But it has done no good. The losses have far outbalanced thewinnings and to-day I am in for twenty-five thousand dollars. "

She was watching him now with dilating eyes as the horror of thesituation was burned into her soul. He raced on, afraid to pauselest she should interrupt him. 

"Mr. Green has been talked into introducing scientific managementand a new system into the business by a certified public accountant, an expert in installing systems and discovering irregularities. HereI am, faced by certain exposure, " he went on, pacing the floor andlooking everywhere but at her face. "What should I do? Borrow? It isuseless. I have no security that anyone would accept. 

"There is just one thing left. " He lowered his voice until it almostsank into a hoarse whisper. "I must cut loose. I have scrapedtogether what I can and I have borrowed on my life insurance. Hereon the table is all that I can spare. 

"To-night, the last night, I have worked frantically in a vain hopethat something, some way would at last turn up. It has not. There isno other way out. In despair I have put this off until the lastmoment. But I have thought of nothing else for a week. Good God, Constance, I have reached the mental state where even intoxicantsfail to intoxicate. "

He dropped back again into the deep chair and sank his head again onhis hands. He groaned as he thought of the agony of packing a bagand slinking for the Western express through the crowds at therailroad terminal. 

Still Constance was silent. Through her mind was running the singlethought that she had misjudged him. There had been no other woman inthe case. As he spoke, there came flooding into her heart the suddenrealization of the truth. He had done it for her. 

It was a rude and bitter awakening after the past months when theincreased income, with no questions asked, had made her feel thatthey were advancing. She passed her hands over her eyes, but thereit was still, not a dream but a harsh reality. If she could onlyhave gone back and undone it! But what was done, was done, She wasamazed at herself. It was not horror of the deed that sent an icyshudder over her. It was horror of exposure. 

He had done it for her. Over and over again that thought racedthrough her mind. She steeled herself at last to speak. She hardlyknew what was in her own mind, what the conflicting, surgingemotions of her own heart meant. 

"And so, you are leaving me what is left, leaving me in disgrace, and you are going to do the best you can to get away safely. Youwant me to tell one last lie for you. "

There was an unnatural hollowness in her voice which he did notunderstand, but which out him to the quick. He had killed love. Hewas alone. He knew it. With a final effort he tried to moisten hisparched lips to answer. At last, in a husky voice, he managed tosay, "Yes. "

But with all his power of will he could not look at her. 

"Carlton Dunlap, " she cried, leaning both hands for support on thetable, bending over and at last forcing him to look her in the eyes, "do you know what I think of you? I think you are a damned coward. There!"

Instead of tears and recriminations, instead of the conventional"How could you do it?" instead of burning denunciation of him forruining her life, he read something else in her face. What was it?

"Coward?" he repeated slowly. "What would you have me do--take youwith me?"

She tossed her head contemptuously. 

"Stay and face it?" he hazarded again. 

"Is there no other way?" she asked, still leaning forward with hereyes fixed on his. "Think! Is there no way that you could avoiddiscovery just for a time? Carlton, you--we are cornered. Is thereno desperate chance?"

He shook his head sadly. 

Her eyes wandered momentarily about the studio, until they rested onan easel. On it stood a water color on which she had been working, trying to put into it some of the feeling which she would never haveput into words for him. On the walls of the apartment were pen andink sketches, scores of little things which she had done for her ownamusement. She bit her lip as an idea flashed through her mind. 

He shook his head again mournfully. 

"Somewhere, " she said slowly, "I have read that clever forgers usewater colors and pen and ink like regular artists. Think--think! Isthere no way that we--that I could forge a check that would give usbreathing space, perhaps rescue us?"

Carlton leaned over the table toward her, fascinated. He placed bothhis hands on hers. They were icy, but she did not withdraw them. 

For an instant they looked into each other's eyes, an instant, andthen they understood. They were partners in crime, amateurs perhaps, but partners as they had been in honesty. 

It was a new idea that she had suggested to him. Why should he notact on it? Why hesitate? Why stop at it? He was already anembezzler. Why not add a new crime to the list? As he looked intoher eyes he felt a new strength. Together they could do it. Hers wasthe brain that had conceived the way out. She had the will, thecompelling power to carry the thing through. He would throw himselfon her intuition, her brain, her skill, her daring. 

On his desk in the corner, where often until far into the night hehad worked on the huge ruled sheets of paper covered with figures ofthe firm's accounts, he saw two goose-necked vials, one of lemon-colored liquid, the other of raspberry color. One was of tartaricacid, the other of chloride of lime. It was an ordinary inkeradicator. Near the bottles lay a rod of glass with a curious tip, an ink eraser made of finely spun glass threads which scraped awaythe surface of the paper more delicately than any other tool thathad been devised. There were the materials for his, theirrehabilitation if they were placed in his wife's deft artistfingers. Here was all the chemistry and artistry of forgery at hand. 

"Yes, " he answered eagerly, "there is a way, Constance. Together wecan do it. "

There was no time for tenderness between them now. It was cold, hardfact and they understood each other too well to stop forendearments. 

Far into the night they sat up and discussed the way in which theywould go about the crime. They practised with erasers and with brushand water color on the protective coloring tint on some canceledchecks of his own. Carlton must get a check of a firm in town, acheck that bore a genuine signature. In it they would make suchtrifling changes in the body as would attract no attention inpassing, yet would yield a substantial sum toward wiping outCarlton's unfortunate deficit. 

Late as he had worked the night before, nervous and shaky as he feltafter the sleepless hours of planning their new life, Carlton wasthe first at the office in the morning. His hand trembled as he ranthrough the huge batch of mail already left at the first delivery. He paused as he came to one letter with the name "W. J. REYNOLDSCO. " on it. 

Here was a check in payment of a small bill, he knew. It was from afirm which habitually kept hundreds of thousands on deposit at theGorham Bank. It fitted the case admirably. He slit open the letter. There, neatly folded, was the check:

No. 15711. Dec. 27, 191--. 

THE GORHAM NATIONAL BANK

Pay to the order of. .. .. .. Green & Co. .. .. .. 

Twenty-five 00/100 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . Dollars

$25. 00/100

W. J. REYNOLDS Co. , per CHAS. M. BROWN, Treas. 

It flashed over him in a moment what to do. Twenty-five thousandwould just about cover his shortage. The Reynolds firm was a bigone, doing big transactions. He slipped the check into his pocket. The check might have been stolen in the mail. Why not?

The journey uptown was most excruciatingly long, in spite of thefact that he had met no one he knew either at the office or outside. At last he arrived home, to find Constance waiting anxiously. 

"Did you get a check?" she asked, hardly waiting for his reply. "Letme see it. Give it to me. "

The coolness with which she went about it amazed him. "It has theamount punched on it with a check punch, " she observed as she ranher quick eye over it while he explained his plan. "We'll have tofill up some of those holes made by the punch. "

"I know the kind they used, " he answered. "I'll get one and a deskcheck from the Gorham. You do the artistic work, my dear. Myknowledge of check punches, watermarks, and paper will furnish therest. I'll be back directly. Don't forget to call up the office alittle before the time I usually arrive there and tell them I amill. "

With her light-fingered touch she worked feverishly, partly with theliquid ink eradicator, but mostly with the spun-glass eraser. Firstshe rubbed out the cents after the written figure "Twenty-five. "Carefully with a blunt instrument she smoothed down the roughenedsurface of the paper so that the ink would not run in the fibers andblot. Over and over she practised writing the "Thousand" in a handlike that on the check. She already had the capital "T" in "Twenty"as a guide. During the night in practising she had found that inraising checks only seven capital letters were used--O in one, T intwo, three, ten, and thousand, F in four and five, S in six andseven, E in eight, N in nine and H in hundred. 

At last even her practice satisfied her. Then with a coolness bornonly of desperation she wrote in the words, "Thousand 00/100. " Whenshe had done it she stopped to wonder at herself. She was amazed andperhaps a little frightened at how readily she adapted herself tothe crime of forgery. She did not know that it was one of the fewcrimes in which women had proved themselves most proficient, thoughshe felt her own proficiency and native ability for copying. 

Again the eraser came into play to remove the cents after the figure"25. " A comma and three zeros following it were inserted, followedby a new "00/100. " The signature was left untouched. 

Erasing the name of "Green & Co. , " presented greater difficulties, but it was accomplished with as little loss of the protectivecoloring on the surface of the check as possible. Then after the"Pay to the order of" she wrote in, as her husband had directed, "The Carlton Realty Co. "

Next came the water color to restore the protective tint where theglass eraser and the acids had removed it. There was much delicatematching of tints and careful painting in with a fine camel's hairbrush, until at last the color of those parts where there had beenan erasure was apparently as good as any other part. 

Of course, under the microscope there could have been seen the angrycrisscrossing of the fibers of the paper due to the harsh action ofthe acids and the glass eraser. Still, painting the whole thing overwith a little resinous liquid somewhat restored the glaze to thepaper, at least sufficiently to satisfy a cursory glance of thenaked eye. 

There remained the difficulty of the protective punch marks. Therethey were, a star cut out of the check itself, a dollar sign and 25followed by another star. 

She was still admiring her handiwork, giving it here and there alight little fillip with the brush and comparing this check withsome of those which had been practised on last night, to see whethershe had made any improvement in her technique of forgery, whenCarlton returned with the punch and the blank checks on the GorhamBank. 

From one of the blank checks he punched out a number of little starsuntil there was one which in watermark and scroll work correspondedprecisely with that punched out in the original check. 

Constance, whose fingers had long been accustomed to fine work, fitted in the little star after the $25, then took it out, moistenedthe edges ever so lightly with glue on the end of a toothpick, andpasted it back again. A hot iron completed the work of making theedges smooth and unless a rather powerful glass had been used no onecould have seen the pasted-in insertion after the $25. 

Careful not to deviate the fraction of a hair's breadth from thealignment Carlton took the punch, added three 0's, and a star afterthe 25, making it $25, 000. Finally the whole thing was again ironedto give it the smoothness of an original. Here at last was thecompleted work, the first product of their combined skill in crime:

No. 15711. Dec. 27, 191--. THE GORHAM NATIONAL BANK

Pay to the order of. .. The Carlton Realty Co. 

Twenty-five Thousand 00/100. .. .. .. .. Dollars $25, 000. 00/100

W. J. REYNOLDS Co. , per CHAS. M. BROWN, Treas. 

How completely people may change, even within a few hours, was wellillustrated as they stood side by side and regarded their work withas much pride as if it had been the result of their honest effortsof years. They were now pen and brush crooks of the first caliber, had reduced forgery to a fine art and demonstrated what an amateurmight do. For, although they did not know it, nearly half thefifteen millions or so lost by forgeries every year was the work ofamateurs such as they. 

The next problem was presenting the check for collection. Of courseCarlton could not put it through his own bank, unless he wanted toleave a blazed trail straight to himself. Only a colossal bluffwould do, and in a city where only colossal bluffs succeed it wasnot so impossible as might have been first imagined. 

Luncheon over, they sauntered casually into a high-class officebuilding on Broadway where there were offices to rent. The agent wasduly impressed by the couple who talked of their large real estatedealings. Where he might have been thoroughly suspicious of a manand might have asked many embarrassing but perfectly properquestions, he accepted the woman without a murmur. At her suggestionhe even consented to take his new tenants around to the Uptown Bankand introduce them. They made an excellent impression by a firstcash deposit of the money Carlton had thrown down on the table thenight before. A check for the first month's rent more than mollifiedthe agent and talk of a big deal that was just being signed up to-day duly impressed the bank. 

The next problem was to get the forged check certified. That, also, proved a very simple matter. Any one can walk into a bank and get acheck for $25, 000 certified, while if he appears, a stranger, beforethe window of the paying teller to cash a check for twenty-fivedollars he would almost be thrown out of the bank. Banks willcertify at a glance practically any check that looks right, but theypass on the responsibility of cashing them. Thus before the close ofbanking hours Dunlap was able to deposit in his new bank the checkcertified by the Gorham. 

Twenty-four hours must elapse before he could draw against the checkwhich he had deposited. He did not propose to waste that time, sothat the next day found him at Green & Co. 's, feeling much better. Really he had come prepared now to straighten out the books, knowingthat in a few hours he could make good. 

The first hesitation due to the newness of the game had worn off bythis time. Nothing at all of an alarming nature had happened. Thenew month had already begun and as most firms have their accountsbalanced only once a month, he had, he reasoned, nearly the entirefour weeks in which to operate. 

Conscience was dulled in Constance, also, and she was now busy withink eraser, the water colors, and other paraphernalia in a wholesaleraising of checks, mostly for amounts smaller than that in the firstattempt. 

"We are taking big chances, anyway, " she urged him. "Why quit yet? Afew days more and we may land something worth while. "

The next day he excused himself from the office for a while andpresented himself at his new bank with a sheaf of new checks whichshe had raised, all certified, and totaling some thousands more. 

His own check for twenty-five thousand was now honored. The reliefwhich he felt was tremendous after the weeks of grueling anxiety. Atonce he hurried to a broker's and placed an order for the stocks hehad used on which to borrow. He could now replace everything in thesafe, straighten out the books, could make everything look right tothe systematizer, could blame any apparent irregularity on his oldsystem. Even ignorance was better than dishonesty. 

Constance, meanwhile, had installed herself in the little officethey had hired, as stenographer and secretary. Once having embarkedon the hazardous enterprise she showed no disposition to give it upyet An office boy was hired and introduced at the bank. 

The mythical realty company prospered, at least if prosperity ismeasured merely by the bank book. In less than a week the skilfulpen and brush of Constance had secured them a balance, afterstraightening out Carlton's debts, that came well up to a hundredthousand dollars, mostly in small checks, some with genuinesignatures and amounts altered, others complete forgeries. 

As they went deeper and deeper, Constance began to feel the truth oftheir situation. It was she who was really at the helm in thisenterprise. It had been her idea; the execution of it had beenmainly her work; Carlton had furnished merely the business knowledgethat she did not possess. The more she thought of it during thehours in the little office while he was at work downtown, the moreuneasy did she become. 

What if he should betray himself in some way? She was sure ofherself. But she was almost afraid to let him go out of her sight. She felt a sinking sensation every time he mentioned any of thehappenings in the banking house. Could he be trusted alone not tobetray himself when the first hint of discovery of something wrongcame?

It was now near the middle of the month. It would not pay to waituntil the end. Some one of the many firms whose checks they hadforged might have its book balanced at any time now. From day to daysmall amounts in cash had already been withdrawn until they weretwenty thousand dollars to the good. They planned to draw out thirtythousand now at one time. That would give them fifty thousand, roughly half of their forgeries. 

The check was written and the office boy was started to the bankwith it. Carlton followed him at a distance, as he had on otheroccasions, ready to note the first sign of trouble as the boy waitedat the teller's window. At last the boy was at the head of the line. He had passed the check in and his satchel was lying open, withvoracious maw, on the ledge below the wicket for the greedy feedingof stacks of bills. Why did the teller not raise the wicket andshove out the money in a coveted pile? Carlton seemed to feel thatsomething was wrong. The line lengthened and those at the end of thequeue began to grow restive at the delay. One of the bank's officerswalked down and spoke to the boy. 

Carlton waited no longer. The game was up. He rushed from his coignof observation, out of the bank building, and dashed into atelephone booth. 

"Quick, Constance, " he shouted over the wire, "leave everything. They are holding up our check. They have discovered something. Takea cab and drive slowly around the square. You will find me waitingfor you at the north end. "

That night the newspapers were full of the story. There was thewhole thing, exaggerated, distorted, multiplied, until they hadbecome swindlers of millions instead of thousands. But neverthelessit was their story. There was only one grain of consolation. It wasin the last paragraph of the news item, and read: "There seems to beno trace of the man and woman who worked this clever swindle. As ifby a telepathic message they have vanished at just the time whentheir whole house of cards collapsed. "

They removed every vestige of their work from the apartment. Everything was destroyed. Constance even began a new water color sothat that might suggest that she had not laid aside her painting. 

They had played for a big stake and lost. But the twenty thousanddollars was something. Now the great problem was to conceal it andthemselves. They had lost, yet if ever before they loved, it was asnothing to what it was now that they had tasted together the bitterand the sweet of their mutual crime. 

Carlton went down to the office the next day, just as before. Theanxious hours that his wife had previously spent thinking whether hemight betray himself by some slip were comparative safety ascontrasted with the uncertainty of the hours now. But the first dayafter the alarm of the discovery passed off all right. Carlton evendiscussed the case, his case, with those in the office, commented onit, condemned the swindlers, and carried it off, he felt proud tosay, as well as Constance herself might have done had she been inhis place. 

Another day passed. His account of the first day, reassuring as ithad been to her, did not lessen the anxiety. Yet never before hadthey seemed to be bound together by such ties as knitted their verysouls in this crisis. She tried with a devotion that was touching toimpart to him some of her own strength to ward off detection. 

It was the afternoon of the second day that a man who gave the nameof Drummond called and presented a card of the Reynolds Company. 

"Have you ever been paid a little bill of twenty-five dollars by ourcompany?" he asked. 

Down in his heart Carlton knew that this man was a detective. "Ican't say without looking it up, " he replied. 

Carlton touched a button and an assistant appeared. Somethingoutside himself seemed to nerve him up, as he asked: "Look up ouraccount with Reynolds, and see if we have been paid--what is it?--abill for twenty-five dollars. Do you recall it?"

"Yes, I recall it, " replied the assistant. "No, Mr. Dunlap, I don'tthink it has been paid. It is a small matter, but we sent them aduplicate bill yesterday. I thought the original must have goneastray. "

Carlton cursed him inwardly for sending the bill. But then, hereasoned, it was only a question of time, after all, when theforgery would be discovered. 

Drummond dropped into a half-confidential, half-quizzing tone. "Ithought not. Somewhere along the line that check has been stolen andraised to twenty-five thousand dollars, " he remarked. 

"Is that so?" gasped Carlton, trying hard to show just the rightamount of surprise and not too much. "Is that so?"

"No doubt you have read in the papers of this clever realty companyswindle? Well, it seems to have been part of that. "

"I am sure that we shall be glad to do all in our power to cooperatewith Reynolds, " put in Dunlap. 

"I thought you would, " commented Drummond dryly. "I may as well tellyou that I fear some one has been tampering with your mail. "

"Tampering with OUR mail?" repeated Dunlap, aghast. "Impossible. "

"Nothing is impossible until it is proved so, " answered Drummond, looking him straight in the eyes. Carlton did not flinch. He felt anew power within himself, gained during the past few days of newassociation with Constance. For her he could face anything. 

But when Drummond was gone he felt as he had on the night when hehad finally realized that he could never cover up the deficit in hisbooks. With an almost superhuman effort he gripped himself. Interminably the hours of the rest of the day dragged on. 

That night he sank limp into a chair on his return home. "A mannamed Drummond was in the office to-day, my dear, " he said. "Someone in the office sent Reynolds a duplicate bill, and they knowabout the check. "

"Well?"

"I wonder if they suspect me?"

"If you act like that, they won't suspect. They'll arrest, " shecommented sarcastically. 

He had braced up again into his new self at her words. But there wasagain that sinking sensation in her heart, as she realized that itwas, after all, herself on whom he depended, that it was she who hadbeen the will, even though he had been the intellect of theirenterprise. She could not overcome the feeling that, if only theirpositions could be reversed, the thing might even yet be carriedthrough. 

Drummond appeared again at the office the next day. There was noconcealment about him now. He said frankly that he was from the BurrDetective Agency, whose business it was to guard the banks againstforgeries. 

"The pen work, or, as we detectives call it, the penning, " heremarked, "in the case of that check is especially good. It showsrare skill. But the pitfalls in this forgery game are so many that, in avoiding one, a forger, ever so clever, falls into another. "

Carlton felt the polite third degree, as he proceeded: "Nowadays theforger has science to contend with, too. The microscope and cameramay come in a little too late to be of practical use in preventingthe forger from getting his money at first, but they come in veryneatly later in catching him. What the naked eye cannot see in thischeck they reveal. Besides, a little iodine vapor brings out theoriginal 'Green & Co. ' on it. 

"We have found out also that the protective coloring was restored bywater color. That was easy. Where the paper was scratched and thesizing taken off, it has been painted with a resinous substance torestore the glaze, to the eye. Well, a little alcohol takes thatoff, too. Oh, the amateur forger may be the most dangerous kind, because the professional regularly follows the same line, leavestracks, has associates, but, " he concluded impressively, "all arecaught sooner or later--sooner or later. "

Dunlap managed to maintain his outward composure admirably. Stillthe little lifting of the curtain on the hidden mysteries of the newdetective art produced its effect. They were getting closer, andDunlap knew it, as Drummond intended he should. And, as in everycrisis, he turned naturally to Constance. Never had she meant somuch to him as now. 

That night as he entered the apartment he happened to glance behindhim. In the shadow down the street a man dodged quickly behind atree. The thing gave him a start. He was being watched. 

"There is just one thing left, " he cried excitedly as he hurriedupstairs with the news. "We must both disappear this time. "

Constance took it very calmly. "But we must not go together, " sheadded quickly, her fertile mind, as ever, hitting directly on a planof action. "If we separate, they will be less likely to trace us, for they will never think we would do that. "

It was evident that the words were being forced out by the conflictof common sense and deep emotion. "Perhaps it will be best for youto stick to your original idea of going west. I shall go to one ofthe winter resorts. We shall communicate only through the personalcolumn of the Star. Sign yourself Weston. I shall sign Easton. "

The words fell on Carlton with his new and deeper love for her likea death sentence. It had never entered his mind that they were to beseparated now. Dissolve their partnership in crime? To him it seemedas if they had just begun to live since that night when they had atlast understood each other. And it had come to this--separation. 

"A man can always shift for himself better if he has noimpediments, " she said, speaking rapidly as if to bolster up her ownresolution. "A woman is always an impediment in a crisis like this. "

In her face he saw what he had never seen before. There was love init that would sacrifice everything. She was sending him away fromher, not to save herself but to save him. Vainly he attempted toprotest. She placed her finger on his lips. Never before had he feltsuch over-powering love for her. And yet she held him in check inspite of himself. 

"Take enough to last a few months, " she added hastily. "Give me therest. I can hide it and take care of myself. Even if they trace me Ican get off. A woman can always do that more easily than a man. Don't worry about me. Go somewhere, start a new life. If it takesyears, I will wait. Let me know where you are. We can find some wayin which I can come back into your life. No, no, "--Carlton hadcaught her passionately in his arms--"even that cannot weaken me. The die is cast. We must go. "

She tore herself away from him and fled into her room, where, withset face and ashen lips, she stuffed article after article into hergrip. With a heavy heart Carlton did the same. The bottom haddropped out of everything, yet try as he would to reason it out, hecould find no other solution but hers. To stay was out of thequestion, if indeed it was not already too late to run. To gotogether was equally out of the question. Constance had shown that. "Seek the woman, " was the first rule of the police. 

As they left the apartment they could see a man across the streetfollowing them closely. They were shadowed. In despair Carltonturned toward his wife. A sudden idea had flashed over her. Therewere two taxicabs at the station on the corner. 

"I will take the first, " she whispered. "Take the second and followme. Then he cannot trace us. "

They were off, leaving the baffled shadow only time to take thenumbers of the cab. Constance had thought of that. She stopped andCarlton joined her. After a short walk they took another cab. 

He looked at her inquiringly, but she said nothing. In her eyes hesaw the same fire that blazed when she had asked him if there was noway to avoid discovery and had suggested it herself in the forgery. He reached over and caressed her hand. She did not withdraw it, buther averted eyes told that she could not trust even herself too far. 

As they stood before the gateway to the steps that led down into thelong under-river tunnel which was to swallow them so soon andproject them, each into a new life, hundreds, perhaps thousands ofmiles apart, Carlton realized as never before what it all had meant. He had loved her through all the years, but never with the wild loveof the past two weeks. Now there was nothing but blackness andblankness. He felt as though the hand of fate was tearing out hiswildly beating heart. 

She tried to smile at him bravely. She understood. For a moment shelooked at him in the old way and all the pent-up love that wouldhave, that had done and dared everything for him struggled in herrapidly rising and falling breast. 

It was now or never. She knew it, the supreme effort. One word orlook too many from her and all would be lost. She flung her armsabout him and kissed him. "Remember--one week from to-day--apersonal--in the STAR, " she panted. 

She literally tore herself from his arms, gathered up her grip, andwas gone. 

A week passed. The quiet little woman at the Oceanview House wasstill as much a mystery to the other guests as when she arrived, travel-stained and worn with the repressed emotion of her sacrifice. She had appeared to show no interest in anything, to take her mealsmechanically, to stay most of the time in her room, never to enterinto any of the recreations of the famous winter resort. 

Only once a day did she betray the slightest concern about anythingaround her. That was when the New York papers arrived. Then she wasalways first at the news-stand, and the boy handed out to her, as amatter of habit, the STAR. Yet no one ever saw her read it. Directlyafterward she would retire to her room. There she would pore overthe first page, reading and rereading every personal in it. Sometimes she would try reading them backward and transposing thewords, as if the message they contained might be in the form of acryptograph. 

The strain and the suspense began to show on her. Day after daypassed, until it was nearly two weeks since the parting in New York. Day after day she grew more worn by worry and fear. What hadhappened?

In desperation she herself wired a personal to the paper: "Weston. Write me at the Oceanview. Easton. "

For three days she waited for an answer. Then she wired the personalagain. Still there was no reply and no hint of reply. Had theycaptured him? Or was he so closely pursued that he did not dare toreply even in the cryptic manner on which they had agreed!

She took the file of papers which she kept and again ran through thepersonals, even going back to the very day after they had separated. Perhaps she had missed one, though she knew that she could not havedone so, for she had looked at them a hundred times. Where was he?Why did he not answer her message in some way? No one had followedher. Were they centering their efforts on capturing him?

She haunted the news-stand in the lobby of the beautifully appointedhotel. Her desire to read newspapers grew. She read everything. 

It was just two weeks since they had left New York on their separatejourneys when, on the evening of another newsless day, she waspassing the news-stand. From force of habit she glanced at an earlyedition of an evening paper. 

The big black type of the heading caught her eye:

NOTED FORGER A SUICIDE

With a little shriek, half-suppressed, she seized the paper. It wasCarlton. There was his name. He had shot himself in a room in ahotel in St. Louis. She ran her eye down the column, hardly able toread. In heavier type than the rest was the letter they had found onhim:

MY DEAREST CONSTANCE, When you read this I, who have wronged and deceived you beyondwords, will be where I can no longer hurt you. Forgive me, for bythis act I am a confessed embezzler and forger. I could not face youand tell you of the double life I was leading. So I have sent youaway and have gone away myself--and may the Lord have mercy on thesoul of

Your devoted husband, CARLTON DUNLAP. 

Over and over again she read the words, as she clutched at the edgeof the news-stand to keep from fainting--"wronged and deceived you, ""the double life I was leading. " What did he mean? Had he, afterall, been concealing something else from her? Had there really beenanother woman?

Suddenly the truth flashed over her. Tracked and almost overtaken, lacking her hand which had guided him, he had seen no other way out. And in his last act he had shouldered it all on himself, hadshielded her nobly from the penalty, had opened wide for her theonly door of escape. 

CHAPTER II

THE EMBEZZLERS

"I came here to hide, to vanish forever from those who know me. "

The young man paused a moment to watch the effect of his revelationof himself to Constance Dunlap. There was a certain cynicalbitterness in his tone which made her shudder. 

"If you were to be discovered--what then?" she hazarded. 

Murray Dodge looked at her significantly, but said nothing. Instead, he turned and gazed silently at the ruffled waters of Woodlake. There was no mistaking the utter hopelessness and grim determinationof the man. 

"Why--why have you told so much to me, an absolute stranger?" sheasked, searching his face. "Might I not hand you over to thedetectives who, you say, will soon be looking for you?"

"You might, " he answered quickly, "but you won't. "

There was a note of appeal in his voice as he pursued slowly, not asif seeking protection, but as if hungry for friendship and most ofall her friendship, "Mrs. Dunlap, I have heard what the people atthe hotel say is your story. I think I understand, as much as a mancan. Anyhow, I know that you can understand. I have reached a pointwhere I must tell some one or go insane. It is only a question oftime before I shall be caught. We are all caught. Tell me, " he askedeagerly, bending down closer to her with an almost breathlessintensity in his face as though he would read her thoughts, "am Iright? The story of you which I have heard since I came here is notthe truth, the whole truth. It is only half the truth--is it not?"

Constance felt that this man was dangerously near understanding her, as no one yet had seemed to be. It set her heart beating wildly toknow that he did. And yet she was not afraid. Somehow, although shedid not betray the answer by a word or a look, she felt that shecould trust him. 

Through the door of escape from the penalty of her forgeries, whichCarlton Dunlap had thrown open for her by the manner of his death, Constance had passed unsuspected. To return to New York, however, had become out of the question. She had plenty of money for herpresent needs, although she thought it best to say nothing about itlest some one might wonder and stumble on the truth. 

She had closed up the little studio apartment, and had gone to aquiet resort in the pines. Here, at least, she thought she mightlive unobserved until she could plan out the tangled future of herlife. 

There had seemed to be no need to conceal her identity, and she hadfelt it better not to do so. She knew that her story would followher, and it had. She was prepared for that. She was prepared for thepity and condescension of the gossips and had made up her mind tostand aloof. 

Then came a day when a stranger had registered at the hotel. She hadnot noticed him especially, but it was not long before she realizedthat he was noticing her. Was he a detective? Had he found out thetruth in some uncanny way? She felt sure that the name on the hotelregister, Malcolm Dodd, was not his real name. 

Constance had not been surprised when the head waiter had seated theyoung man at her table. No doubt he had manoeuvred it so. Nor didshe avoid the guarded acquaintance that resulted in the naturalcourse of events. 

One afternoon, shortly after his arrival, she had encountered himunexpectedly on a walk through the pines. He appeared surprised tomeet her, yet she knew intuitively that he had been following her. Still, it was so different now to have any one seek her companythat, in spite of her uncertainty of him, she almost welcomed hisspeaking. 

There was a certain deference in his manner, too, which did notaccord with Constance's ideas of a detective. Yet he did knowsomething of her. How much! Was it merely what the rest of the worldknew? She could not help seeing that the man was studying her, whileshe studied him. There was a fascination about it, a fascinationthat the human mystery always possesses for a woman. On his part, heshowed keenly his interest in her. 

Constance had met him with more frankness as she encountered himoften during the days that followed. She had even tried to draw himout to talk of himself. 

"I came here, " he had said one day when they were passing the spotwhere he had overtaken her first, "without knowing a soul, notexpecting to meet any one I should care for, indeed hoping to meetno one. "

Constance had said nothing, but she felt that at last he was goingto crash down the barrier of reserve. He continued earnestly, "Somehow or other I have come to enjoy these little walks. "

"So have I, " she admitted, facing him; "but, do you know, sometimesI have thought that Malcolm Dodd is not your real name?"

"Not my real name?" he repeated. 

"And that you are here for some other purpose than--just to rest. You know, you might be a detective. "

He had looked at her searchingly. Then in a burst of confidence, hehad replied, "No, my name is not Dodd, as you guessed. But I am nota detective, as you suspected at first. I have been watching youbecause, ever since I heard your story here, I have been--well, notsuspicious, but--attracted. You seem to me to have faced a greatproblem. I, too, have come to the parting of the ways. Shall I runor shall I fight?"

He had handed her a card without hesitation. It bore the name, "Murray Dodge, Treasurer, Globe Importing Company. "

"What do you mean?" she had asked quickly, hardly expecting ananswer. "What have you done?"

"Oh, it is the usual trouble, I suppose, " he had replied wearily, much to her surprise. "I began as a boy in the company andultimately worked myself up as it grew, until I became treasurer. Tocut it short, I have used funds belonging to the company, lost them. I don't need to tell you how a treasurer or a cashier can do that. "

Constance was actually startled. Was he what he represented himselfto be? Or was he leading her on in this way to a confession of herown part, which she had covered so well, in the forgeries of herdead husband?

"How did you begin?" she asked tentatively. 

"A few years ago, " he answered with a disconcerting lack of reserve, "the company found that we could beat our competitors by a verysimple means. The largest stockholder, Mr. Dumont, was friendly withsome of the customs officials and--well, we undervalued our goods. It was easy. The only thing necessary was to bribe some of theofficials. The president of the company, Walton Beverley, put thedirty work on me as treasurer. Now you can imagine what that meant. "

He had fallen into a cynical tone again. 

"It meant that I soon found, or, rather, thought I found, that everyman has his price--some higher, some lower, but a price, nevertheless. It was my business to find it, to keep it as low as Icould with safety. So it went, from one crooked thing to another. Iknew I was crooked, but not as bad, I think, as the rest who put theactual work on me. I was unfortunate, weak perhaps. That is all. Itried to get mine, too. I lost what I meant to put back after I hadused it. They are after me now, or soon will be--the crooks! Andhere I am, momentarily expecting some one to walk up quietly behindme, tap me on the shoulder and whisper, 'You're wanted. '"

Time had not softened the bitterness of Constance's feelings. Somehow she felt that the world, or at least society owed her fortaking away her husband. The world must pay. She sympathized withthe young man who was appealing to her for friendship. Why not helphim?

"Do you really, really want to know what I think?" asked Constanceafter he had at last told her his wretched story. It was the firsttime that she had looked at him since she realized that he wasunburdening the truth to her. 

"Yes, " he answered eagerly, catching her eye. "Yes, " he urged. 

"I think, " she said slowly, "that you are running away from a fightthat has not yet begun. "

It thrilled her to be talking so. Once before she had tasted thesweetness and the bitterness of crime. She did not stop to thinkabout right or wrong. If she had done so her ethics would have beenstrangely illogical. It was enough that, short as their acquaintancehad been, she felt unconsciously that there was something latent inthe spirit of this man akin to her own. 

Murray also felt rather than understood the bond that had beengrowing so rapidly between them. His was the temperament thatimmediately translates feeling into action. He reached into hisbreast pocket. There was the blue-black glint of a cold steelautomatic. A moment he balanced it in his hand. Then with a rapidand decisive motion of the arm he flung it far from him. As itstruck the water with a sound horribly suggestive of the deathgurgle of a lost man, he turned and faced her. 

"There, " he exclaimed with a new light in the defiant, desperatesmile that she had observed many times before, "there. The curtainrises--instead of falls. "

Neither spoke for a few moments. At last he added, "What shall I donext?"

"Do?" she repeated. She felt now the weight of responsibility forinterfering with his desperate plans, but it did not oppress her. Onthe contrary, it was a pleasant burden. "According to your ownstory, " she went on, "they know nothing yet, as far as you can see. You would have forestalled them by taking this little vacationduring which you could disappear while they would discover theshortage. Do? Go back. "

"And when they discover it?" he asked evidently prepared for theanswer she had given and eager to know what she would propose next. 

Constance had been thinking rapidly. 

"Listen, " she cried, throwing aside restraint now. "No one in NewYork outside my former little circle knows me. I can live there inanother circle unobserved. For weeks I have been amusing myself bythe study of shorthand. I have picked up enough to be able to carrythe thing off. Discharge your secretary. Put an advertisement in thenewspapers. I will answer it. Then I will be able to help you. Icannot say at a distance what you should do next. There, perhaps, Ican tell you. "

What was it that had impelled her to say it? She could not havetold. Murray looked at her. Her very presence seemed to infuse newdetermination into him. 

It was strange about this woman, what a wonderful effect she had onhim. 

A few days before he would have laughed at any one who had suggestedthat any woman might have aroused in him the passions that were nowsurging through his heart. Ten thousand years ago, perhaps, he wouldhave seized her and carried her off in triumph to his clan ortribe. To-day he must, he would win her by more subtle means. 

His mind was made up. She had pointed the way. That night Dodge leftWoodlake hastily for New York. 

To Constance a new purpose seemed to have entered into a barrenlife. She was almost gay as she packed her trunks and grips andquietly slipped into the city a few hours later and registered at aquiet hotel for business women. 

Sure enough in the Star the next morning was the advertisement. Shewrote in a formal way, giving her telephone number. That afternoon, apparently as soon as the letter had been delivered, a call came. The following morning she was the private secretary of Murray Dodge, sitting unobtrusively before a typewriter desk in a sort of littleanteroom that guarded the door to his office. 

She took pains to act the part of private secretary and no more. Asappeared natural to the rest of the office force at first she wasmuch with Murray, who made the most elaborate explanations of thedetail of the business. 

"Do they suspect anything?" she asked anxiously as soon as they wereabsolutely alone. 

"I think so, " he replied. "They said nothing except that they hadnot expected me back so soon, I think the 'so soon' was anafterthought. They didn't expect me back at all. For, " he addedsignificantly, "I've been in fear and trembling until I could getyou. They already have asked the regular audit company to go overthe books in advance of the time when we usually employ them. Ididn't ask why. I merely accepted it with a nod. It might have meantbringing matters to a crisis now. "

He felt safer with Constance installed as his private secretary. True, Beverley and Dumont had viewed her from the start withsuspicion. 

Constance had been thinking hard out in her little office since shehad begun to understand how matters stood. "Well?" she demanded. "What of it? Don't try to conceal it. Let them discover it. Gofurther. Dare them. Court exposure. "

It was bold and ingenious. What a woman she was for meetingemergencies. Murray, who had a will that had been accustomed to bendothers to his purposes except in the instance where they had benthim and nearly broken him, recognized the masterful mind ofConstance. He was willing to allow her to play the game. 

Thus Constance began collecting the very data that would have sentMurray to jail for bribery. Day by day as she worked on, thesituation became more and more delicate. They found themselves alonemuch of the time now. Beverley was, or pretended to be, busy onother matters and avoided Dodge as much as possible. Only theregular routine affairs passed through his hands, but he saidnothing. It gave him more time with her. Dumont came in as rarely asit was possible. 

And as they worked along gathering the data Constance came to admireMurray more than ever. She worked patiently over the big books, taking only those on which the accountant was not engaged at suchtimes as she could get them without exciting suspicion. Togetherthey dug out the extent of the frauds that had been practiced on theGovernment for years back. From the letter files they rescued notesand orders and letters, pieced them together into as near acontinuous record as they could make. With his own knowledge of thebooks Dodge could count on making better progress on the essentialthings than the regular accountant of the audit company. He feltsure that they would finish sooner and that they would have a closerreport of the frauds of all kinds than could be uncovered by the manwho had been set on the trail of Dodge to discover just how much ofthe illicit gains he had taken for himself. 

Constance became aware soon that whenever she left the office atnight she was being followed. She had at first studiously repelledthe offers of Murray to see her home. It was not that he had takenadvantage of the situation into which she had put herself. He wouldnever have done that. Still, she wished a little more time toanalyze her own conflicting feelings toward him. Then, too, severaltimes in the crowded subway cars she had noticed a face that wasfamiliar. It was Drummond, never looking directly at her, alwaysengrossed in something else, yet never failing to note where she wasgoing. That must be, she reasoned, some of the work of Beverley andDumont. 

Murray was now working feverishly. As he worked he found himselffeeling differently toward the whole affair. He actually came toenjoy it with all its risks and uncertainty, to enjoy gathering thedata which, he should have said, ought really to be destroyed. Oftenhe caught himself wishing that everything had come out all right inthe end and that Constance really was his private secretary. 

Every moment with her seemed now to pass so quickly that he wouldwillingly have smashed all the clocks and destroyed all thecalendars. Association with other women had been tame beside his newfriendship with her. She had suffered, felt, lived. She fascinatedhim, as often over the books they would stop to talk, talk of thingsthe most irrelevant, yet to him the most interesting, until shewould bring him back inevitably to the point of their work and starthim again with a new power and incentive toward the purpose she hadin mind. 

To Constance he seemed to fill a blank spot in her empty life. Ifshe had been bitter toward the world for what had happened to her, the pleasure of helping another to beat that harsh world seemed anunspeakably sweet compensation. 

At last even Constance herself began to realize it. It was not, after all, merely the bitterness toward society, that lured her on. She was not a woman carved out of a block of stone. There was asweetness about this association that carried her along as if in adream. She was actually falling in love with him. 

One day she had been working later than usual. The accountant hadshown signs of approaching the end of his task sooner than they hadexpected. Murray was waiting, as was his custom, for her to finishbefore he left. 

There was no sound in the almost deserted office building save thebanging of a door echoing now and then, or an insistent ring of theelevator bell as an anxious office boy or stenographer sought toescape after an extra period of work. 

Murray stood looking at her admiringly as she deftly shoved the pinsinto her hat. Then he held her coat, which brought them closetogether. 

"It will soon be time for the final scene, " he remarked. His mannerwas different as he looked down at her. "We must succeed, Constance, " he went on slowly. "Of course, after it is over, it willbe impossible for me to remain here with this company. I have beenlooking around. I must--we must clear ourselves. I already have anoffer to go with another company, much better than this position inevery way--honest, square, with no dirty work, such as I have hadhere. "

It was a moment that Constance had foreseen, without planning whatshe would do. She moved to the door as if to go. 

"Take dinner with me to-night at the Riverside, " he went on, mentioning the name of a beautifully situated inn uptown overlookingthe lights of the Hudson and thronged by gay parties of pleasureseekers. 

Before she could say no, even though she would have said it, he hadlinked his arm in hers, banged shut the door and they were beingwhisked to the street in the elevator. 

This time, as they were about to go out of the building, she noticedDrummond standing in the shadow of a corner back of the cigarcounter on the first floor. She told Murray of the times she hadseen Drummond following her. Murray ground his teeth. 

"He'll have to hustle this time, " he muttered, handing her quicklyinto a cab that was waiting for a fare. 

Before he could give the order where to drive she had leaned out ofthe window, "To the ferry, " she cried. 

Murray looked at her inquiringly. Then he understood. "Not to theRiverside--yet, " she whispered. "That man has just summoned a cabthat was passing. "

In her eyes Murray saw the same fire that had blazed when she hadtold him he was running away from a fight that had not yet begun. Asthe cab whirled through the now nearly deserted downtown streets, hereached over in sheer admiration and caressed her hand. She did notwithdraw it, but her averted eyes and quick breath told that athousand thoughts were hurrying through her mind, divided betweenthe man in the cab beside her and the man in the cab followingperhaps half a block behind. 

At the ferry they halted and pretended to be examining a time table, though they bought only ferry tickets. Drummond did the same, andsauntered leisurely within easy distance of the gate. Nothing seemedto escape him, and yet never did he seem to be watching them. 

The gateman shouted "All aboard!"

The door began to close. 

"Come, " she tugged at his sleeve. 

They dodged in just in time. Drummond followed. They started acrossthe wagonway to the opposite side of the slip. He kept on the nearside. Constance swerved back again to the near side. Drummond hadbeen opposite them and they had now fallen in behind him. He was nowahead, but going slowly. Murray felt her pulling back on his arm. With a little exclamation she dropped her purse, which contained afew coins. She had contrived to open it, and the coins ran in everypossible direction. Drummond was now on the boat. 

"All aboard, " growled the guard surlily. "All aboard. "

"Go ahead, go ahead, " shouted Murray, trying to pick up thescattered change and scattering it the more. At last he understood. "Go ahead. We'll take the next boat. Can't you see the lady hasdropped her purse?"

The gates closed. The warning whistle blew, and the ferryboat, departed, bearing off Drummond alone. 

Another cab toot them to the Riverside. A new bond of experience hadbeen established between them. They dined quietly and as the lightsgrew mellow she told him more of her story than she had everbreathed to any other living soul. 

As Murray listened he looked his admiration for the daring of thelittle woman opposite him at the table. 

They drifted. . .. 

It was the day of the threatened exposure. Curiously enough, Dodgefelt no nervousness. The understanding which he had reached or feltthat he had reached with Constance made him rather eager than, otherwise to have the whole affair over with at once. 

Drummond had been shut up for some time in the office of Beverleywith Dumont, going over the report which the accountant had preparedand other matters--He had come in without seeing either Constance orMurray, though they knew he must be nursing his chagrin over theepisode of the night before. 

"They are waiting to see you, " reported Constance to Dodge, half anhour later, after one of the office boys had been sent over as aformal messenger to their office. 

"We are ready for them?" he asked, smiling at her. 

Constance nodded. 

"Then I shall go in. Wait a moment. When they have hurled theirworst at me I shall call on you. Have the stuff ready. "

There was no hesitation, no misgiving on the part of either, as hestrode into Beverley's office. Constance had prepared the recordwhich they had been working on, and for days had been momentarilyexpecting this crisis. She felt that she was ready. 

An ominous silence greeted Dodge as he entered. 

"We have had experts on your books, Dodge, " began Beverley, clearinghis throat, as Murray seated himself, waiting for them to speakfirst. 

"I have seen that, " he replied dryly. 

"They are fifty thousand dollars short, " shot out Dumont. 

"Indeed?"

Dumont gasped at the coolness of the man. "Wh--what? You havenothing to say? Why, sir, " he added, raising his voice, "you haveactually made no effort to conceal it!"

Dodge smiled cynically. "A consultation, will rectify it, " was allhe said. "A conference will show you that it is all right. "

"A consultation?" broke in Beverley in rage. "A consultation injail!"

Still Dodge merely smiled. 

"Then you consider yourself trapped. You admit it, " ground outDumont. 

"Anything you please, " repeated Dodge. "I am perfectly willing--"

"Let us end this farce--now, " cried Beverley hotly. "Drummond!"

The detective had been doing some rapid thinking. "Just a moment, "he interrupted. "Don't be too precipitate. Hear his side, if he hasany. I can manage him. Besides, I have something else to say aboutanother person that will interest us all. "

"Then you are willing to have the consultation!"

Drummond nodded. 

"Miss Dunlap, " called Murray, taking the words almost from thedetective's lips, as he opened the door and held it for her toenter. 

"No--no. Alone, " almost shouted Beverley. 

The detective signaled to him and he subsided, muttering. 

As she entered Drummond looked hard at her. Constance met himwithout wavering an instant. 

"I think I've seen you before, MRS. Dunlap, " insinuated thedetective. 

"Perhaps, " replied Constance, still meeting his sharp ferret eyesquarely, which increased his animosity. 

"Your husband was Carlton Dunlap, cashier of Green & Company, was henot?"

She bit her lip. The manner of his raking up of old scores, thoughshe had expected it, was cruel. It would have been cruel in court, if she had had a lawyer to protect her rights. It was doubly cruel, merciless, here. Before Dodge could interrupt, the detective added, "Who committed suicide after forging checks to meet his--"

Murray was at Drummond like a hound. "Another word from you and I'llthrottle you, " he blurted out. 

"No, Murray, no. Don't, " pleaded Constance. She was burning withindignation, but it was not by violence that she expected toprevail. "Let him say what he has to say. "

Drummond smiled. He had no scruples about a "third degree" of thiskind, and besides there were three of them to Dodge. 

"You were--both of you--at Woodlake not long ago, were you not?" heasked calmly. 

There was no escaping the implication of the tone. Still Drummondwas taking no chances of being misunderstood. "There was one man, "he went on, "who embezzled for you. Here is another who hasembezzled. How will that look when it goes before a jury!" heconcluded. 

The fight had shifted before it had well begun. Instead of beingbetween Dodge on one side and Beverley and Dumont on the, other, itnow seemed to be a clash between a cool detective and a cleverwoman. 

"Mrs. Dunlap, " interrupted Murray, with a mocking smile at thedetective, "will you tell us what you have found out since you havebeen my private secretary?"

Constance had not lost control of herself for a moment. 

"I have been looking over the books a little bit myself, " she beganslowly, with all eyes riveted on her. "I find, for instance, thatyour company has been undervaluing its imported goods. Undervaluingmerchandise is considered, I believe, one of the meanest forms ofsmuggling. The undervaluer has frequently to make a tool of a man inhis employ. Then that tool must play on the frailties of anunfortunate or weak examiner at the Public Stores where all invoicesand merchandise from foreign countries are examined. "

Drummond had been trying to interrupt, but she had ignored him, andwas speaking rapidly so that he could get no chance. 

"You have cheated the Government of hundreds of thousands dollars, "she hurried on facing Beverley and Dumont. "It would make a splendidnewspaper story. "

Dumont moved uneasily. Drummond was now staring. It was a new phaseof the matter to him. He had not counted on handling a woman likeConstance, who knew how to take advantage of every weak spot in thearmor. 

"We are wasting time, " he interrupted brusquely. "Get back to theoriginal subject. There is a fifty thousand-dollar shortage on thesebooks. "

The attempt clumsily to shift the case away again from Constance toDodge was apparent. 

"Mrs. Dunlap's past troubles, " Dodge asserted vigorously, "havenothing to do with the case. It was cowardly to drag that in. Butthe other matter of which she speaks has much to do with it. "

"One moment, Murray, " cried Constance. "Let me finish what I began. This is my fight, too, now. "

She was talking with blazing eyes and in quick, cutting tone. 

"For three years he did your dirty work, " she flashed. "He did thebribing--and you saved half a million dollars. "

"He has stolen fifty thousand, " put in Beverley, white with anger. 

"I have kept an account of everything, " pursued Constance, withoutpausing. "I have pieced the record together so that he can nowconnect the men higher up with the actual acts he had to do. He cangain immunity by turning state's evidence. I am not sure but that hemight be able to obtain his moiety of what the Government recoversif the matter were brought to suit and won on the information he canfurnish. "

She paused. No one seemed to breathe. 

"Now, " she added impressively, "at ten per cent. Commission the halfmillion that he saved for you yields fifty thousand dollars. That, gentlemen, is the amount of the shortage--an offset. "

"The deuce it is!" exclaimed Beverley. 

Constance reached for a telephone on the desk near her. 

"Get me the Law Division at the Customs House, " she asked simply. 

Dumont was pale and almost speechless. Beverley could ill suppresshis smothered rage. What could they do? The tables had been turned. If they objected to the amazing proposal Constance had made theymight all go to jail. Dodge even might go free, rich. They looked atDodge and Mrs. Dunlap. There was no weakening. They were asrelentless as their opponents had been before. 

Dumont literally tore the telephone from her. "Never mind about thatnumber, central, " he muttered. 

Then he started as if toward the door. The rest followed. Outsidethe accountant had been waiting patiently, perhaps expectingDrummond to call on him to corroborate the report. He had beenlistening. There was no sound of high voices, as he had expected. What did it mean?

The door opened. Beverley was pale and haggard, Dumont worn andsilent. He could scarcely talk. Dodge again held the door forConstance as she swept past the amazed accountant. 

All eyes were now fixed on Dumont as chief spokesman. 

"He has made a satisfactory explanation, " was all he said. 

"I would lock all that stuff up in the strongest safe deposit vaultin New York, " remarked Constance, laying the evidence that involvedthem all on Murray's desk. "It is your only safeguard. "

"Constance, " he burst forth suddenly, "you were superb. "

The crisis was past now and she felt the nervous reaction. 

"There is one thing more I want to say, " he added in a low tone. 

He had crossed to where she was standing by the window, and bentover, speaking with great emotion. 

"Since that afternoon at Woodlake when you turned me back again fromthe foolish and ruinous course on which I had decided you--you havebeen more to me than life. Constance, I have never loved until now. Nothing has ever mattered except money. I never had any one else tothink of, care for, except myself. You have changed everything. "

She was gazing out of the window at the tall buildings. There, in amyriad of offices, lay wealth untold, opportunity as yet untasted toseize that wealth. Only for an instant she turned and looked at him, then dropped her eyes. What lay that way?

"You are clear now, respected, respectable, " she said simply. 

"Yes, thank God. Clear and with a new ambition, thanks to you. "

She had been expecting this ever since that last night. The reliefof Murray to feel that the old score that would have ruined him wasnow wiped off the slate was precisely what she had anticipated. 

Yet, somehow, it disappointed her. She felt instinctively that hertriumph was burning fast to ashes. 

"Keep clear, " she faltered. 

"Constance, " he urged, approaching closer and taking her cold hand. 

Was she to be the one to hold him back in any way from the new lifethat was now before him? What if Drummond, in his animosity, evergot the truth? She gently unclasped her hand from his. No, thathappiness was not for her. 

"I am afraid I am a crook at heart, Murray, " she said sadly. "I havegone too far to turn back. The brand is on me. But I am notaltogether bad--yet. Think of me always with charity. Yes, " shecried wildly, "I must return to my loneliness. No, do not try tostop me, you have no right, " she added bitterly as the reality ofher situation burned itself into her heart. 

She broke away from him wildly, but with set purpose. The world hadtaken away her husband; now it was a lover; the world must pay. 

CHAPTER III

THE GUN RUNNERS

"We'll land here, Mrs. Dunlap. "

Ramon Santos, terror of the Washington State Department and of ahalf dozen consulates in New York, stuck a pin in a map of CentralAmerica spread out on a table before Constance. 

"Insurrectos will meet us, " he pursued, then added, "but we musthave money, first, my dear Senora, plenty of money. "

Dark of eye and skin, with black imperial and mustache, tall, straight as an arrow, Santos had risen and was now gazing down withrapt attention, not at the map, but at Constance herself. 

Every curve of her face and wave of her hair, every line of her trimfigure which her filmy gown seemed to accentuate rather than concealadded fire to his ardent glances. 

He touched lightly another pin sticking in a little, almostmicroscopic island of the Caribbean. 

"Our plan, it is simple, " he continued with animation in spite ofhis foreign accent. "On this island a plant to print paper money, tocoin silver. With that we shall land, pay our men as they flock tous, collect forces, seize cities, appropriate the customs. Once westart, it is easy. "

Constance looked up quickly. "But that is counterfeiting, " sheexclaimed. 

"No, " rejoined Santos, "it is a war measure. We--the provisionalgovernment--merely coin our own money. Besides, it will not be donein this country. It will not come under your laws. "

There was a magnetism about the man that fascinated her, as he stoodwatching the effect of his words. Instinctively she knew that it wasnot alone enthusiasm over his scheme that inspired his confidences. 

"Though we are not counterfeiters, " he went on, "we do not know whatmoment our opponents may set your Secret Service to destroy all ourhopes. Besides, we must have money--now--to buy machinery, arms, ammunition. We must find some one, " he lowered his voice, "who canpersuade American bankers and merchants to take risks to gainvaluable concessions in the new state. "

Santos was talking rapidly and earnestly, urging his case on her. 

"We are prepared, " he hurried on confidentially, "to give you, Senora, half the money that you can raise for these purposes. "

He paused and stood before her. He was certainly a handsome figure, this soldier of fortune, and he was at his best now. 

Constance looked out of the window of her sitting room. This was abusiness proposition, not to be influenced by any sentiment. 

She watched the lights moving up and down the river and bay. Therewere craft from the ends of the earth. She speculated on theromantic secrets hidden in liner and tramp. Surely they couldscarcely be more romantic than the appeal Santos was making. 

"Will you help us?" urged Santos, leaning further over the map toread her averted face. 

In her loneliness after she had given up Murray Dodge, life in NewYork had seemed even more bitter to Constance than before. Yet thegreat city cast a spell over her, with its countless opportunitiesfor adventure. She could not leave it, but had taken a suite in aquiet boarding house overlooking the bay from the Heights inBrooklyn. 

One guest in particular had interested her. He was a Latin American, Ramon Santos. She noticed that he seldom appeared at breakfast orluncheon. But at dinner he often, ordered much as if it were seveno'clock in the morning instead of the evening. He was a mystery andmysteries interested her. Did he work all night and sleep all day?What was he doing?

She was astonished a few nights after her arrival to receive a callfrom the mysterious evening breakfaster. 

"Pardon--I intrude, " he began gracefully, presenting his card. "ButI have heard how clever you are, Senora Dunlap. A friend, in animporting firm, has told me of you, a Mr. Dodge. "

Constance was startled at the name. Murray had indeed written alittle note expressing his entire confidence in Mr. Santos. Formalas it was, Constance thought she could read between the lines thesame feeling toward her that he had expressed at their parting. 

Santos gave her no time to live over the past. 

"You see, Mrs. Dunlap, " he explained, as he led up to the object ofhis visit, "the time has come to overthrow the regime in CentralAmerica--for a revolution which will bring together all thecountries in a union like the old United States of Central America. "

He had spread out the map on the table. 

"Only, " he added, "we would call the new state, Vespuccia. "

"We?" queried Constance. 

"Yes--my--colleagues-you call it in English! We have already a Juntawith headquarters in an old loft on South Street, in New York. "

Santos indicated the plan of campaign on the map. 

"We shall strike a blow, " he cried, bringing his fist down on thetable as if the blow had already fallen, "that will paralyze theenemy at the very start!"

He paused. 

"Will you help us raise the money?" he repeated earnestly. 

Constance had been inactive long enough. The appeal was romantic, almost irresistible. Besides--no, at the outset she put out ofconsideration any thought of the fascinating young soldier offortune himself. 

The spirit of defiance of law and custom was strong upon her. Thatwas all. 

"Yes, " she replied, "I will help you. "

Santos leaned over, and with a graceful gesture that she could notresent, raised her finger tips gallantly to his lips. 

"Thank you, " he said with, a courtly smile. "We have already won!"

The next day Ramon introduced her to the other members of the Junta. It was evident that he was in fact as well as name their leader, butthey were not like the usual oily plotters of revolution whocongregate about the round tables in dingy back rooms of SouthStreet cafes, apportioning the gold lace, the offices, and therevenues among themselves. There was an "air" about them that wasdifferent. 

"Let me present Captain Lee Gordon of the Arrayo, " remarked Santos, coming to a stockily-built, sun-burned man with the unmistakablelook of the Anglo-Saxon who has spent much time in the neighborhoodof the tropical sun. "The Arroyo is the ship that is to carry thearms and the plant to the island--from Brooklyn. We choose Brooklynbecause it is quieter over there--fewer people late at night on thestreets. "

Captain Gordon bowed, without taking his eyes off Constance. 

"I am, like yourself, Mrs. Dunlap, a recent recruit, " he explained. "It is a wonderful plan, " he added enthusiastically. "We shall sweepthe country with it. "

He flicked off the ash of his inevitable cigarette, much as if itwere the opposition of the governments they were to encounter. 

It was evident that the Captain was much impressed by Constance. Yetshe instinctively disliked the man. His cameraderie had somethingoffensive about it, as contrasted with the deferential friendship ofSantos. 

With all her energy, however, Constance plunged directly into herwork. Indeed, even at the start she was amazed to find that moneyfor a revolution could be raised at all. She soon, found that itcould be done more easily in New York than anywhere else in theworld. 

 There seemed to be something about her that apparently appealed tothose whom she went to see. She began to realize what a tremendousadvantage a woman of the world had in presenting the case andconvincing a speculator of the rich returns if the revolution shouldprove successful. More than that, she quickly learned that it wasbest to go alone, that it was she, quite as much as the promisedconcessions for tobacco, salt, telegraph, telephone monopolies, thatloosed the purse strings. 

Her first week's report of pledges ran into the thousands with asubstantial immediate payment of real dollars. 

"How did you do it?" asked Santos in undisguised admiration, as shewas telling him one night of her success, in the dusty, cobwebbedlittle ship chandlery on South Street where the Junta headquartershad been established. 

"Dollar diplomacy, " she laughed, not displeased at his admiration. "We shall soon convert American dollars into Vespuccian bullets. "

They were alone, and a week had made much difference in thefascinating friendship to Constance. 

"Let me show you what I have done, " Ramon confided. "Already, I havestarted together the 'counterfeiting plant, ' as you call it. "

Piece by piece, as he had been able to afford them, he had beenordering the presses, the stamping machine, and a little "reeding"or milling machine for the edges of the coins. 

"The paper, the ink, and the bullion, we shall order now as we can, "he explained, resting his head on his elbow at the table beside her. "Everything will be secured from firms which make mint supplies forforeign governments. A photo-engraver is now engaged on the work ofcopying the notes. He is making the plates by the photo-etchingprocess--the same as that by which the real money plates are made. Then, too, there will be dies for the coins. Coined silver will beworth, twice the cost of the bullion to us. Why, " he added eagerly, "a few more successful days, Senora, and we shall have even arms andammunition. "

A key turned in the door. Santos sprang to his feet. It was Gordon. 

"Ah, good evening, " the Captain greeted them. The fact that they hadbeen talking so earnestly alone was not lost on him. "May I join theconspiracy?" he smiled. "What luck to-day? By the way, I have justheard of a consignment of a thousand rifles as good as new that canbe bought for a song. "

Santos, elated at the progress so far, told hastily of Constance'ssuccess. "Let us get an option on them for a few days, " he cried. 

"Good, " agreed Gordon, "only, " he added, shaking his fingerplayfully at Constance, as the three left the headquarters, "don'tlet the commander-in-chief monopolize ALL your time, Remember, weall need you now. Santos, that was an inspiration to get Mrs. Dunlapon our side. "

Somehow she felt uncomfortable. She half imagined that a frown hadflitted over Santos' face. 

"Are you going to Brooklyn?" she asked him. 

"No, we shall be working at the Junta late to-night, " he replied, asthey parted at the subway, he and Gordon to secure the option on theguns, she to plan for the morrow. 

"I have made a good beginning, " she congratulated herself, when, later in her rooms, she was going over the list of names ofcommission merchants who handled produce of South Americancountries. 

There was a tap on the door. 

Quickly, she shoved the list into the drawer of the table. 

"A gentleman to see you, downstairs, ma'am, " announced the maid. 

As she pushed aside the portieres, her heart gave a leap--it wasDrummond. 

"Mrs. Dunlap, " began the wily detective, seeming to observeeverything with eyes that seldom had the appearance of looking atanything, "I think you will recall that we have met before. "

Constance bit her lip. "And why again?" she queried curtly. 

"I am informed, " he went on coolly ignoring her curtness, "thatthere is a guest in this house named Santos--Ramon Santos. "

He said it in a half insinuating, half questioning tone. 

"You might inquire of the landlady, " replied Constance, nowperfectly composed. 

"Mrs. Dunlap, " he burst forth, exasperated, "what is the use ofbeating about? Do you know the real character of this Santos!"

"It is a matter of perfect indifference, " she returned. 

"Then you do not think a warning from me worth troubling about?"demanded the detective. 

Constance continued to stand as if to terminate the interview. 

"I came here, " continued the detective showing no evidence of takingthe hint, "to make a proposition to you. Mrs. Dunlap, you are in badagain. But this time there is a chance for you to get out withoutrisk. I--I think I may talk plainly? We understand each other!"

His manner had changed. Constance could not have described toherself the loathing she felt for the man as it suddenly flashedover her what he was after. If she had resented his familiaritybefore, it brought the stinging blood to her cheeks now to realizethat he was actually seeking to persuade her to betray her friends. 

"Do you want to know what I think?" she scorned, then withoutwaiting added, "I think you are a crook--a blackmailer, --that's whatI think of a private detective like you. "

The defiance of the little woman amazed even Drummond. Instead offear as of the pursued, Constance Dunlap showed all the boldness ofthe pursuer. 

"You have got to stop this swindling, " the detective raged, taking astep closer to her. "I know the bankers you have fooled. I know howmuch you have worked them for. "

"Swindling?" she repeated coolly, in assumed surprise. "Who says Iam swindling?"

"You know well enough what I mean--this revolution that is beingplanned to bring about the new state of Vespuccia, as your friendsSantos and Gordon call it. "

"Vespuccia--Santos--Gordon?"

"Yes, " he shouted, "Vespuccia--Santos--Gordon. And I'll go further. I'll tell you something you may not care to hear. "

Drummond leaned over closer to her in his favorite bulldozing mannerwhen he dealt with a woman. All the malevolence of the humanbloodhound seemed concentrated in his look. 

"Who forged those Carlton Realty checks?" he hissed. "Who played offthe weakness of Dumont and Beverley against the clever thefts ofMurray Dodge! Who is using a counterfeiter and a soldier of fortuneand swindling honest American bankers and business men as no mancrook--you seem to like that word--crook--could ever do?"

Constance met him calmly. "Oh, " she laughed airily, "I suppose youmean to imply that it is I. "

"I don't imply, " he ground out, "I assert--accuse. "

Constance shrugged her pretty shoulders. 

"I want to tell you that I am employed by the Central Americanconsulates in this city, " blustered Drummond. "And I am waiting onlyfor one thing. The moment an order is given for the withdrawal ofthat stuff from the little shop in South Street--you know what Imean--I am ready. I shall not be alone, then. You will have thepower of the United States Secret Service to deal with, this time, my clever lady. "

"Well, what of that?"

"There is this much of it. I warn you now against working with thisSantos. He--you--can make no move that we do not know. "

Why had Drummond come to see her? Constance was asking herself. Thevery insolence of the man seemed to arouse all the combativeness ofher nature. The detective had thought to "throw a scare into" her. She turned suddenly and swept out of the room. 

"I thank you for your kindness, " she said icily. "It is unnecessary. Good-night. "

In her own room she paced the floor nervously, now that the strainwas off. Should she desert Santos and save herself? He had more needof her help now than ever before. She did not stop to analyze herown feelings. She knew he had been making love to her during thepast week as only a Spaniard could. It fascinated her withoutblinding her. Yes, she would match her wits against this detective, clever though she knew he was. But Santos must be warned. 

Santos and Gordon were alone when she burst in on them, breathlessly, an hour later at the Junta. 

"What is the matter?" inquired Ramon quickly, placing a chair forher. 

Gordon looked his admiration for the little woman, though he did notspeak it. She saw him cast a sidewise glance at Santos and herself. 

Though the three were friends, it was evident to her that Gordon didnot trust Santos any further than the suspicious Anglo-Saxon trustsa foreigner usually when there is a woman in the case. 

"The Secret Service!" exclaimed Constance. "I have just had a visitfrom a private detective employed by one of the consulates. Theyknow too much. He has threatened to tell all to the Secret Service, has even had the effrontery to ask me to betray you. "

"The scoundrel, " burst out Santos impulsively. 

"You are not frightened?" Gordon asked quickly. 

"On the contrary, I expected something of the sort soon, but notfrom this man. I can meet him!"

"Good, " exclaimed the Captain. 

There was that in his voice that caused her to look at him quickly. Santos had noticed it, too, and a sullen scowl spread over his face. 

Intuitively Constance read the two men before her. She had fled fromone problem to a greater. Both Santos and Gordon were in love withher. 

In the whirl of this new discovery, two things alone crowded allelse from her mind. She must contrive to hold off Drummond untilthat part of the expedition which was ready could be got off. Andshe must play the jealous rivals against each other with suchfinesse as to keep them separated. 

Far into the night after she had left the Junta she debated thequestion with herself. She could not turn back now. The attentionsof Gordon were offensive. Yet she could have given no other reasonthan that she liked Santos the better. Yet what was Santos to her, after all? Once she had let herself go too far. She must be carefulin this case. She must not allow this to be other than a businessproposition. 

The crisis for her came sooner than she had anticipated. It was theday after the visit of Drummond. She was waiting at the Junta alonefor Santos when Gordon entered. She had dreaded just that. There wasno mistaking the man. 

"Mrs. Dunlap, " began Gordon bending down close over her. 

She was almost trembling with emotion, and he saw it. 

"You can read me like a book, " he hurried on, mistaking herfeelings. "I can see that you know how much I think of you--how muchI--"

"No, no, " she implored. "Don't talk to me that way. Remember--thereis work to do. After it is over--then--"

"Work!" he scorned. "What is the whole of Central America to mecompared to you?"

"Captain Gordon!" she stood facing him. "You must not. Listen to me. You do not know--I--please, please leave me. Let me think. "

She did not dare accept him; she could not reject him. It seemedthat with an almost superhuman effort Gordon gripped himself. But hedid not go. 

Constance was distracted, what if Santos with his fiery natureshould find Gordon talking to her alone? She must temporize. 

"One week, " she murmured. "When the Arroyo sails--that night--Ishall give you my answer. "

Gordon shot a peculiar glance at her--half doubt, half surprise. Butshe was gone. As she hurried unexpectedly out of the Junta shefancied she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure. It must have beenDrummond. Every move at the Junta was being watched. 

At the boarding house all night she waited. She must see Santos. Plan after plan whirled through her brain as the hours dragged. 

It was not until almost morning that, seeing a light, he tappedcautiously at her door. 

"You were not at the Junta to-night, " he remarked. 

There was something of jealousy in the tone. 

"No. There is something I wanted to say to you where we should notbe interrupted, " she answered as he sat down. 

A fold of her filmy house dress fluttered near him. Involuntarily hemoved closer. His eyes met hers. She could feel the passions surgingin the man beside her. 

"I saw Drummond again, to-day, " she began. "Captain Gordon--"

The intense look of hatred that blazed in the eyes of Santosfrightened her. What might have happened if he instead of Gordon hadmet her at the Junta she could not have said. But now she must guardagainst it. If flashed over her that there was only one thing to bedone. 

She rose and laid her hand on his arm. As quickly the look changed. There was only one way to do it; she must make this man think theyunderstood each other without saying so. 

"You must get the counterfeiting plant down on the island--immediately--alone. Don't tell any of the others until it is theresafely. You were going to send it down on the Arroyo next week. Itmust not go from New York at all. It must be shipped by rail, andthen from New Orleans. You must--"

"But--Gordon?" His voice was hoarse. 

She looked at Santos long and earnestly. "I will take care of him, "she said in a tone that Santos could not mistake. "No--Ramon, no. After the revolution--perhaps--who shall say? But now--to work!"

It was with a sigh of relief that she sank to rest at last when hehad gone. For the moment she had won. 

Piece by piece, Santos and she secretly carried out the goods thathad already been collected at the Junta, during the next few days. Without a word to a soul they were shipped south. The boxes andbarrels remained in the musty shop, apparently undisturbed. 

Next the order for the arms and ammunition was quietly diverted sothat they, too, were on their way to New Orleans. Instead, casesresembling them were sent to the Junta headquarters. Drummond, leastof all, must be allowed to think that there was any change in theirplans. 

While Santos was at work gathering the parts, the stamping machine, the press, the dies, the plates, and the rest of the counterfeitingplant which had not yet been delivered, Constance, during the hoursthat she was not collecting money from the concession-grabbers, haunted the Junta. There was every evidence of activity there as theweek advanced. 

She was between two fires, yet never had she enjoyed the tang ofadventure more than now. It was a keen pleasure to feel that she wasoutwitting Drummond when, as some apparently insurmountabledifficulty arose, she would overcome it. More delicate was it, however, to preserve the balance between Santos and Gordon. In factit seemed that the more she sought to avoid Gordon, the morejealously did he pursue her. It was a tangled skein of romance andintrigue that Constance was weaving. 

At last all was ready. It was the night before the departure ofSantos for the south. Constance had decided on the last interview inher own rooms where the first had been. 

"I shall go ahead preparing as if to ship the things on the Arroyo, "she said. "Let me know by the code the moment you are ready. "

Santos was looking at her, oblivious of everything else. 

He reached over and took her hand. She knew this was the momentagainst which she had steeled herself. 

"Come with me, " he asked suddenly. 

She could feel his breath, hotly, on her cheek. 

It was the final struggle. If she let go of herself, all would belost. 

"No, Ramon, " she said softly, but without withdrawing her hand. "Itcan never be--listen. "

It was terrific, to hold in cheek a nature such as his. 

"I went into this scheme for--for money. I have it. We have raisednearly forty thousand dollars. Twenty thousand you have given me asmy share. "

She paused. He was paying no attention to her words. His whole selfwas centered on her face. 

"With me, " she continued, half wearily withdrawing her hand as sheassumed the part she had decided on for herself, "with me, Ramon, love is dead--dead. I have seen too much of the world. Nothing hasany fascination for me now except excitement, money--"

He gently leaned over and recovered the hand that she had withdrawn. Quickly he raised it to his lips as he had done that first night. 

"You are mine, " he whispered, "not his. "

She did not withdraw the hand this time. 

"No--not his--nobody's. "

For a moment the adventurers understood each other. 

"Not his, " he muttered fiercely as he threw his arms about herwildly, passionately. 

"Nobody's, " she panted as she gave one answering caress, thenstruggled from him. 

She had conquered not only Ramon Santos but Constance Dunlap. 

Early the next morning he was speeding southward over the clickingrails. 

Every energy must be bent toward keeping the new scheme secret untilit was carried out successfully. Not a hint must get to Drummondthat there was any change in the activities of the Junta. As for theJunta itself, there was no one of those who believed implicitly inSantos whom Constance need fear, except Gordon. Gordon was the betenoire. 

Two days passed and she was able to guard the secret, as well as toact as though nothing had happened. Santos had left a short note forthe Junta telling them that he would be away for a short timeputting the finishing touches on the purchase of the arms. Thearrival of a cartload of cases at the Junta, which Constancearranged for herself, bore out the letter. Still, she waitedanxiously for word from him. 

The day set for the sailing of the Arroyo arrived and with it atlast a telegram: "Buy corn, oats, wheat. Sell cotton. "

It was the code, telling of the safe arrival of the rifles, cartridges and the counterfeiting plant in New Orleans, a littlelate, but safe. "Sell cotton, " meant "I sail to-night. "

On the way over to the Junta, she had noticed one of Drummond'sshadows dogging her. She must do anything to keep the secret untilthat night. 

She hurried into the dusty ship chandlery. There was Gordon. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Dunlap, " he cried. "You are just the person I amlooking for. Where is Santos? Has the plan been changed?"

Constance thought she detected a shade of jealousy in the tone. Atany rate, Gordon was more attentive than ever. 

"I think he is in Bridgeport, " she replied as casually as she could. "Your ship, you know, sails to-night. He has sent word to me to giveorders that all the goods here at the Junta be ready to cart over bytruck to Brooklyn. There has been no change. The papers are to besigned during the day and she is to be scheduled to sail late in theafternoon with the tide. Only, as you know, some pretext must delayyou. You will hold her at the pier for us. He trusts all that to youas a master hand at framing such excuses that seem plausible. "

Gordon leaned over closer to her. He was positively revolting to herin the role of admirer. But she must not offend him--yet. 

"And my answer!" he asked. 

There was something about him that made Constance almost draw awayinvoluntarily. 

"To-night--at the pier, " she murmured forcing a smile. 

Shortly after dark the teams started their lumbering way across thecity and the bridge. Messengers, stationed on the way, were toreport the safe progress of the trucks to Brooklyn. 

Constance slipped away from the boardinghouse, down through thedeserted streets to the waterfront, leaving word at home that anymessage was to be sent by a trusty boy to the pier. 

It was a foggy and misty night on the water, an ideal night for thegun-runner. She was relieved to learn that there had been not ahitch so far. Still, she reasoned, that was natural. Drummond, evenif he had not been outwitted, would scarcely have spoiled the gameuntil the last moment. 

On the Arroyo every one was chafing. Below decks, the engineer andhis assistants were seeing that the machinery was in perfect order. Men in the streets were posted to give Gordon warning of any danger. 

In the river a tug was watching for a possible police boat. On thewharf the only footfalls were those of Gordon himself and anassistant from the Junta. It was dreary waiting, and Constance drewher coat more closely around her, as she shivered in the night windand tried to brace herself against the unexpected. 

At last the welcome muffled rumble of heavily laden carts disturbedthe midnight silence of the street leading to the river. 

At once a score of men sprang from the hold of the ship, as if bymagic. One by one the cases were loaded. The men were workingfeverishly by the light of battle lanterns--big lamps withreflectors so placed as to throw the light exactly where it wasneeded and nowhere else. They were taking aboard the Arroyo dozensof coffin-like wooden cases, and bags and boxes, smaller and evenheavier. Silently and swiftly they toiled. 

It was risky work, too, at night and in the tense haste. There was amuttered exclamation--a heavy case had dropped! a man had gone downwith a broken leg. 

It was a common thing with the gun-runners. The crew of the Arroyohad expected it. The victim of such an accident could not be sent toa hospital ashore. He was carried, as gently as the rough handscould carry anything, to one side, where he lay silently waiting forthe ship's surgeon who had been engaged for just such an emergency. Constance bent over and made the poor fellow as comfortable as shecould. There was never a whimper from him, but he looked hisgratitude. 

Scarcely a fraction of a minute had been lost. The last cases werenow being loaded. The tug crawled up and made fast. Already theempty trucks were vanishing in the misty darkness, one by one, asmuffled as they came. 

Suddenly lights flashed through the fog on the river. 

There was a hurried tread of feet on the land from around the cornerof a bleak, forbidding black warehouse. 

They were surrounded. On one side was the police boat Patrol. On theother was Drummond. With both was the Secret Service. The surprisewas complete. 

Constance turned to Gordon. He was gone. 

Before she could move, some one seized her. 

"Where's Santos?" demanded a hoarse voice in her ear. She looked upto see Drummond. 

She shut her lips tightly, secure in the secret that Ramon was atthe moment or soon would be on the Gulf, out of reach. 

Across in the fog she strained her eyes. Was that the familiarfigure of Gordon moving in the dim light?

There he was, now, --with Drummond, the police, and the SecretService. It was exactly as she had suspected to herself, and a smileplayed over her face. 

All was excitement, shouts, muttered imprecations. Constance was thecalmest in the crowd--deaf to even Drummond's "third degree. "

They had begun to break open the boxes marked "salt" and "corn. "

A loud exclamation above the sharp crunching of the axes escapedGordon. "Damn them! They've put one across on us!"

The boxes of "salt" and "corn" contained--salt and corn. 

Not a stock of a rifle, not a barrel, not a cartridge was in any ofthem as the axes crashed in one case after another. 

A boy with a telegram emerged indiscreetly from the misty shadows. Drummond seized it, tore it open, and read, "Buy cotton. "

It was the code: "I am off safely. "

The double cross had worked. Constance was thinking, as she smiledto herself, of the money, her share, which she had hidden. There wasnot a scrap of tangible evidence against her, except what Santos hadcarried with him in the filibustering expedition already off fromNew Orleans. Her word would stand against that of all of the victimscombined before any jury that could be empaneled. 

"You thought I needed a warning, " she cried, facing Drummond witheyes that flashed scorn at the skulking figure of Gordon behind him. "But the next time you employ a stool-pigeon to make love, " sheadded, "reckon in that thing you detectives scorn--a woman'sintuition. "

CHAPTER IV

THE GAMBLERS

"Won't you come over to see me to-night? Just a friendly littlegame, my dear--our own crowd, you know. "

There was something in the purring tone of the invitation of thewoman across the hall from Constance Dunlap's apartment that arousedher curiosity. 

"Thank you. I believe I will, " answered Constance. "It's lonely in abig city without friends. "

"Indeed it is, " agreed Bella LeMar. "I've been watching you for sometime and wondering how you stand it. Now be sure to come, won'tyou?"

"I shall be glad to do so, " assured Constance, as they reached theirfloor and parted at the elevator door. 

She had been watching the other woman, too, although she had saidnothing about it. 

"A friendly little game, " repeated Constance to herself. "Thatsounds as if it had the tang of an adventure in it. I'll go. "

The Mayfair Arms, in which she had taken a modest suite of rooms, was a rather recherche apartment, and one of her chief delightssince she had been there had been in watching the other occupants. 

There had been much to interest her in the menage across the hall. Mrs. Bella LeMar, as she called herself, was of a type rather commonin the city, an attractive widow on the safe side of forty, well-groomed, often daringly gowned. Her brown eyes snapped vivacity, andthe pert little nose and racy expression of the mouth confirmed thegeneral impression that Mrs. LeMar liked the good things of life. 

Quite naturally, Constance observed, her neighbor had hosts offriends who often came early and stayed late, friends who seemed toexude, as it were, an air of prosperity and high living. Clearly, she was a woman to cultivate. Constance felt even more interest inher, now that Mrs. LeMar had pursued a bowing acquaintance to thepoint of an unsolicited invitation. 

"A friendly little game, " she speculated. "What IS the game?"

 That night found Constance at the buzzer beside the heavy mahoganydoor across the hall. She wore a new evening gown of warm red. Herface glowed with heightened color, and her nerves were on the quivive for the unlocking at last of the mystery of the fascinatingMrs. LeMar. 

"So glad to see you, my dear, " smiled Bella, holding out her handengagingly. "You are just in time. "

Already several of the guests had arrived. There was an air ofbonhomie as Bella presented them to Constance--a stocky, red-facedman with a wide chest and narrow waist, Ross Watson; a tall, sloping-shouldered man who inclined his head forward earnestly whenhe talked to a lady and spoke with animation, Haddon Halsey; and afair-haired, baby-blue eyed little woman gowned in becoming pink, Mrs. Lansing Noble. 

"Now we're all here--just enough for a game, " remarked Bella in abusiness-like tone. "Oh, I beg pardon--you play, Mrs. Dunlap?" sheadded to Constance. 

"Oh, yes, " Constance replied. "Almost anything--a little bit. "

She had already noted that the chief object in the room, after all, appeared to be a round table. About it the guests seemed naturallyto take their places. 

"What shall it be to-night--bridge?" asked Watson, nonchalantlyfingering a little pack of gilt-edged cards which Bella hadproduced. 

"Oh, no, " cried Mrs. Noble. "Bridge is such a bore. "

"Rum?"

"No--no. The regular game--poker. "

"A dollar limit?"

"Oh, make it five, " drawled Halsey impatiently. 

Watson said nothing, but Bella patted Halsey's hand in approval, asif all were on very good terms indeed. "I think that will make anice little game, " she cut in, opening a drawer from which she tookout a box of blue, red and white chips of real ivory. Watson seemednaturally to assume the role of banker. 

"Aren't you going to join us?" asked Constance. 

"Oh, I seldom play. You know, I'm too busy entertaining you people, "excused Bella, as she bustled out of the room, reappearing a fewminutes later with the maid and a tray of slender hollow-stemmedglasses with a bottle wrapped in a white napkin in a pail of ice. 

 Mrs. Noble shuffled the cards with practiced hand and Watson kept acalculating eye on every face. Luck was not with Constance on thefirst deal and she dropped out. 

Mrs. Noble and Halsey were betting eagerly. Watson was coollyfollowing along until the show-down--which he won. 

"Of all things, " exclaimed the little woman in pink, plainlybetraying her vexation at losing. "Will luck never turn?"

Halsey said nothing. 

Constance watched in amazement. This was no "friendly little game. "The faces were too tense, too hectic. The play was too high, and thedesire to win too great. Mrs. LeMar was something more than agracious hostess in her solicitude for her guests. 

All the time the pile of chips in front of Watson kept building up. At each new deal a white chip was placed in a little box--the kitty--for the "cards and refreshments. "

It was in reality one of the new style gambling joints for men andwomen. 

The gay parties of callers on Mrs. LeMar were nothing other thangamblers. The old gambling dens of the icebox doors and steelgratings, of white-coated servants and free food and drink, hadpassed away with "reform. " Here was a remarkable new phase ofsporting life which had gradually taken its place. 

Constance had been looking about curiously in the meantime. On atable she saw copies of the newspapers which published full accountsof the races, something that looked like a racing sheet, and atelephone conveniently located near writing materials. It was apoolroom, too, then, in the daytime, she reasoned. 

Surely, in the next room, when the light was on, she saw what lookedlike a miniature roulette wheel, not one of the elaborate affairs ofbright metal and ebony, but one of those that can almost be packedinto a suitcase and carried about easily. 

That was the secret of the flashily dressed men and women who calledon Bella LeMar. They were risking everything, perhaps even honoritself, on a turn of a wheel, the fall of a card, a guess on ahorse. 

Why had Bella LeMar invited her here? she asked herself. 

At first Constance was a little bit afraid that she might haveplunged into too deep water. She made up her mind to quit when herlosses reached a certain nominal point. But they did not reach it. Perhaps the gamblers were too clever. But Constance seemed always tokeep just a little bit ahead of the game. 

One person in particular in the group interested her as sheendeavored intuitively to take their measure. It was Haddon Halsey, immaculately garbed, with all those little touches of smartnesswhich women like to see. 

Once she caught Halsey looking intently at her. Was it he who wasletting her win at his expense! Or was his attention to her causinghim to neglect his own game and play it poorly?

She decided to quit. She was a few dollars ahead. For excuse shepleaded a headache. 

Bella accepted the excuse with a cordial nod and a kind inquirywhether she might not like to lie down. 

"No, thank you, " murmured Constance. "But the cards make me nervousto-night. Just let me sit here. I'll be all right in a minute. "

As she lolled back on a divan near the players Constance noted, orthought she noted, now and then exchanges of looks between Bella andWatson. What was the bond of intimacy between them? She noted onMrs. Noble's part that she was keenly alive to everything thatHalsey did. It was a peculiar quadrangle. 

Halsey was losing heavily in his efforts to retrieve his fortunes. He said nothing, but accepted the losses grimly. Mrs. Noble, however, after each successive loss seemed more and more nervous. 

At last, with a hasty look at her wrist watch, she gave a littlesuppressed scream. 

"How the time flies!" she cried. "Who would have thought it as lateas that? Really I must go. I expect my husband back from adirector's meeting at ten, and it's much easier to be home than tohave to think up an excuse. No, Haddon, don't disturb yourself. Ishall get a cab at the door. Let me see--two hundred and twenty-eight dollars. " She paused as if the loss staggered her. "I'll haveto sign another I O U for it, Bella. There!"

She left in a flutter, as if some one had winked out the light bywhich she, poor little butterfly, had singed her wings, and therewas nothing for her but to fly away alone in the darkness with hersecret. 

Halsey accompanied her to the door. For a moment she raised aquestioning face to his, and shot a half covert glance at Constance. Then, as if with an effort, adhering to her first resolution to goalone, she whispered earnestly, "I hope you win. Luck MUST turn. "

Halsey plunged back into the game, now with Bella holding a hand. Heplayed recklessly, then conservatively. It made no difference. Thecards seemed always against him. Constance began really to feelalarmed at his manner. 

Once, however, he chanced to look up at her. Something in her facemust have impressed him. Turning, he flung down the cards in disgust. "That's enough for to-night, " he exclaimed, rising anddraining another glass on the tray. 

"Luck will come your way soon again, " urged Bella. "It all averagesup in the end, you know. It has to. "

"How did you enjoy the evening!" insinuated Bella. 

"Very much, " replied Constance enthusiastically. "It is so exciting, you know. "

"You must come again when more of my friends are here. "

"I should like to. But to-night was very nice. "

Halsey looked at her contemplatively. She had risen to go. As shetook a step or two toward the door, still facing them, she foundHalsey at her side. 

"Shall we go over to Jack's for a bite to eat?" he whispered. 

There was as much of appeal in his undertone as of invitation. 

"Thank you. I shall be glad to go, " Constance assented quickly. 

There was something about Haddon Halsey that interested her. PerhapsBella and Watson exchanged a knowing glance as she crossed the hallfor her wraps. Whatever it was, Constance determined to see thething through to a finish, confident that she was quite able to takecare of herself. 

Outside the raw night air smote dankly on their fevered faces. Asthey walked along briskly, too glad to get into the open to summon acar, Constance happened to turn. She had an uncomfortable feeling. She could have sworn some one was following them. She said nothingabout a figure a few feet behind them. 

The lively, all-night restaurant was thronged. Halsey seemed tothrow himself into the gayety with reckless abandon, ordering abouttwice as much as they could eat and drink. But in spite of thefascination of the scene, Constance could not forget the dark figureskulking behind them in the shadow of the street. 

Once she looked up. At another table she could just catch a glimpseof Drummond, of the Burr Detective Agency, alone, oblivious. 

Never did he look at them. There was nothing to indicate that he waseven interested. But Constance knew that that was the method of hisshadowing. Never for a moment, she knew, did he permit himself tolook into the eyes of his quarry, even for the most fleeting glance. 

She knew, too, that there must be some psychological reason for hisnot looking at them, as he otherwise must have done, if only bychance. It was the method followed by the expert modern trailer. Sheknew that if one looks at a person intently while in a public place, for instance, it will not be long before the gaze will be returned. Try as she would, she could not catch Drummond's eye, however. 

Halsey, now that the strain of the game was off, was rattling alongabout his losses in an undertone to her. 

"But what of it?" he concluded. "Any day luck may change. As formyself, I go always on the assumption that I am the one exception--unlucky both at cards and love. If the event proves I am right, I amnot disappointed. If I am wrong, then I am happy. "

There was something in the tone of the whimsicality that alarmedher. It covered a desperation which she felt instinctively. 

Why was he talking thus to her, almost a stranger? Surely it couldnot have been for that that Bella LeMar had brought them together. 

Gradually it came to her. The man had really, honestly been struckby her from the moment of their introduction. Instead of allowingothers, to say nothing of himself, to lead her on in the path he andMrs. Noble and the others had entered, he was taking the bit in histeeth, like a high-strung race horse, and was running away, now thatBella LeMar for the moment did not hold the reins. He was warningher openly against the game!

Somehow the action appealed to Constance. It was genuine, disinterested. Secretly, it was flattering. Still, she said nothingabout Bella, nor about Mrs. Noble. Halsey seemed to appreciate thefact. His face showed plainly as if he had said it that here, atleast, was one woman who was not always talking about others. 

There had been a rapid-fire suddenness about his confidences whichhad fascinated her. 

"Are you in business?" she ventured. 

"Oh, yes, " he laughed grimly. "I'm in business--treasurer of theExporting & Manufacturing Company. "

"But, " she pursued, looking him frankly in the face, "I should thinkyou'd be afraid to--er--become involved--"

"I know I am being watched, " he broke in impatiently. "You see, I'mbonded, and the bonding companies keep a pretty sharp lookout onyour habits. Oh, the crash will come some day. Until it does--let usmake the most of it--while it lasts. "

He said the words bitterly. Constance was confirmed in her originalsuspicion of him now. Halsey was getting deeper and deeper into themoral quagmire. She had seen his interest in Mrs. Noble. Had BellaLeMar hoped that she, too, would play will-o '-the-wisp in leadinghim on?

Over the still half-eaten supper she watched Halsey keenly. Athousand questions about himself, about Mrs. Noble, rushed throughher mind. Should she be perfectly frank?

"Are you--are you using the company's money!" she asked at lengthpointedly. 

He had not expected the question, and his evident intention was todeny it. But he met her eye. He tried to escape it, but could not. What was there about this little woman that had compelled hisattention and interest from the moment he had been introduced?

Quickly he tried to reason it out in his heart. It was not that shewas physically attractive to him. Mrs. Noble was that It was notthat fascination which Bella aroused, the adventuress, the siren, the gorgon. In Constance there was something different. She was awoman of the world, a man's woman. Then, too, she was so brutallyfrank in inviting his confidences. 

Over and over he turned the answer he had intended to make. Hecaught her eye again and knew that it was of no use. 

"Yes, " he muttered, as a cloud spread over his face at not beingable, as usual, to let the gay life put the truth out of his mind. "Yes, I have been using--their funds. "

As if a switch had been turned, the light broke on Constance. Shesaw herself face to face with one of the dark shadows in the greatcity of high lights. 

"How?" she asked simply, leaning forward over the table. 

There was no resisting her. Quickly he told her all. 

"At first with what little money of my own I had I played. Then Ibegan to sign I O U's and notes. Now I have been taking blank stockcertificates, some of those held as treasury stock in the company'ssafe. They have never been issued, so that by writing in thesignatures of myself and the other officers necessary, I have beenable to use it to pay off my losses in gambling. "

As he unfolded to her the plan which he had adopted, Constancelistened in amazement. 

"And you know that you are watched, " she repeated, changing thesubject, and sensing rather than seeing that Drummond was watchingthem then. 

"Yes, " he continued freely. "The International Surety, in which I'mbonded, has a sort of secret service of its own, I understand. It isthe eye that is never closed, but is screened from the man underbond. When you go into the Broadway night life too often, forinstance, " he pursued, waving his hand about at the gay tables, "runaround in fast motors with faster company--well, they know it. Whois watching, I do not know. But with me it will be as it has beenwhen others came to the end. Some day they will come to me, and theyare going to say, 'We don't like your conduct. Where do you get thismoney?' They will know, then, too. But before that time comes I wantto win, to be in a position to tell them to go--"

Halsey clenched his fist. It was evident that he did not intend toquit, no matter what the odds against him. 

Constance thought of the silent figure of Drummond at the othertable--watching, watching. She felt sure that it was to him that theSurety Company had turned over the work of shadowing Halsey. Dayafter day, probably, the unobtrusive detective had been trailingHalsey from the moment he left his apartment until the time when hereturned, if he did return. There was nothing of his goings andcomings that was not already an open book to them. Of what use wasit, then, for Halsey to fight!

It was a situation such as she delighted in. She had made up hermind. She would help Haddon Halsey to beat the law. 

Already it seemed as if he knew that their positions had beenreversed. He had started to warn her; she now was saving him. 

Yet even then he showed the better side of his nature. 

"There is some one else, Mrs. Dunlap, " he remarked earnestly, "whoneeds your help even more than I do. "

It had cost him something to say that. He had not been able toaccept her help, even under false pretenses. Eagerly he watched tosee whether jealousy of the other woman played any part with her. 

"I understand, " she said with a hasty glance at her watch and acovert look at Drummond. "Let us go. If we are to win we must keepour heads clear. I shall see you to-morrow. "

For hours during the rest of the night Constance tossed fitfully inhalf sleep, thinking over the problem she had assumed. 

How was she to get at the inside truth of what was going on acrossthe hall? That was the first question. 

In her perplexity, she rose and looked out of the window at the nowlightening gray of the courtyard. There dangled the LeMar telephonewire, only a few feet from her own window. 

Suddenly an idea flashed over her. In her leisure she had read muchand thought more. She recalled having heard of a machine that justfitted her needs. 

As soon as she was likely to find places of business open Constancestarted out on her search. It was early in the forenoon before shereturned, successful. The machine which she had had in mind provedto be an oak box, perhaps eighteen inches long, by half the width, and a foot deep. On its face it bore a little dial. Inside thereappeared a fine wire on a spool which unwound gradually byclockwork, and, after passing through a peculiar small arrangement, was wound up on another spool. Flexible silk-covered copper wiresled from the box. 

Carefully Constance reached across the dizzy intervening space, anddrew in the slack LeMar telephone wires. With every care she cutinto them as if she were making an extension, and attached the wiresfrom the box. 

Perhaps half an hour later the door buzzer sounded. Constance couldscarcely restrain her surprise as Mrs. Lansing Noble stepped inquickly and shut the door herself. 

"I don't want her to know I'm here, " she whispered, nodding acrossthe hall. 

"Won't you take off your things?" asked Constance cordially. 

"No, I can't stay, " returned her visitor nervously, pausing. 

Constance wondered why she had come. Was she, too, trying to warn anewcomer against the place!

She said nothing, but now that the effort had been made and thelittle woman had gone actually so far, she felt the reaction. Shesank down into an easy chair and rested her pretty head on herdelicately gloved hand. 

"Oh, Mrs. Dunlap, " she began convulsively, "I hope you will pardonan entire stranger for breaking in on you so informally--but--but Ican't--I can't help it. I must tell some one. "

Accustomed as she was now to strange confidences, Constance bentover and patted the little hand of Mrs. Noble comfortingly. 

"You seemed to take it so coolly, " went on the other woman. "For methe glamour, the excitement are worse than champagne. But you couldstop, even when you were winning. Oh, my God! What am I to do? Whatwill happen when my husband finds out what I have done!"

Tearfully, the little woman poured out the sordid story of herfascination for the game, of her losses, of the pawning of herjewels to pay her losses and keep them secret, if only for a fewdays, until that mythical time when luck would change. 

"When I started, " she blurted out with a bitter little laugh, "Ithought I'd make a little pin money. That's how I began--with thatand the excitement. And now this is the end. "

She had risen and was pacing the floor wildly. 

"Mrs. Dunlap, " she cried, pausing before Constance, "to-day I amnothing more nor less than a 'capper, ' as they call it, for agambling resort. "

She was almost hysterical. The contrast with the gay, respectable, prosperous-looking woman at Bella's was appalling. Constancerealized to the full what were the tragedies that were enactedelsewhere. 

As she looked at the despairing woman, she could reconstruct theterrible situation. Cultivated, well-bred, fashionably gowned, awoman like Mrs. Noble served admirably the purpose of luring men on. If there had been only women or only men involved, it perhaps wouldnot have been so bad. But there were both. Constance saw that menwere wanted, men who could afford to lose not hundreds, butthousands, men who are always the heaviest players. And so Mrs. Noble and other unfortunate women no doubt were sent out on Broadwayto the cafes and restaurants, sent out even among those of their ownsocial circle, always to lure men on, to involve themselves more andmore in the web into which they had flown. Bella had hoped even touse Constance!

Mrs. Noble had paused again. There was evident sincerity in her asshe looked deeply into the eyes of Constance. 

Nothing but desperation could have wrung her inmost secrets from herto another woman. 

"I saw them trying to throw you together with Haddon Halsey, " shesaid, almost tragically. "It was I who introduced Haddon to them. Iwas to get a percentage of his losses to pay off my own--but"--herfeelings seemed to overcome her and wildly, desperately, she added--"but I can't--I can't. I--I must rescue him--I must. "

It was a strange situation. Constance reasoned it out quickly. Whata wreck of life these two were making! Not only they were involved, but others who as yet knew nothing, Mrs. Noble's husband, the familyof Halsey. She must help. 

"Mrs. Noble, " said Constance calmly, "can you trust me?"

She shot a quick glance at Constance. "Yes, " she murmured. 

"Then to-night visit Mrs. LeMar as though nothing had happened. Meanwhile I will have thought out a plan. "

It was late in the afternoon when Constance saw Halsey again, thistime in his office, where he had been waiting impatiently for someword from her. The relief at seeing her showed only too plainly onhis face. 

"This inaction is killing me, " he remarked huskily. "Has anythinghappened to-day!"

She said nothing about the visit of Mrs. Noble. Perhaps it wasbetter that each should not know yet that the other was worried. 

"Yes, " she replied, "much has happened. I cannot tell you now. Butto-night let us all go again as though nothing had occurred. "

"They have twenty-five thousand dollars in stock certificatesalready which I have given them, " he remarked anxiously. 

"Some way--any way, you must get them back for a time. Let me seesome of the blanks. "

Halsey shut the door. From a secret drawer of his desk he drew apackage of beautifully engraved paper. 

Constance looked at it a moment. Then with a fountain pen, acrossthe front of each, she made a few marks. Halsey looked on eagerly. As she handed them back to him, not a sign showed on any part ofthem. 

"You must tell them that there is something wrong with the others, that you will give them other certificates of your own about whichthere is no question. Tell them anything to get them back. Here--take this other fountain pen, sign the new certificates with that, in their presence so that they will suspect nothing. To-night Ishall expect you to play up to the limit, to play into Mrs. Noble'shand and assume her losses, too. I shall meet you there at nine. "'

Constance had laid her plans quickly. That night she waited in herown apartment until she heard Halsey enter across the hall. She haddetermined to give him plenty of time to obtain the old forgedcertificates and substitute for them the new forgeries. 

Perhaps half an hour later she heard Mrs. Noble enter. As Constancefollowed her in, the effusive greeting of Bella LeMar showed that asyet she suspected nothing. A quick glance at Halsey brought ananswering nod and an unconscious motion toward his pocket where hehad stuffed the old certificates carelessly. 

A moment later they had plunged into the game. The play that nightwas spirited. Soon the limit was the roof. 

From the start things seemed to run against Halsey and Mrs. Nobleeven worse than before. At the same time fortune seemed to favorConstance. Again and again she won, until even Watson seemed tothink there was something uncanny about it. 

"Beginner's luck, " remarked Bella with a forced laugh. 

Still Constance won, not much, but steadily, though not enough tooffset the larger winnings of Watson. 

Fast and furious became the play and as steadily did it go againstHalsey. Mrs. Noble retired, scarcely repressing the tears. Constancedropped out. Only Halsey and Watson remained, fighting as if it werea duel to the death. 

"Please stop, Halsey, " pleaded Mrs. Noble. "What is the use oftempting fortune?"

An insane half light seemed to glow in his eyes as, with a quickglance at Constance and a covert nod of approval from her, he forceda smile and playfully laid his finger on Mrs. Noble's lips. 

"Double or quits, Watson, " he cried. "Return the new certificates ortake others for twice the amount. Are you game?"

"I'm on, " agreed Watson coolly. 

Halsey laid down his hand in triumph. There were four kings. 

"I win, " ground out Watson viciously, as he tossed down four aces. 

Constance was on her feet in a moment. 

"You are a lot of cheats and swindlers, " she cried, seizing thecards before any one could interfere. 

Deftly she laid out the four aces beside the four deuces, the fourkings beside the four queens. It was done so quickly that evenHalsey, in his amazement, could find nothing to say. Mrs. Noblepaled and was speechless. As for Bella and Watson, nothing couldhave aroused them more than the open charge that they were usingfalse devices. 

Yet never for a moment did Watson lose his iron cynicism. 

"Prove it, " he demanded. "As for Mr. Halsey, he may pay or I'll showthe stock I already hold to the proper people. "

Constance was facing Watson, as calm as he. 

"Show it, " she said quietly. 

There was a knock at the door. 

"Don't let any one in, " ordered Bella of the maid, who had alreadyopened the door. 

A man's foot had been inserted into the opening. "What's the matter, Chloe?"

"Good Lawd, Mis' Bella--we done been raided!" burst out the maid asthe door flew wholly open. 

Halsey staggered back. "A detective!" he exclaimed. 

"Oh, what shall I do!" wailed Mrs. Noble. "My husband will neverforgive me if this becomes known. "

Bella was as calm as a good player with a royal straight flush. 

"I've caught you at last, " fairly hissed Drummond. "And you, too, Mrs. Dunlap. Watson, I overheard something about some stock. Let mesee it. I think it will interest International Surety as well asExporters and Manufacturers. "

Through the still open door Constance had darted across the hall toher apartment. 

"Not so fast, " cried Drummond. "You can't escape. The front door isguarded. You can't get out. "

She was gone, but a moment later emerged from the darkness of herrooms, carrying the oak box. 

As she set it down on the card table, no one said a word. Deliberately she opened the box, disclosing two spools of wireinside. To the machine she attached several head pieces such as atelephone operator wears. She turned a switch and the wire began tounroll from one spool and wind up on the other again. 

A voice, or rather voices, seemed to come from the box itself. Itwas uncanny. 

"Hello, is this Mrs. LeMar?" came from it. 

"What is it?" whispered Halsey, as if fearful of being overheard. 

"A telegraphone, " replied Constance, shutting it off for a moment. 

"A telegraphone? What is that?"

"A machine for registering telephone conversations, dictation, anything of the sort you wish. It was invented by Valdemar Poulsen, the Danish Edison. This is one of his new wire machines. The recordis made by a new process, localized charges of magnetism on thiswire. It is as permanent as the wire itself. There is only one thingthat can destroy them--rubbing over the wire with this magnet. Listen. "

She had started the machine again. Whose voice was it calling Bella?Constance was looking fixedly at Drummond. He shifted uneasily. 

"How much is he in for now?" pursued the voice. 

Halsey gasped. It was Drummond's own voice. 

"Two hundred and fifty shares, " replied Bella's voice. 

"Good. Keep at him. Don't lose him. To-night I'll drop in. "

"And your client will make good?" she anxiously. 

"Absolutely. We will pay five thousand dollars for the evidence thatwill convict him. "

Constance's little audience was stunned. But she did not let thetelegraphone pause. Skipping some unimportant calls, she beganagain. 

This was a call from Bella to Watson. 

"Ross, that fellow Drummond called up to-day. "

"Yes?"

"He is going to pull it off to-night. His client will make good--five thousand if they catch Halsey with the goods. How about it?"

"Pretty soft--eh, Bella?" came back from Watson. 

"My God! it's a plant!" exclaimed Halsey, staggering and droppingheavily into a chair. "I'm ruined. There is no way out!"

"Wait, " interrupted Constance. "Here's another call. It may serve toexplain why luck was with me to-night. I came prepared. "

"Yes, Mrs. LeMar, " came another strange voice from the machine. "We'd do anything for Mr. Watson. What is it--a pack of strippers?"

"Yes. The aces stripped from the ends, the kings from the sides. "

The group looked eagerly at Constance. 

"From the maker of fake gambling apparatus, I find, " she explained, shutting off the machine. "They were ordering from him cards cut ortrimmed so that certain ones could be readily drawn from the deck, or 'stripped. ' Small wedge-shaped strips are trimmed off the edgesof all the other cards, leaving the aces, say, projecting just themost minute fraction of an inch beyond the others. Everything isdone carefully. The rounded edges at the corners are recut to lookright. When the cards are shuffled the aces protrude a trifle overthe edges of the other cards. It is a simple matter for the dealerto draw or strip out as many aces as he wants, stack them on thebottom of the pack as he shuffles the cards, and draw them from thebottom whenever he wants them. Strippers are one of the newestthings in swindling. Marked cards are out of date. But some deckshave the aces stripped from the ends, the kings from the sides. Withthis pack, as you can see, a sucker can be dealt out the kings, while the house player gets the aces. "

Drummond brazened it out. With a muttered oath he turned to Watsonagain. "What rot is this? The stock, Watson, " he repeated. "Whereis that stock I heard them talking about?"

Mrs. Noble, forgetting all now but Halsey, paled. Bella LeMar wasfumbling at her gold mesh bag. She gave a sudden, suppressed littlescream. 

"Look!" she cried. "They are blank--those stock certificates he gaveme. "

Drummond seized them roughly from her hands. 

Where the signatures should have been there was nothing at all!

Across the face of the stock were the words in deep black, "SAMPLECERTIFICATE, " written in an angular, feminine hand. 

What did it mean? Halsey was as amazed as any of them. Mechanicallyhe turned to Constance. 

"I didn't say anything last night, " she remarked incisively. "But Ihad my suspicions from the first. I always look out for the purrykind of 'my dear' woman. They have claws. Last night I watched. To-day I learned--learned that you, Mr. Drummond, were nothing but ablackmailer, using these gamblers to do your dirty work. Haddon, they would have thrown you out like a squeezed lemon as soon as themoney you had was gone. They would have taken the bribe thatDrummond offered for the stock--and they would have left you nothingbut jail. I learned all that over the telegraphone. I learned theirmethods and, knowing them, even I could not be prevented fromwinning to-night"

Halsey moved as if to speak. "But, " he asked eagerly, "the stockcertificates--what of them!"

"The stock?" she answered with deliberation. "Did you ever hear thatwriting in quinoline will appear blue, but will soon fade away, while other writing in silver nitrate and ammonia, invisible atfirst, after a few hours appears black? You wrote on thosecertificates in sympathetic ink that fades, I in ink that comes upsoon. "

Mrs. Noble was crying softly to herself. They still had her notesfor thousands. 

Halsey saw her. Instantly he forgot his own case. What was to bedone about her? He telegraphed a mute appeal to Constance, forgetfulof himself now. Constance was fingering the switch of thetelegraphone. 

"Drummond, " remarked Constance significantly, as though othersecrets might still be contained in the marvelous little mechanicaldetective, "Drummond, don't you think, for the sake of your ownreputation as a detective, it might be as well to keep this thingquiet?"

For a moment the detective gripped his wrath and seemed to considerthe damaging record of his conversation with Bella LeMar. 

"Perhaps, " he agreed sullenly. 

Constance reached into her chatelaine. From it she drew an ordinarymagnet, and slowly pulled off the armature. 

"If I run this over the wires, " she hinted, holding it near thespools, "the record will be wiped out. " She paused impressively. "Let me have those I O U's of Mrs. Noble's. By the way, you might aswell give me that blank stock, too. There is no use in that, now. "

As she laid the papers in a pile on the table before her she addedthe old forged certificates from Halsey's pocket. There it lay, theincriminating, ruining evidence. 

Deliberately she passed the magnet over the thin steel wire, wipingout what it had recorded, as if the recording angel were blottingout from the book of life. 

"Try it, Drummond, " she cried, dropping on her knees before the openfireplace. "You will find the wire a blank. "

There was a hot, sudden blaze as the pile of papers from the tableflared up. 

"There, " she exclaimed. "These gambling debts were not even debts ofhonor. If you will call a cab, Haddon, I have reserved a table atJade's for you and Mrs. Noble. It is a farewell. Drummond will notoccupy his place in the corner to-night. But--after it--you are toforget--both of you--forever. You understand?"

CHAPTER V

THE EAVESDROPPERS

"I suppose you have heard something about the troubles of the MotorTrust? The other directors, you know, are trying to force me out. "

Rodman Brainard, president of the big Motor Corporation, searchedthe magnetic depths of the big brown eyes of the woman beside hisdesk. Talking to Constance Dunlap was not like talking to otherwomen he had known, either socially or in business. 

"A friend of yours, and of mine, " he added frankly, "has told meenough about you to convince me that you are more than an amateur atgetting people out of tight places. I asked you to call because Ithink you can help me. "

There was a directness about Brainard which Constance liked. 

"It's very kind of you to place such confidence in me--on such shortacquaintance, " she returned pointedly, searching his face. 

Brainard laughed. 

"I don't need to tell you, Mrs. Dunlap, that anything I have said sofar is an open secret in Wall Street. They have threatened to dragin the Sherman law, and in the reorganization that will follow theinvestigation, they plan to eliminate Rodman Brainard--perhaps setin motion the criminal clauses of the law. It's nothing, Mrs. Dunlap, but a downright hypocritical pose. They reverse the usualprocess. It is doing good that evil may result. "

He watched her face intently. Something in her expression seemed toplease him. "By George, " he thought to himself, "this is a man'swoman. You can talk to her. "

Brainard, accustomed to quick decisions, added aloud, "Just now theyare using Mrs. Brainard as a catspaw. They are spreading thatscandal about my acquaintance with Blanche Leblanc, the actress. Youhave seen her? A stunning woman--wonderful. But I long ago saw thatsuch a friendship could lead to nothing but ruin. " He metConstance's eye squarely. There was nothing of the adventuress in itas there had been in Blanche Leblanc. "And, " he finished, almostbiting off the words, "I decided to cut it out. "

"How does Blanche Leblanc figure in the Motor Trust trouble?" askedConstance keenly. 

"They had been shadowing me a long time before I knew it, ferretingback into my past. Yesterday I learned that some one had broken intoMiss Leblanc's apartments and had stolen a package of letters whichI wrote to her. It can't hurt her. People expect that sort of thingof an actress. But it can hurt the president of the Motor Trust--just at present. "

"Who has been doing the shadowing?"

"Worthington, the treasurer, is the guiding spirit of the'insurgents' as they call themselves--it sounds popular, likereform. I understand they have had a detective named Drummondworking for them. "

Constance raised her eyes quickly at the name. "Was Drummond alwaysto cross her trail?

"This story of the letters, " he went on, "puts on the finishingtouch. They have me all right on that. I can tell by the way thatSybil--er, Mrs. Brainard--acts, that she has read and reread thoseletters. But, by God, " he concluded, bringing down his fist on thedesk, "I shall fight to the end, and when I go down, "--he emphasizedeach word with an additional blow, --"the crash will bring down thewhole damned structure on their own heads, too. "

He was too earnest even to apologize to her. Constance studied thegrim determination in the man's face. He was not one of thosedestined to fail. 

"All is not lost that is in peril, Mr. Brainard, " she remarkedquietly. "That's one of the maxims of your own Wall Street. "

"What would you do?" he asked. It was not an appeal; rather it wasan invitation. 

"I can't say, yet. Let me come into the office of the Trust. Can't Ibe your private secretary?"

"Consider yourself engaged. Name your figure--after it is over. Myrecord on the Streets speaks for how I stand by those who stand byme. But I hate a quitter. "

"So do I, " exclaimed Constance, rising and giving him her hand in astraight-arm shake that made Brainard straighten himself and lookdown into her face with unconcealed admiration. 

The next morning Constance became private secretary to the presidentof the Motor Trust. 

"You will be 'Miss' Dunlap, " remarked Brainard. "It sounds moreplausible. "

Quietly he arranged her duties so that she would seem to be verybusy without having anything which really interfered with thepurpose of her presence. 

She had been thinking rapidly. Late in the forenoon she reached adecision. A little errand uptown kept her longer than she expected, but by the late afternoon she was back again at her desk, on whichrested a small package which had been delivered by messenger forher. 

"I beg you won't think as badly of me as it seems on the surface, Miss Dunlap, " remarked Brainard, stopping beside her desk. 

"I don't think badly of you, " she answered in a low voice. "You arenot the only man who has been caught with a crowd of crooks who planto leave him holding the bag. "

"Oh, it isn't that, " he hastened, "I mean this Blanche Leblancaffair. May I be frank with you?"

It was not the first time Constance had been made a confidante ofthe troubles of the heart, and yet there was something fascinatingabout having a man like Brainard consider her worthy of beingtrusted with what meant so much to him. 

"I'm not altogether to blame. " he went on slowly. "The estrangementbetween my wife and myself came long before that little affair. Itbegan over--well--over what they call a serious difference intemperament. You know a man--an ambitious man--needs a partner, awoman who can use the social position that money gives not alone forpleasure but as a means of advancing the partnership. I never hadthat. The more I advanced, the more I found her becoming abutterfly--and not as attractive as the other butterflies either. She went one way--I, another. Oh well--what's the use? I wont toofar--the wrong way. I must pay. Only let me save what I can from thewreck. "

It was not Constance, the woman, to whom he was talking. It wasConstance, the secretary. Yet it was the woman, not the secretary, who listened. 

Brainard stopped again beside her desk. 

"All that is neither here nor there, " he remarked, forcing a changein his manner. "I am in for it. Now, the question is--what are wegoing to do about it!"

Constance had unwrapped the package on her desk, disclosing anoblong box. 

"What's that?" he asked curiously. 

"Mr. Brainard, " she answered tapping the box, "there's no limit tothe use of this little machine for our purposes. We can get at theirmost vital secrets with it. We can discover every plan which theyhave against us. We may even learn the hiding place of those lettersWhy, there is no limit. This is one of those new microphonedetectives. "

"A microphone?" he repeated as he opened the box, looked sharply atthe two black little storage batteries inside, the coil of silk-covered wire, a little black rubber receiver and a curious blackdisc whose face was pierced by a circular row of holes. 

"Yes. You must have heard of them. You hide that transmitter behinda picture or under a table or desk. Then you run the wire out of theroom and by listening in the receiver you can hear everything!"

"But that is what detectives use--"

"Well?" she interrupted coolly, "what of it? If it is good for them, is it not just as good for us?"

"Better!" he exclaimed. "By George, you ARE the goods. "

It was late before Constance had a chance to do anything with themicrophone. It seemed as if Worthington were staying, perversely, later than usual. At last, however, he left with a curt nod to her. 

The moment the door was closed she stopped the desultory clicking ofher typewriter with Which she had been toying in the appearance ofbeing busy. With Brainard she entered the board room where she hadnoticed Worthington and Sheppard often during the day. 

It was, without exaggeration, one of the most plainly furnishedrooms she had ever seen. A long mahogany table with eight largemahogany chairs, a half inch pile of velvety rug on the floor and ahuge chandelier in the middle of the ceiling constituted thefurniture. Not a picture, not a cabinet or filing case broke theblankness of the brown painted walls. 

For a moment she stopped to consider. Brainard waited and watchedher narrowly. 

"There isn't a place to put this transmitter except up above thatchandelier, " she said at length. 

He gave her his hand as she stepped on a chair and then on thetable. There was a glimpse of a trim ankle. The warmth and softnessof her touch caused him to hold her hand just a moment longer thanwas absolutely necessary. A moment later he was standing on thetable beside her. 

"This is the place, all right, " she said, looking at the thick scumof dust on the top of the reflector. 

Quickly she placed the little black disc close to the center on thetop of the reflector. "Can you see that from the floor?" she asked. 

"No, " he answered, walking about the room, "not a sign of it. "

"I'll sit here, " she said in just a tremor of excitement over theadventure, "and listen while you talk in the board room. "

Brainard entered. It seemed ridiculous for him to talk to himself. 

"If the microphone works, " he said at length, "rap on the desktwice. " Then he added, half laughing to himself, "If it doesn't, raponce--Constance. "

A single rap came in answer. 

"If you couldn't hear, " he smiled entering her office, "why did yourap once!"

"It didn't work smoothly on that last word. "

"What--Constance?"

He thought there was a subtle change in their relations since themicrophone incident. At any rate she was not angry. Were they notpartners?

"I think it will be better if I turn that microphone around, " sheremarked. "I placed it face downwards. Let me change it. "

Again he helped her as she jumped up on the board room table. Thistime his hand lingered a little longer in hers and she did notwithdraw it so soon. When she did there was a quick twinkle in hereyes as she straightened the microphone and offered her hand to himagain. 

"Jump!" he said, as if daring her. 

A moment she paused. "I never could take a dare, " she answered. 

She leaped lightly to the floor. For just a moment she seemed aboutto lose her balance. Then she felt an arm steadying her. He hadcaught her and for an instant their eyes met. 

"Well, Rodman--I scarcely thought it was as brazen as this!"

They turned in surprise. 

Mrs. Brainard was standing in the doorway. 

She was a petite blonde little woman of the deceptive age which thebeauty parlors convey to thousands of their assiduous patrons. 

For a moment she looked coldly from one to the other. 

"To what am I indebted for the pleasure of this unexpected visit, Sybil?" asked Brainard with sarcastic emphasis. "I shall finishthose letters to-morrow, Miss Dunlap. You need not wait for them. "

He held the door to his own office open for Mrs. Brainard. 

Sybil Brainard shot a quick glance at Constance. "Well, young lady, "she said haughtily, "do you realize what you are doing and with whomyou are?"

"It isn't necessary, Sybil, to bother about Miss Dunlap. The lightswere out of order and I found Miss Dunlap standing on the tabletrying to fix them. You came just in time to see her jump down. Bythe way, Worthington seems to be another who works late. He leftonly a few minutes ago. "

Constance passed a restless night. To have got wrong at the verystart worried her. Over and over she thought of what had happened. And always she came back to one question. What had Brainard meant bythat reference to Worthington?

He came in late the next day, however. Still, there was no change inhis manner as he greeted her. The incident had not affected him, asit had her. Neither of them said anything about it. 

A young man had been waiting to see Brainard and as he entered heasked him in. 

Just then Sheppard walked casually through the reception room andinto the board room. 

Constance quickly closed her door. She heard the young man leaveBrainard's office but she was too engrossed to pay attention toanything but the voices that were coming through the microphone. Shewas writing feverishly what she heard. 

"Yes, Sheppard, I saw her again last night. "

"Where?"

"She was to meet me here, but he stayed later than usual with thatnew secretary of his. So I cut out and met her at the streetentrance. "

"And?"

"I told her of the new secretary. She did just what I wanted--cameup here--and, say Sheppard--what do you think? They were in thisroom and he had his arms about her!"

"The letters are all right, are they? How much did you have to paythe Leblanc girl?"

"Twenty thousand. That's all charged up against the pool. Say, Leblanc is--well--give you my word, Sheppard--I can hardly blameBrainard after all. "

"You ARE the last word in woman haters, Lee. "

Both men laughed. 

"And the letters?"

"Don't worry. They are where they'll do the most good. Sybil hasthem herself. Now, what have you to report? You saw the districtattorney?"

"Yes. He is ready to promise us all immunity if we will go on thestand for the state. The criminal business will come later. Only, you have to play him carefully. He's on the level. A breath of whatwe really want and it will be all off. "

"Then we'll have to hold the stock up, as though nothing was goingto happen. "

They had left the board room. 

Constance hurried into Brainard's office. He was sunk deep in hischair reading some papers. 

"What's the matter?" she asked. 

"She has entered a suit for divorce. That young man was a processserver. "

"Yes. "

"You are named as co-respondent along with Blanche Leblanc. "

"I?"

"Yes. It must have been an afterthought. Everything is going--fortune, reputation--even your friendship, now, Constance--"

"Going? Not yet. "

She read hastily what she had overheard. 

"Devil take Worthington, " ground out Brainard, gripping the arms ofhis chair. "For weeks I have suspected him. They have been tooclever for me. Constance, while I have been going around layingmyself open to discovery, Sybil has played a cool and careful game. "

He was pacing the floor. 

"So--that's the plan. Hold back, keep the stock up until they getstarted. Then let it go down until I'm forced to sell out at a loss, buy it back cheap, and control the reorganization. Well, I haven'tcontrol now, alone. I wish I did have. But neither have they. Thepublic owns the stock now. I need it. Who'll get it first--that'sthe question!"

He was thinking rapidly. 

"If you could do a little bear manipulation yourself, " shesuggested. "That might get the public scared. You could get enoughto control, perhaps, then. They wouldn't dare sell--or if they didthey would weaken their own control. Either way, you get them, goingor coming. "

"Exactly what I was thinking. Play their own game--ahead of them--accelerate it. "

It was just after the lunch hour that Constance resumed her place ather desk with the receiver at her ear. 

There were voices again in the board room. 

"My God, Sheppard, what do you think? Someone is selling Motors--five points off and still going down. "

"Who is it? What shall we do?"

"Who! Brainard, of course. Some one has peached. What are you goingto do?"

"Wait. Let's call up the News Agency. Hello--yes--what? Unofficialrumor of prosecution of Motors by the government--large sellingorders placed in advance. The deuce--say, we'll have to meet thisor--"

"Meet nothing. It's Brainard. He's going down in a big crash. Wepour our money into his pockets now and let him sell at the top andgrab back control with OUR money? Not much. I sell, too. "

Already boys were on the street with extras crying the great crashin Motors. It was only a matter of minutes before all the newsreading public were thoroughly scared at the apparently burstingbubble. Shares were dug up in small lots, in huge blocks and slammedon the market for what they would bring. All day the pounding wenton. Thousands of shares were poured out until Motors which had beenclimbing toward par in the neighborhood of 79 had declined fortypoints. Brainard had jumped in first and had realized the top pricefor his holdings. 

Yet during all the wild scenes when the telephone was ringinginsistently for him, Brainard, having set the machinery in motionand having been ostentatiously in the office when it started inorder to avert suspicion, could not now be found. 

The market had closed and Constance was reading the account of thecollapse as it was interpreted in the Wall Street editions of thepapers, when the door opened and Brainard entered. 

"This has been a good day's work, Constance, " he said, flinginghimself into a chair. 

"Yes, I was just reading of it in the papers. The little microphonehas put an entirely new twist on affairs. And the best of it is thatthe financial writers all seem to think it was planned byWorthington and the rest. "

"Oh, hang Worthington--hang Motors. THAT is what I meant. "

He slapped down a packet of letters on the desk. 

"You--you found them?" gasped Constance. She looked at him keenly. It was evident that a great weight had been taken off his mind. 

"Yes indeed. I knew there was only one place where she would putthem--in her safe with her jewels. She would think I would neversuspect that she had them and, besides, she had the combinationchanged. I went up to the house this afternoon when she was out. Ihad an expert with me. He worked two hours, steady, --but he openedit. Here they are. Now for the real game. "

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I noticed the name of the manufacturer on yourmicrophone. I have had one installed in the room which she uses mostof all. The wires run to the next house where I've hired anapartment. I intend to 'listen in' there. I'll get this Worthington--yet!"

That night Constance and Brainard sat for hours in the emptyapartment patiently waiting for word over the microphone. 

At last there was a noise as of a door opening. 

"Show them in here. "

"Sybil, " whispered Brainard as if perhaps she might even hear. 

Then came more voices. 

"Worthington and Drummond, " he added. "They suspect nothing yet. "

"Drummond knows this Dunlap woman, " said Worthington. 

The detective launched forth in a tirade against Constance. 

"But she is clever, Drummond. You admit that. "

"Clever as they make 'em. "

"You will have her shadowed?"

"Every moment, Mrs. Brainard. " "What's all this about the panic inMotors, Lee?"

"Some other time, Sybil, not now. Drummond, what do people say?"

Drummond hesitated. 

"Out with it, man. "

"Well, Mr. Worthington, it is said you started it. "

"The deuce I did. But I guess Sheppard and I helped it along. We'llgo the limit, too. After all, it had to come. We'll load up after itreaches the bottom. "

The voices trailed off. 

"Good night, Mrs. Brainard. "

"Good night, Mr. Drummond. That was what I wanted to know. " A pause. 

"Lee, how can I ever thank you?"

A sound suspiciously like a kiss came over the wire. Brainardclenched his fist. 

"Good night, Sybil. I must go now--" Again the voices trailed off. 

It was several minutes before Brainard spoke. Then it was that heshowed his wonderful power of concentration. 

"I have a conference in half an hour, Constance, " he remarked, looking at his watch. "It is very important. It means getting moneyto support Motors on the opening to-morrow after I have gathered inagain what I need. I think I can come pretty near doubling myholdings if I play it right. That's important. But so is this. "

"I will listen, " put in Constance. "Trust me. If anything elseoccurs I will tell you. "

She was at the office early the next day, but not before Brainardwho, bright and fresh, even though he had been up all night, wasprimed for the battle of his life at the opening of the market. 

Brainard had swung in at the turn and had quietly accumulated thestock control which he needed. He was now bulling the market bymatching orders, pyramiding stock which he owned, using every devicethat was known to his astute brain. 

On up went Motors, recovering the forty points, gradually, and evengoing beyond in the reaction. Worthington and Sheppard had beensqueezed out. Not for a moment did he let up. 

As the clock on Trinity church struck three, the closing hour, Brainard wheeled suddenly in his chair. 

"Miss Dunlap, " he said quietly. "I wish that you would tellWorthington and Sheppard that I should like to see them in the boardroom at four. "

Constance looked at her watch. There was time also to execute alittle scheme of her own. 

Four o'clock came. Brainard lounged casually across to the boardroom. Instantly Constance had the receiver of the microphone at herear, straining to catch every word, and to make notes of the stormyscene, if necessary. 

Her door opened. It was Sybil Brainard. 

The two women looked at each other coldly. 

Constance was the first to speak. 

"Mrs. Brainard, " she began, "I asked you to come down here--not Mr. Worthington. More than that, I asked the office boy to direct youhere instead of to his office. Do you see that machine?"

Sybil looked at it without a sign of recognition. 

"It is a microphone detective. It was the installing of that machinein the board room which you interrupted the other night. "

"Was it necessary that Mr. Brainard should put his arm around youfor that?" inquired Mrs. Brainard with biting sarcasm. 

"I had just jumped down from the table and had almost lost mybalance--that was all, " pursued Constance imperturbably. 

"Another of these microphone eavesdroppers told me of a conversationlast night in your own apartment, Mrs. Brainard. "

Her face blanched. "You--have one--there?"

"Yes. Mr. Brainard heard the first conversation, when Drummond andMr. Worthington were there. After they left he had to attend aconference himself. I alone heard what passed when Mr. Worthingtonreturned. "

"You are at liberty to--"

"Mrs. Brainard. You do not understand. I have no reason to want tomake you--"

An office boy tapped on the door and entered. "Mr. Brainard wantsyou, Miss Dunlap. "

"I cannot explain now, " resumed Constance. "Won't you sit here at mydesk and listen over the microphone to what happens!"

She was gone before Mrs. Brainard could reply. What did it all mean?Sybil put the black disc receiver to her ear as she had seenConstance do. Her hand trembled. "Why did she tell me that?" shemurmured. 

"You can't prove it, " shouted a voice through the black disc at herear. She was startled. It was the voice of Worthington. 

"Miss Dunlap--have you that notebook?" came the deep tones of herhusband. 

Constance read from her first notes that part relating to theconspiracy to control Motors, carefully omitting the part about theLeblanc letters. 

"It's a lie--a lie. "

"No, it is not a lie. It is all good legal evidence, the recordtaken over the new microphone detective. Look up there over thechandelier, Worthington. The other end is In the top drawer of MissDunlap's desk. "

"I'll fight that to a finish, Brainard. You are clever but there areother things besides Motors that you have to answer for. "

"No. Those letters--that is what you mean--are in my possession now. You didn't know that? All the eavesdropping, if you choose to callit that, was not done here, either, by a long shot, Worthington. Ihad one of these machines in my wife's reception room. I have allsorts of little scraps of conversation, " he boasted. "I also have anaccount of a visit there from two--er--scoundrels--"

"Mrs. Brainard to see you, sir, " announced a boy at the door. 

Constance had risen. Her face was flushed and her breast rose andfell with excitement. 

"Mr. Brainard, " she interrupted. "I must explain--confess. Mrs. Brainard has been sitting in my office listening to us over themicrophone. I arranged it. I asked her to come down, using anothername as a pretext. But I didn't think she would interrupt so soon. Before you see her--let me read this. It was a conversation I gotafter you had left last night and so far I have had no chance totell you of it. Some one, " she laid particular stress on the word, "came back after that first interview. Listen. "

"No, Lee, " Constance read rapidly from her notes, "no. Don't think Iam ungrateful. You have been one friend in a thousand through allthis. I shall have my decree-soon, now. Don't spoil it-"

"But Sybil, think of Mm. What did he ever care for you! He has madeyou free already. "

"He is still my husband. "

"Take this latest escapade with this Miss Dunlap. "

"Well, what do I really know about that?"

"You saw him. "

"Yes, but maybe it was as he said. "

The door was flung open, interrupting Constance's reading, and SybilBrainard entered. The artificiality of the beauty parlor was allgone. She was a woman, who had been wronged and deceived. 

"Next friend--a true next friend--fiend would be better, LeeWorthington, " she scorned. "How can you stand there and look me inthe face, how could you tell me of your love for me, when all thetime you cared no more for me or for any other woman than for that--that Leblanc! You knew that I, who was as jealous as I could be ofRodman, had heard a little--you added more. Yet when you had playedon my feelings, you would have cast me off, too--I know it; I knowyour kind. "

She paused for breath, then turned slowly to Brainard with a note ofpathos in her voice. 

"Our temperaments may have been different, Rodman. They were notwhen we were poor. Perhaps I have not developed with you, the wayyou want of me. But, Rodman, did you ever stop to think thatperhaps, perhaps if I had ever had the chance to be taken into yourconfidence more often--"

"Will you--forgive me?" Brainard managed to blurt out. 

"Will you forgive me?" she returned frankly. 

"I--forgive? I have nothing to forgive. "

"I could have understood, Rodman, if it had been Miss Dunlap. She isclever, wonderful. But that Leblanc--never!"

Sybil Brainard turned to Constance. 

"Miss Dunlap--Mrs. Dunlap, " she sobbed, "forgive me. You--you are abetter woman than I am. "

CHAPTER VI

THE CLAIRVOYANTS

"Do you believe in dreams?" Constance Dunlap looked searchingly ather interrogator, as if her face or manner betrayed some new side ofher character. 

Mrs. DeForest Caswell was an attractive woman verging on forty, achance acquaintance at a shoppers' tea room downtown who had provedto be an uptown neighbor. 

"I have had some rather strange experiences, Mildred, " confessedConstance tentatively. "Why!"

"Because--" the other woman hesitated, then added, "why should I nottell you! Last night, Constance, I had the strangest dream. It hasleft such an impression on me that I can't shake it off, although Ihave tried all day. "

"Yes? Tell me about it. "

Mildred Caswell paused a moment, then began slowly, as if not toomit anything from her story. 

"I dreamt that Forest was dying. I could see him, could see thedoctor and the nurse, everything. And yet somehow I could not get tohim. I was afraid, with such an oppressive fear. I tried--oh, how Itried! I struggled, and how badly I felt!" and she shuddered at thevery recollection. 

"There seemed to be a wall, " she resumed, "a narrow wall in the wayand I couldn't get over it. As often as I tried, I fell. And then Iseemed to be pursued by some kind of animal, half bull, half snake. I ran. It followed closely. I seemed to see a crowd of people and Ifelt that if I could only get to that crowd, somehow I would besafe, perhaps might even get over the wall and--I woke up--almostscreaming. "

The woman's face was quite blanched. 

"My dear, " remonstrated Constance, "you must not take it so. Remember--it was only a dream. 

"I know it was only a dream, " she said, "but you don't know what isback of it. "

Mildred Caswell had from time to time hinted to Constance of thegrowing incompatibility of her married life, but as Constance wasgetting used to confidences, she had kept silent, knowing that herfriend would tell her in time. 

"You must have guessed, " faltered Mrs. Caswell, "that Forest and Iare not--not on the best of terms, that we are getting further andfurther apart. "

It rather startled Constance to hear frankly stated what she alreadyhad observed. She wondered how far the estrangement had gone. Thefact was that she had rather liked deForest Caswell, although shehad only met her friend's husband a few times. In fact she wassurprised that momentarily there flashed through her mind the queryas to whether Mildred herself might be altogether blameless in thegrowing uncongeniality. 

Mildred Caswell had drawn out of her chatelaine a bit of newspaperand handed it to Constance, not as if it was of any importance toherself but as if it would explain better than she could tell whatshe meant. 

Constance read:

 MME. CASSANDRA, THE VEILED PROPHETESS

Born with a double veil, educated in occult mysteries in Egypt andIndia. Without asking a question, tells your name and reads yoursecret troubles and the remedy. Reads your dreams. Great questionsof life quickly solved. Failure turned to success, the separatedbrought together, advice on all affairs of life, love, marriage, divorce, business, speculation, and investments. Overcomes all evilinfluences. Ever ready to help and advise those with capital to finda safe and paying investment. No fee until it succeeds. Couldanything be fairer?

 THE RETREAT, ---W. 47th Street. 

"Won't you come with me to Madame Cassandra?" asked Mrs. Caswell, asConstance finished reading. "She always seems to do me so muchgood. "

"Who is Madame Cassandra?" asked Constance, rereading the last partof the advertisement. 

"I suppose you would call her a dream doctor, " said Mildred. 

It was a new idea to Constance, this of a dream doctor to settle theaffairs of life. Only a moment she hesitated, then she answeredsimply, "Yes, I'll go. "

"The retreat" was just off Longacre Square among quite a nest offakers. A queue of automobiles before the place testified, however, to the prosperity of Madame Cassandra, as they entered the bronzegrilled plate glass door and turned on the first floor toward thehome of the Adept. Constance had an uncomfortable feeling as theyentered of being watched behind the shades of the apartment. Still, they had no trouble in being admitted, and a soft-voiced coloredattendant welcomed them. 

The esoteric flat of Madame Cassandra was darkened except for theelectric lights glowing in amber and rose-colored shades. There wereseveral women there already. As they entered Constance had noticed apeculiar, dreamy odor. There did not seem to be any hurry, any suchthing as time here, so skilfully was the place run. There was nonoise; the feet sank in half-inch piles of rugs, and easy-chairs anddivans were scattered about. 

Once a puff of light smoke appeared, and Constance awoke to the factthat some were smoking little delicately gold-banded cigarettes. Indeed it was all quite recherche. 

Mrs. Caswell took one from a maid. So did Constance, but after apuff or two managed to put it out and later to secure another whichshe kept. 

Madame Cassandra herself proved to be a tall, slender, pale womanwith dark hair and a magnetic eye, an eye that probably accountedmore than anything else for her success. She was clad in a housegown of purplish silk which clung tightly to her, and at her throata diamond pendant sparkled, as well as other brilliants on her long, slender fingers. 

She met Mildred and Constance with outstretched hands. 

"So glad to see you, my dears, " purred Madame, leading the way intoan inner sanctum. 

Mrs. Caswell had seated herself with the air of one who worshiped atthe shrine, while Constance gazed about curiously. 

"Madame, " she began a little tremulously, "I have had another ofthose dreadful dreams. "

"You poor dear soul, " soothed Madame, stroking her hand. "Tell me ofit--all. "

Quickly Mrs. Caswell poured forth her story as she had already toldit to Constance. 

"My dear Mrs. Caswell, " remarked the high priestess slowly, when thestory was complete, "it is all very simple. His love is dead. Thatis what you fear and it is the truth. The wall is the wall that hehas erected against you. Try to forget it--to forget him. You wouldbe better off. There are other things in the world--"

"Ah, but I cannot live as I am used to without money, " murmured Mrs. Caswell. 

"I know, " replied Madame. "It is that that keeps many a woman with abrute. When financial and economic independence come, then womanwill be free and only then. Now, listen. Would you like to be free--financially? You remember that delightful Mr. Davies who has beenhere? Yes? Well, he is a regular client of mine, now. He is a brokerand never embarks in any enterprise without first consulting me. Just the other day I read his fortune in United Traction. It hasgone up five points already and will go fifteen more. If you want, Iwill give you a card to him. Let me see--yes, I can do that. You toowill be lucky in speculation. "

Constance, with one ear open, had been busy looking about the room. In a bookcase she saw a number of books and paused to examine theirtitles. She was surprised to see among the old style dream booksseveral works on modern psychology, particularly on theinterpretation of dreams. 

"Of course, Mrs. Caswell, I don't want to urge you, " Madame wassaying. "I have only pointed out a way in which you can beindependent. And, you know, Mr. Davies is a perfect gentleman, socourteous and reliable. I know you will be successful if you take myadvice and go to him. "

Mildred said nothing for a few moments, but as she rose to go sheremarked, "Thank you very much. I'll think about it. Anyhow, you'vemade me feel better. "

"So kind of you to say it, " murmured the Adept. "I'm sorry you mustgo, but really I have other appointments. Please come again--withyour friend. Good-bye. "

"What do you think of her?" asked Mrs. Caswell on the street. 

"Very clever, " answered Constance dubiously. 

Mrs. Caswell looked up quickly. "You don't like her?"

"To tell the truth, " confessed Constance quietly, "I have had toomuch experience in Wall Street myself to trust to a clairvoyant. "

They had scarcely reached the corner before Constance again had thatpeculiar feeling which some psychologists have noted, of beingstared at. She turned, but saw no one. Still the feeling persisted. She could stand it no longer. 

"Don't think me crazy, Mildred, " she said, "but I just have a desireto walk back a block. "

Constance had turned suddenly. As she glanced keenly about she wasaware of a familiar figure gazing into the window of an art storeacross the street. He had stopped so that although his back wasturned he could, by a slight shift of his position, still see bymeans of a mirror in the window what was going on across the streetbehind him. 

One look was enough. It was Drummond, the detective. What did itmean?

Neither woman said much as they rode uptown, and parted on therespective floors of their apartment house. Still Constance couldnot get out of her head the recollection of the dream doctor and ofDrummond. 

Restless, she determined that night to go down to the Public Libraryand see whether any of the books at the clairvoyant's were on theshelves. Fortunately she found some, found indeed that they were notall, as she had half suspected, the works of fakers but that quite aliterature had been built up around the new psychology of dreams. 

Deeply she delved into the fascinating subjects that had been openedby the studies of the famous Dr. Sigmund Freud of Vienna, and as sheread she found that she began to understand much about Mrs. Caswell--and, with a start, about her own self. 

At first she revolted against the unpleasant feature of the newdream philosophy--the irresistible conclusion that all humanity, underneath the shell, is sensuous or sensual in nature, thatpractically all dreams portray some delight of the senses and thatsexual dreams are a large proportion of all visions. But the moreshe thought of it, the more clearly was she able to analyze Mrs. Caswell's dream and to get back at the causes of it, in theestrangement from her husband and perhaps the brutality of hisignorance of woman. And then, too, there was Drummond. What was hedoing in the case?

She did not see Mildred Caswell again until the following afternoon. But then she seemed unusually bright in contrast with the depressionof the day before. Constance was not surprised. Her intuition toldher that something had happened and she hardly needed to guess thatMrs. Caswell had followed the advice of the clairvoyant and had beento see the wonderful Mr. Davies, to whom the mysteries of the stockmarket were an open book. 

"Have you had any other dreams?" asked Constance casually. 

"Yes, " replied Mildred, "but not like the one that depressed me. Last night I had a very pleasant dream. It seemed that I wasbreakfasting with Mr. Davies. I remember that there was a hot coalfire in the grate. Then suddenly a messenger came in with news thatUnited Traction had advanced twenty points. Wasn't it strange?"

Constance said nothing. In fact it did not seem strange to her atall. The strange thing to her, now that she was a sort of amateurdream reader herself, was that Mrs. Caswell did not seem to see thereal import of her own dream. 

"You have seen Mr. Davies to-day?" Constance ventured. 

Mrs. Caswell laughed. "I wasn't going to tell you. You seemed so setagainst speculating in Wall Street. But since you ask me, I may aswell admit it. "

"When did you see him before?" went on Constance. "Did you have muchinvested with him already?"

Mrs. Caswell glanced up, startled. "My--you are positively uncanny, Constance. How did you know I had seen him before?"

"One seldom dreams, " said Constance, "about anything unless it hasbeen suggested by an event of the day before. You saw him today. That would not have inspired the dream of last night. Therefore Iconcluded that you must have seen him and invested before. MadameCassandra's mention of him yesterday caused the dream of last night. The dream of last night probably influenced you to see him again to-day, and you invested in United Traction. That is the way dreamswork. Probably more of conduct than we know is influenced by dreamlife. Now, if you should get fifteen or twenty points you would bein a fair way to join the ranks of those who believe that dreams docome true. "

Mrs. Caswell looked at her almost alarmed, then attempted to turn itoff with a laugh, "And perhaps breakfast with him?"

"When I do set up as interpreter of dreams, " answered Constancesimply, "I'll tell you more. "

On one point she had made up her mind. That was to visit Mr. Daviesherself the next day. 

She found his office a typical bucket shop, even down to having asection partitioned off for women clients of the firm. She had notintended to risk anything, and so was prepared when Mr. Davieshimself approached her courteously. Instinctively Constancedistrusted him. He was too cordial, too polite. She could feel theclaws hidden in his velvety paw, as it were. There was a debonnaireassurance about him, the air of a man who thought he understoodwomen, and indeed did understand a certain type. But to Constance, who was essentially a man's woman, Davies was only revolting. 

She managed to talk without committing herself, and he in hiscomplacency was glad to hope that he was making a new customer. Shehad to be careful not to betray any of the real and extensiveknowledge about Wall Street which she actually possessed. But theglib misrepresentations about United Traction quite amazed her. 

When she rose to go, Davies accompanied her to the door, then outinto the hall to the elevator. As he bent over to shake hands, shenoted that he held her hand just a little longer than was necessary. 

"He's a swindler of the first water, " she concluded as she waswhisked down in the elevator. "I'm sure Mildred is in badly withthis crowd, one urging her on in her trouble, the other making itworse and fleecing her into the bargain. "

At the entrance she paused, undecided which was the quickest routehome. As by chance she turned just for a moment she thought shecaught a fleeting glimpse of Drummond dodging behind a pillar. Itwas only for an instant but even that apparition was enough. 

"I WILL get her out of this safely, " resolved Constance. "I WILLkeep one more fly from his web. "

Constance felt as if, even now, she must see Mildred and, althoughshe knew nothing, at least put her on her guard. She did not havelong to wait for her chance. It was late in the afternoon when herdoor buzzer sounded. 

"Constance, I've been looking for you all day, " sighed Mildred, dropping sobbing into a chair. "I am--distracted. "

"Why, my dear, what's the matter?" asked Constance. "Let me make youa cup of coffee. "

Over the steaming little cups Mildred grew more calm. 

"Forest has found out in some way that I am speculating in WallStreet, " she confided at length. "I suppose some of his friends--hehas lots down there--told him. "

Momentarily the picture of Drummond back of the post in Davies'building flashed over Constance. 

"And he is awfully angry. Oh, I never knew him to be so angry--andsarcastic, too. "

"Was it wholly over your money?" asked Constance. "Was there nothingelse?"

Mrs. Caswell started. "You grow more weird, every day, Constance. Yes--there was something else. "

"Mr. Davies?"

Mildred had risen. "Don't--don't--" she cried. 

"Then you do really--care for him!" asked Constance mercilessly. 

"No--no, a thousand times--no. How can I? I have put all suchthoughts out of my mind--long ago. " She paused, then went on morecalmly, "Constance, believe me or not--I am just as good a woman to-day as I was the day I married Forest. No--I would not even let thethought enter my head--never!"

For perhaps an hour after her friend had gone, Constance satthinking. What should she do? Something must be done and soon. Asshe thought, suddenly the truth flashed over her. 

Caswell had employed Drummond to shadow his wife in the hope that hemight unearth something that might lead to a divorce. Drummond, likeso many divorce detectives, was not averse to guiding events, to putit mildly. He had ingratiated himself, perhaps, with the clairvoyantand Davies. Constance had often heard before of clairvoyants andbrokers who worked in conjunction to fleece the credulous. Nowanother and more serious element than the loss of money wasinvolved. Added to them was a divorce detective--and honor itselfwas at stake. She remembered the doped cigarettes. She had heard ofthem before at clairvoyants'. She saw it all--Madame Cassandraplaying on Mildred's wounded affections, the broker on both that andher desire to be independent--and Drummond pulling the wires thatall might take advantage of her woman's frailty. 

That moment Constance determined on action. 

First she telephoned to deForest Caswell at his office. It was anunconventional thing to do to ask him to call, but she made someplausible pretext. She was surprised to find that he accepted itwithout hesitating. It set her thinking. Drummond must have told himsomething of her and he had thought this as good a time as any toface her. In that case Drummond would probably come too. She wasprepared. 

She had intended to have one last talk with Mildred, but had no needto call her. Utterly wretched, the poor little woman came in againto see her as she had done scores of times before, to pour out herheart. Forest had not come home to dinner, had not even taken thetrouble to telephone. Constance did not say that she herself wasresponsible. 

"Do you really want to know the truth about your dreams?" askedConstance, after she had prevailed upon Mildred to eat a little. 

"I do know, " she returned. 

"No, you don't, " went on Constance, now determined to tell her thetruth whether she liked it or not. "That clairvoyant and Mr. Daviesare in league, playing you for a sucker, as they say. "

Mrs. Caswell did not reply for a moment. Then she drew a long breathand shut her eyes. "Oh, you don't know how true what she says is tome. She--"

"Listen, " interrupted Constance. "Mildred, I'm going to be frank, brutally frank. Madame Cassandra has read your character, not thecharacter as you think it is, but your unconscious, subconsciousself. She knows that there is no better way to enter into theintimate life of a client, according to the new psychology, than bygetting at and analyzing the dreams. And she knows that you can't gofar in dream analysis without finding sex. It is one of thestrongest natural impulses, yet subject to the strongest repression, and hence one of the weakest points of our culture. 

"She is actually helping along your alienation for that broker. Youyourself have given me the clue in your dreams. Only I am tellingyou the truth about them. She holds it back and tells you plausiblefalsehoods to help her own ends. She is trying to arouse in youthose passions which you have suppressed, and she has not scrupledto use drugged cigarettes with you and others to do it. You rememberthe breakfast dream, when I said that much could be traced back todreams? A thing happens. It causes a dream. That in turn sometimescauses action. No, don't interrupt. Let me finish first. 

"Take that first dream, " continued Constance, rapidly thrusting homeher interpretation so that it would have its full effect. "Youdreamed that your husband was dying and you were afraid. She said itmeant love was dead. It did not. The fact is that neurotic fear in awoman has its origin in repressed, unsatisfied love, love which forone reason or another is turned away from its object and has notsucceeded in being applied. Then his death. That simply means thatyou have a feeling that you might be happier if he were away anddidn't devil you. It is a survival of childhood, when death issynonymous with absence. I know you don't believe it. But if you hadstudied the subject as I have in the last few days you'd understand. Madame Cassandra understands. 

"And the wall. That was Wall Street, probably, which does divide youtwo. You tried to get over it and you fell. That means your fear ofactually falling, morally, of being a fallen woman. "

Mildred was staring wildly. She might deny but in her heart she mustadmit. 

"The thing that pursued you, half bull, half snake, was Davies andhis blandishments. I have seen him. I know what he is. The crowd ina dream always denotes a secret. He is pursuing you, as in thedream. But he hasn't caught you. He thinks there is in you the samewild demimondaine instinct that with many an ardent woman, slumbersunknown in the back of her mind. 

"Whatever you may say, you do think of him. When a woman dreams ofbreakfasting cozily with some one other than her husband it has anobvious meaning. As for the messenger and the message about theUnited Traction, there, too, was a plain wish, and, as you must see, wishes in one form or another, disguised or distorted, lie at thebasis of dreams. Take the coal fire. That, too, is susceptible ofinterpretation. I think you must have heard the couplet:

"'No coal, no fire so hotly glows As the secret love that no oneknows. '"

Mildred Caswell had risen, an indignant flush on her face. 

Constance put her hand on her arm gently to restrain her, knowingthat such indignation was the first sign that she had struck at thecore of truth in her interpretation. 

"My dear, " she urged, "I'm only telling you the truth, for your ownsake, and not to take advantage of you as Madame Cassandra is doing. Please--remember that the best evidence of your normal condition isjust what I find, that absence of love would be abnormal. My dear, you are what the psychologists call a consciously frigid, unconsciously passionate woman. Consciously you reject this Davies;unconsciously you accept him. And it is the more dangerous, althoughyou do not know it, because some one else is watching. It was notone of his friends who told your husband--"

Mrs. Caswell had paled. "Is--is there a--detective?" she faltered. 

Constance nodded. 

Mildred had collapsed completely. She was sobbing in a chair, herhead bowed in her hands, her little lace handkerchief soaked. "Whatshall I do? What shall I do?"

There was a sudden tap at the door. 

"Quick--in there, " whispered Constance, shoving her through theportieres into the drawing room. 

It was Forest Caswell. 

For a moment Constance stood irresolute, wondering just how to meethim, then she said, "Good evening, Mr. Caswell. I hope you willpardon me for asking you to call on me, but, as you know, I've cometo know your wife--perhaps better than you do. "

"Not better, " he corrected, seeming to see that it was directnessthat she was aiming at. "It is bad enough to get mixed up badly inWall Street, but what would you yourself say--you are a businesswoman--what would you say about getting into the clutches of a--adream doctor--and worse?"

He had put Constance on the defensive in a sentence. 

"Don't you ever dream?" she asked quietly. 

He looked at her a moment as if doubting even her mentality. 

"Lord, " he exclaimed in disgust, "you, too, defend it?"

"But, don't you dream?" she persisted. 

"Why, of course I dream, " he answered somewhat petulantly. "What ofit? I don't guide my actions by it. "

"Do you ever dream of Mildred?" she asked. 

"Sometimes, " he admitted reluctantly. 

"Ever of other--er--people?" she pursued. 

"Yes, " he replied, "sometimes of other people. But what has that todo with it? I cannot help my dreams. My conduct I can help and I dohelp. "

Constance had not expected him to be frank to the extent of takingher into his confidence. Still, she felt that he had told her justenough. She discerned a vague sense of jealousy in his tone whichtold her more than words that whatever he might have said or done toMildred he resented, unconsciously, the manner in which she hadstriven to gain sympathy outside. 

"Fortunately he knows nothing of the new theories, " she said toherself. 

"Mrs. Dunlap, " he resumed, "since you have been frank with me, Imust be equally frank with you. I think you are far too sensible awoman not to understand in just what a peculiar position my wife hasplaced me. "

He had taken out of his pocket a few sheets of closely typewrittentissue paper. He did not look at them. Evidently he knew thecontents by heart. Constance did not need to be told that this was asheaf of the daily reports of the agency for which Drummond worked. 

He paused. She had been watching him searchingly. She was determinednot to let him justify himself first. 

"Mr. Caswell, " she persisted in a low, earnest tone, "don't be sosure that there is nothing in this dream, business. Before you readme those reports from Mr. Drummond, let me finish. "

Forest Caswell almost dropped them in surprise. 

"Dreams, " she continued, seeing her advantage, "are wishes, eithersuppressed or expressed. Sometimes the dream is frank and shows anexpressed wish. Other times it shows a suppressed wish, or a wishwhich in its fulfilment in the dream is disguised or distorted. 

"You are the cause of your wife's dreams. She feels in them anxiety. And, according to the modern psychologists who have studied dreamscarefully and scientifically, fear and anxiety represent loverepressed or suppressed. "

She paused to emphasize the point, glad to note that he wasfollowing her. 

"That clairvoyant, " she went on, "has found out the truth. True, itmay not have been the part of wisdom for Mildred to have gone to herin the first place. I pass over that. I do not know whether you orshe was most to blame at the start. But that woman, in the guise ofbeing her friend, has played on every string of your wife's lonelyheart, which you have wrung until it vibrates. 

"Then, " she hastened on, "came your precious friend Drummond, Drummond who has, no doubt, told you a pack of lies about me. Yousee that!"

She had flung down on the table a cigarette which she had managed toget at Madame Cassandra's. 

"Smoke it. "

He lighted it gingerly, took a puff or two, puckered his face, frowned, and rubbed the lighted end on the fireplace to extinguishit. 

"What is it?" he asked suspiciously. 

"Hashish, " she answered tersely. "Things were not going fast enoughto suit either Madame Cassandra or Drummond. Madame Cassandra helpedalong the dreams by a drug noted for its effect on the passions. More than that, " added Constance, leaning over toward him andcatching his eye, "Madame Cassandra was working in league with abroker, as so many of the fakers do. Drummond knew it, whether hetold you the truth about it or not. That broker was a swindler namedDavies. "

She was watching the effect on him. She saw that he had beenreserving this for a last shot at her, that he realized she hadstolen his own ammunition and appropriated it to herself. 

"They were only too glad when Drummond approached them. There youare, three against that poor little woman--no, four, includingyourself. Perhaps she was foolish. But it was not so much to herdiscredit as to those who cast her adrift when she had a naturalright to protection. Here was a woman with passions which sheherself did not understand, and a little money--alone. Her caseappealed to me. I knew her dreams. I studied them. "

Caswell was listening in amazement. "It is dangerous to be with aperson who pays attention to such little things, " he said. 

Evidently Drummond himself must have been listening. The door buzzersounded and he stepped in, perhaps to bolster up his client in casehe should be weakening. 

As he met Constance's eye he smiled superciliously and was about tospeak. But she did not give him time even to say good evening. 

"Ask him, " she cried, her eyes flashing, for she realized that ithad been part of the plan to confront her, perhaps worm out of herjust enough to confirm Drummond's own story to Caswell, "ask him totell the truth--if he is capable of it--not the truth that will makea good daily report of a hired shadow who colors his report the wayhe thinks his client desires it, but the real truth. "

"Mr. Caswell, " interrupted Drummond, "this woman----"

"Mr. Drummond, " cried Constance, rising and shaking the burnt stubof the little gold-banded cigarette at him to impress it on hismind, "Mr. Drummond, I don't care whether I am a--a she-devil"--shealmost hissed the words at him--"but I have evidence enough to gobefore the district attorney of this city and the grand jury and getindictments for conspiracy against a certain clairvoyant and abucket shop operator. To save themselves, they will probably tellall they know about a certain crook who has been using them. "

Caswell looked at her, amazed at her denunciation of the detective. As for Drummond, he turned his back on her as if to ignore herutterly. 

"Mr. Caswell, " he said bitterly, "in those reports--"

"Forest Caswell, " insisted Constance, rising and facing him, "if youhave in that heart of yours one shred of manhood it should move you. You--this man--the others--have placed in the path of a woman everyprovocation, every temptation for financial, physical, and moralruin. She has consulted a clairvoyant--yes. She has speculated--yes. Yet she was proof against something greater than that. And I know--because I know her unconscious self which her dreams reveal, herinmost soul--I know her better than you do, better than she doesherself. I know that even now she is as good and true and would beas loving as--"

Constance had paused and taken a step toward the drawing room. Before she knew it, the portieres flew apart and an eager littlewoman had rushed past her and flung her arms about the neck of theman. 

Caswell's features were working, as he gently disengaged her arms, still keeping one hand. Half shoving her aside, ignoring Constance, he had faced Drummond. For a moment the brazen detective flinched. 

As he did so, deForest Caswell crumpled up the mass of tissue paperreports and flung them into the fireplace. 

"Get out!" he said, suppressing his voice with difficulty. "Send me--your bill. I'll pay it--but, mind, if it is one penny more than itshould be, I'll--I'll fight if it takes me from the districtattorney and the grand jury to the highest court of the State. Now--go!"

Caswell turned slowly again toward his wife. 

"I've been a brute, " he said simply. 

Something almost akin to jealousy rose in Constance's heart as shesaw Mildred, safe at last. 

Then Caswell turned slowly to her. "You, " he said, stroking hiswife's hand gently but looking at Constance, "you are a REALclairvoyant. "

CHAPTER VII

THE PLUNGERS

"They have the most select clientele in the city here. "

Constance Dunlap was sitting in the white steamy room of Charmant'sBeauty Shop. Her informant, reclining dreamily in a luxurious wickerchair, bathed in the perspiring vapor, had evidently taken a fancyto her. 

"And no wonder, either; they fix you up so well, " she rattled on;then confidingly, "Now, last night after the show a party of us wentto supper and a dance--and it was in the wee small hours when webroke up. But Madame here can make you all over again. Floretta, "she called to an attendant who had entered, "if Mr. Warrington callsup on the 'phone, say I'll call him later. "

"Yes, Miss Larue. "

Constance glanced up quickly as Floretta mentioned the name of thepopular young actress. Stella Larue was a pretty girl on whom thewild dissipation of the night life of New York was just beginning toshow its effects. The name of Warrington, too, recalled to Constanceinstantly some gossip she had heard in Wall Street about thedisagreement in the board of directors of the new Rubber Syndicateand the effort to oust the president whose escapades were somethingmore than mere whispers of scandal. 

This was the woman in the case. Constance looked at Stella now withadded interest as she rose languidly, drew her bathrobe about hersuperb figure carelessly in such a way as to show it at bestadvantage. 

"I've had more or less to do with Wall Street myself, " observedConstance. 

"Oh, have you? Isn't that interesting, " cried Stella. 

"I hope you're not putting money in Rubber?" queried Constance. 

"On the contrary, " rippled Stella, then added, "You're going tostay? Let me tell you something. Have Floretta do your hair. She'sthe best here. Then come around to see me in the dormitory if I'mhere when you are through, won't you?"

Constance promised and Stella fluttered away like the prettybutterfly that she was, leaving Constance to wonder at the naturalgravitation of plungers in the money market toward plungers in thewhite lights. 

Charmant's Beauty Parlor was indeed all its name implied, a templeof the cult of adornment, the last cry in the effort to satisfy whatis more than health, wealth, and happiness to some women--thefundamental feminine instinct for beauty. 

Constance had visited the beauty specialist to have an incipientwrinkle smoothed out. Frankly, it was not vanity. But she had cometo realize that her greatest asset was her personal appearance. Oncethat had a chance to work, her native wit and keen ability wouldcarry her to success. 

Madame Charmant herself was a tall, dark-skinned, dark-haired, dark-eyed, well-groomed woman who looked as if she had been stamped froma die for a fashion plate--and then the die had been thrown away. All others like her were spurious copies, counterfeits. More thanthat, she affected the name of Vera, which in itself had the ring oftruth. 

And so Charmant had prevailed on Constance to take a full course inbeautification and withhold the wrinkle at the source. 

"Besides, you know, my dear, " she purred, "there's nothingdiscovered by the greatest minds of the age that we don't apply atonce. "

Constance was not impervious to feminine reason, and here she was. 

"Has Miss Larue gone?" she asked when at last she was seated in acomfortable chair again sipping a little aromatic cup of coffee. 

"No, she's resting in one of the little dressing rooms. "

She followed Floretta down the corridor. Each little compartment hadits neat, plain white enameled bed, a dresser and a chair. 

Stella smiled as Constance entered. "Yes, " she murmured in responseto the greeting, "I feel quite myself now. "

"Mr. Warrington on the wire, " announced Floretta a moment later, coming down the corridor again with a telephone on a long unwindingwire. 

"Hello, Alfred--oh, rocky this morning, " Constance overheard. "Isaid to myself, 'Never again--until the nest time. Vera? Oh, she wasas fresh as a lark. Can I lunch with you downtown? Of course. '" Thenas she hung up the receiver she called, "Floretta, get me a taxi. "

"Yes, Miss Larue. "

"I always have a feeling here, " whispered Stella, "that I am beinglistened to. I mean to speak to Vera about it some time. By the way, wouldn't you like to join us to-night? Vera will be along and Mr. Warrington and perhaps 'Diamond Jack' Braden--you know him?"

Constance confessed frankly that she did not have the pleasure ofthe acquaintance of the well-known turfman and first nighter. 

She hesitated. Perhaps it was that that Stella liked. Almost any oneelse would have been overeager to accept. But to Constance, sure ofherself now, nothing of the sort was worth scrambling for. Besides, she was wondering how a man with the fight of his life on his handscould find time to lunch downtown even with Stella. 

"I've taken quite a fancy to you, " pressed Stella. 

"Thank you, it's very kind of you, " Constance answered. "I shall tryvery hard to be there. "

"I'll leave a box for you at the office. Come around after theperformance to my dressing room. "

"Miss Larue, your taxi's waiting, " announced Floretta. 

"Thanks. Are you going now, Mrs. Dunlap? Yes? Then ride down in theelevator with me. "

They parted at the foot of the elevator and Constance walked throughthe arcade of the office building in which the beauty parloroccupied the top floor. She stopped at a florist's stand to admirethe flowers, but more for an excuse to look back at Stella. 

As Stella stepped into a taxicab, showing a generous wealth ofsilken hosiery beneath the tango gown, Constance was aware that thedriver of another cab across the street was also interested. Shenoticed that he turned and spoke to his fare through the openwindow. 

The cab swung around to follow the other and Constance caught afleeting glimpse of a familiar face. 

"Drummond, " she exclaimed almost aloud. 

What did it mean? Why had the detective been employed to followStella? Instinctively she concluded that he must be engaged by Mrs. Warrington. 

"I must accept Stella's invitation, " she said to herself excitedly. "At least, she should be put on her guard. "

That evening, as she was looking over the newspapers, her eye caughtthe item in the Wall Street edition:

RUBBER SYNDICATE DISSENSION

Break in Stock Follows Effort of Strong Minority to Oust Warringtonfrom Presidency

Then followed a brief account of the struggle of a powerful group ofdirectors to force Warrington, Braden, and the rest out, with a hintat the scandal of which every one now was talking. 

"I never yet knew a man who went in for that sort of thing thatlasted long in business, " she observed. "This is my chance--a crowdriding for a fall. "

Constance chose a modest orchestra seat in preference to the placein a box which Stella had reserved for her at the office, and, asidefrom the purpose which was rapidly taking shape in her mind, sheenjoyed the play very much. Stella Larue, as the "Grass Widow, "played her part with a piquancy which Constance knew was not whollya matter of book knowledge. 

As the curtain went down, the audience, its appetite for the risquewhetted, filed out on Broadway with its myriad lights and continuousfilm of motion. Constance made her way around to Stella's dressingroom. 

She had scarcely been welcomed by Stella, whose cheeks beneath thegrease paint were now genuinely ablaze with excitement, when a manentered. He was tall, spare, the type whose very bow is ingratiatingand whose "delighted, I assure you" is suave and compelling. 

Alfred Warrington seemed to be on very good terms indeed with Stellaas she introduced him to Constance. 

"You will join us, Mrs. Dunlap?" he asked, throwing an opera cloakover Stella's shoulders. "Vera Charmant and Jack Braden are waitingfor us at the Little Montmartre. "

As he mentioned the famous cabaret, Constance took a little tightergrip on herself and decided to take the plunge and see the affairout, although that sort of thing had very little attraction for her. 

They were leaving the theater when she saw lurking in the crowd thefamiliar figure of Drummond. She turned her head quickly and sankback into the dark recesses of the limousine. 

Should she tell them now about him?

She leaned over to Warrington. "I saw a man in the crowd just nowwho seemed to be quite interested in us, " she said quickly. "Can'twe drive around a bit to throw him off if he should get into a cab?"

Warrington looked at her keenly. It was quite evident that hethought it was Constance who was being followed, not Stella orhimself. Constance decided quickly to say nothing more that wouldprejudice Stella, but as Warrington directed his driver to run upthrough the park she saw that, far from alarming him, the words hadonly added a zest of mystery about herself. 

They left the Park and the car jolted them quickly now over theuneven asphalt to the palace of pleasure, where already the twoadvance guards were holding one of the best tables in a housecrowded with all classes from debutantes to debauchees. 

"Diamond Jack" Braden was a heavy-set man with a debonnaire, dapperway about him. He wore a flower in his buttonhole, a smart touchwhich seemed very fetching, evidently, to the artistic Vera. 

Constance fell to studying him, as she did all men and women. "Hishands betray him, " she said to herself, as she was introduced. 

They were in fact shielded from view as he bowed, one with the thumbtucked in the corner of his trousers pocket, the other behind hisback. 

"He is hiding something, " flashed through her mind intuitively. And, when she analyzed it, she felt still that there was nothing fancifulabout the idea. It was simply a little unconscious piece ofevidence. 

From the start the cabaret was pretty rapid. When they entered, twoof the performers were rendering the Apache dance with an abandonthat improved on its namesake. Scarcely had they finished when theorchestra began all over again, and a couple of diners from thetables glided past them on the dancing floor, then another coupleand another. 

"Tanguez-vous?" bowed Braden, leaning over to Stella. 

"Oui, je tanguerai, " she nodded, catching the spirit of the place. 

It left Warrington and Constance at the table with Vera, and asConstance looked eagerly after the graceful form of the littleactress, Warrington asked, "Will you dance!"

"No, thank you, " she said, trying him out. "I haven't had time tolearn these new steps. And, besides, I have had a bad day in themarket. Steel, Reading, everything is off. Not that I have lostmuch--but it's what I haven't made. "

Warrington, who had been about to repeat his question to Vera, turned suddenly. This was something new to him, to meet a woman likeConstance. If she knew about other stocks, she must know about theSyndicate. Already he had felt an attraction toward Constancephysically, an attraction of maturity which somehow or other seemedmore satisfying, at least novel, in contrast with, the gay butterflytalk of Stella. 

He did not ask Vera to dance. Instead he began banteringly todiscuss Wall Street and in five minutes he found out that she reallyknew as much about certain features of the game as he did. She didnot need to be told that Alfred Warrington, plunger, man about town, was quite unexpectedly struck by her personality. 

Now and then she could see Stella eyeing her covertly. The littleactress had had, like many another, a few dollars to invest orrather with which to speculate. Her method had been usually to makea quick profit on a tip from some Wall Street friend. Often, if thetip went wrong, the friend would return the money to theunsuspecting little girl, with some muttered apology about havingbeen unable to get it placed in time, and then, as the market wentdown or up, seeing that it was too late, adding a congratulationthat at least the principal was saved if there was no profit. 

The little actress was plainly piqued. She saw, though she did notunderstand, that Constance was a different kind of plunger from whatshe had thought at first up at Charmant's. Instead of trying tocompete with Constance in her field, she redoubled her efforts inher own. Was Warrington, a live spender, to slip through her graspfor a chance acquaintance?

Another dance. This time it was Stella and Warrington. Braden, whohad served excellently as a foil to lead Warrington on when he hadeyes for no one else, not even Vera, was left severely alone. Nothing was said, not an action done openly, but Constance, woman-like, could feel the contest in the air. And she felt just a littlequiver when they sat down and Warrington resumed the conversationwith her where he had left it. Even the daring cut of Stella's gownand the exaggerated proximity of her dainty person had failed thistime. 

As they chatted gaily, Constance enjoyed her triumph to the full. Yes, she could see that Stella was violently jealous. But sheintended that she should be. That was now a part of her plan as itshaped itself in her mind, since she had plunged or, perhaps better, had been dragged into the game. 

As the evening wore on and the dancing became more furious, Warrington seemed to catch the spirit of recklessness that was inthe very air. He talked more recklessly, once in a while with abitterness not aimed at any one in particular, which passed amongthe others as blase sarcasm of one who had seen much and to whomeven the fastest was slow. 

But to Constance, as she tried to fathom him, it presented anentirely different interpretation. For example, she asked herself, why had he been so ready, apparently, to transfer his interest fromStella? Was it because, having cut loose from the one feminine tiethat morally bound him, he no longer felt any restraint in cuttingloose from others? Was it the same spirit that had carried him on inthe money game, having cut loose from one financial principle, tolet all go and to guide his course as close to the edge of things ashe dared? There had been the same reckless bravado in the way he hadurged on the driver of his car in the wild ride of the earlierevening, violating the speed laws yet succeeding in escaping thetraffic squad. 

Warrington was a plunger. Yet there was something about him that wasdifferent from others she had seen. Perhaps it was that he had aconscience, even though he had succeeded in detaching himself fromit. 

And Stella. There was something different about her, too. Constancemore than once was on the point of revising her estimate of thelittle actress. Was she, after all, wholly mercenary in her attitudetoward Warrington? Was he merely a live spender whom she could notafford to lose? Or was she merely a beautiful, delicate creaturecaught in the merciless maelstrom of the life into which she hadbeen thrown? Did she realize the perilous position this all wasplacing her in?

They were among the last to leave and Vera and Braden offered totake Constance to her apartment in Braden's car, while Stellacontrived prettily to take so much of Warrington's time with thewraps that by the time they were ready to go the manner of thebreaking up of the party was as she wanted it. In her final triumphshe could not help just an extra inflection on, "I hope I'll see youagain at Vera's soon, my dear. "

All night, or at least all that was left of it, Constance tried tostraighten out the whirl of her thoughts. With the morning she hadan idea. Now, in a moment when the exhilaration of the gay life wasat low ebb, she must see Stella. 

It was early yet, but Stella was not at her hotel when Constancecautiously called up the office to find out. Where was she?Constance drove around to Charmant's on the chance that she might bethere. Vera greeted her a trifle coldly, she thought, but then thiswas not midnight at the Montmartre. No, Stella was not there, shesaid, but nevertheless Constance decided to wait. 

"I'm all unstrung, " confided Constance, with an assumed air oflanguor, as she dropped into a chair. 

Charmant, as fresh as if she had just emerged from the proverbialbandbox, nodded knowingly. "A Turkish bath, massage, something totone you up, " she advised. 

With alert eyes Constance went patiently through the process offreshening, first in the steamy hot room where she had met Stellathe day before, then the deliciously cool shower, gentle massage, and all the rest. 

At one of the little white tables of the manicures she noticed apretty, rather sad-faced little woman. There was something about herthat attracted Constance's attention, although she could not havetold exactly what it was. 

"You know her?" whispered Floretta, bursting with excitement. "No?Why, --" and here she paused and dropped her voice even lower, --"that's Mrs. Warrington. "

"Not the--"

"Yes, " she nodded, "his wife. You know, she comes here twice a week. We have to do some tall scheming to keep them apart. No, it's notvanity, either. It's--well--you see, she's trying to get him back, to look like a sport. "

Constance thought of the hopeless fight so far which the littlewoman was waging to keep up with the dashing actress. Then shethought of Warrington, of last night, of how he had sought her, soready, it seemed, to leave even the "other woman. " Then Floretta'sremark repeated itself mechanically. "We have to do some tallscheming to keep them apart. " Was Stella here, after all?

Mrs. Warrington was not a bad looking woman and in fact it wasdifficult to see how she expected to be improved by cosmetics thatwould lighten her complexion, bleaches that would flaxen her hair, tortures for this, that, and the other defect, real or imagined. 

Now, however, she was a creature of reinforcements, from her puffymasses of light hair to her French heels and embroidered stockingsthat showed through the slash in the drapery of her gown. 

Constance felt sorry for her, deeply sorry. The whole thing seemednot in keeping with her. She was a home-maker, not a butterfly. WasWarrington worth it all? asked Constance of herself. "At least shethinks so, " flashed over her, as Mrs. Warrington rose, and left theroom, watchfully guided by Floretta to the next process in hercourse in beautification. 

Constance sank back luxuriously on the cushions of her chaiselongue. She longed to explore the beauty parlor, to leave the restroom and go down the narrow corridor, prying into the secrets of thelittle dressing rooms that opened into it. What did they conceal?Why had Vera seemed so distant? Was it the natural reaction of the"morning after, " or was Stella really there and was she keeping heraway from Mrs. Warrington to prevent friction between two clientsthat would have been annoying to all?

She could reach no conclusion, except that there was a feeling ofluxurious well-being as she lolled back into the deep recesses ofthe lounge in the corner of the room separated from the next room bya thin board partition. 

Suddenly her attention was arrested by muffled voices on the otherside of the partition. She strained her ears. She could not, ofcourse, see the speakers, or even recognize their voices, but theywere a man and a woman. 

"We must get the thing settled right away, " she overheard the man'svoice. "You see how he is? Every new face attracts him. See how hetook to that new one last night. Who knows what may happen? By andby some one may come along and spoil all. "

"Couldn't we use her?" asked the woman. 

"No, you can't use that woman. She's too clever. But we must dosomething, right away--to-night if possible. "

A pause. "How, then?"

Another pause and the whispered monosyllable, "Dope!"

"What?"

"I have it here. Use a dozen of them. They can be snuffed as apowder, or it can be put in a drink. If you want more--see, I willput the bottle on this shelf--'way back. No one will see it. "

"Don't you think I ought to write a note, something that will besure to get him up here?"

"Yes--just a line or two--as if in haste. "

There was a sound as if of tearing a sheet of note paper from a pad. 

"Is that all right?"

"Yes. As soon as the market closes. There will be nothing done to-day. To-morrow's the day. To-night we must get him going and in themeantime a meeting will be held, the plan arranged at the PrinceHenry to-night--and then the smash. Between them all, he won't knowwhat has struck him. "

"All right. You had better go out as you came in. It's better thatno one up here should suspect anything. "

The voices ceased. 

What did it mean! Constance rose and sauntered around into the nextroom. It was empty, but when she looked hastily up on the shelfthere was a bottle of white tablets and on a table a pad of notepaper from which a sheet had been torn. 

She picked up the bottle gingerly. Who had touched it? Her mind wasworking quickly. Somewhere she had read of finger prints and thesubject had interested her because the system had been introduced inbanks and she saw that it was going to become more and moreimportant. 

But how did they get them in a case like this? She had read of somepowder that adhered to the marks left by the sweat glands of thefingers. There was the talcum powder. Perhaps it would do. 

Quickly she shook the box gently over the glass. Then she blew itoff carefully. 

Clear, sharp, distinct, there were the imprints of fingers!

But the paper. Talcum powder would not bring them out on that. Itmust be something black. 

A lead pencil! Eagerly she seized it and with, a little silver pen-knife whittled off the wood. Scrape! scrape! until she had a neatlittle pile of finely powdered graphite. 

Then she poured it on the paper and taking the sheet daintily by theedges, so that she would not mix her own finger prints with theothers, she rolled the powder back and forth. As she lookedanxiously she could see the little grains adhering to the paper. 

A fine camel's hair brush lay on the table, for penciling. She tookit deftly. It made her think of that first time when she painted thechecks for Carlton. A lump came into her throat. 

There they were, the second pair of telltale prints. But what taledid they tell? Whose were they?

Her reading on finger prints had been very limited but, likeeverything she did, to the point. She studied those before her, traced out as best she could the loops, whorls, arches, andcomposites, even counted the ridges on some of them. It was not sodifficult, after all. 

She stopped in an uptown branch of her brokers in one of the hotels. The market was very quiet, and even the Rubber Syndicate seemed tobe marking time. As she went out she passed the telephone booths. Should she call up Warrington? Would he misinterpret it? What if hedid? She was mistress of her own tongue. She need not say too much. Besides, if she were going on a fishing expedition, a telephone linewas as good as any other--better than a visit. 

"This is Mrs. Dunlap, " she said directly. 

"Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Dunlap. I have been intending to call youup, but, " he paused, and added, "you know we are having a prettystrenuous time down here. "

There was a genuine ring to the first part of his reply. But therest of it trailed off into the old blase tone. 

"I'm sorry, " she replied. "I enjoyed last night so much. "

"Did you?" came back eagerly. 

Before he could add anything she asked, "I suppose you are going tosee Stella again this afternoon. "

"Why--er--yes, " he hesitated. "I think so. "

"Where? At Vera's?" she asked, adopting a tone not of curiosity butof chiding him for seeing Stella instead of herself. 

The moment of hesitation, before he said that he didn't know, toldher the truth. It was as good as a plain, "Yes. "

For a few moments they chatted. As she hung up the receiver afterhis deferential goodbye, Constance knew that she had gained a newangle from which to observe Warrington's character. He was intenselyhuman and he was "in wrong. " Here was a mess, all around. 

The day wore on, yet brought no indecision as to what she would do, though it brought no solution as to how to do it. The inaction wasworse than anything else. The last quotations had come in over theticker, showing the Syndicate stocks still unchanged. She left herbrokers and sat for a few moments in the rotunda of the hotel, considering. She could stand it no longer. Whatever happened, shewould run around to Charmant's. Some excuse would occur when she gotthere. 

As Constance alighted from the private elevator, a delicate scent asof attar of roses smote lightly on her, and there was, if anything, a greater air of exotic warmth about the place. Everything, from theelectric bulbs buried deep in the clusters of amber artificialflowers to the bright green leaves on the dainty trellises, thelittle square-paned windows and white furniture, bespoke luxury. There was an inviting "tone" to it all. 

"I'm glad I've found you, " began Constance to Stella, as thoughnothing had happened. "There is something I'd like to say to youbesides thanking you most kindly for the good time last--"

"Is there anything I can do for you?" interrupted Madame Charmant ina business like tone. "I am sure that Miss Larue invited you lastnight because she thought you were lonely. She and Mr. Warrington, you know, are old friends. "

Charmant emphasized the remark to mean, "You trespassed on forbiddenground, if you thought you could get him away. "

Constance seemed not to notice the implication. 

"There is something I'd like to say, " she repeated gently. 

She picked up a little inking pad which lay on a mahogany secretarywhich Vera used as an office desk. 

"If you will be so kind, Stella, as to place your fingers flat onthis pad-never mind about the ink; call Floretta; she will wipe themoff afterwards-and then on this piece of paper, I won't bother youfurther. "

Almost before she knew it, the little actress had placed her daintywhite hand on the pad and then on the paper. 

Constance did the same, to illustrate, then called Floretta. "IfVera will do as I have done, " she said, offering her the pad, andtaking her hand. Charmant complied, and when Floretta arrived herimpressions were added to the others. 

"There's a man wishes to see you, outside, Madame, " said Floretta, wiping off the soiled finger tips. 

"Tell him to wait--in the little room. "

Floretta opened the door to go out and through it Constance caughtsight of a familiar face. 

A moment later the man was in the room with them. It was Drummond, the same sneer, the same assurance in his manner. 

"So, " he snarled at Constance. "You here?"

"I seem to be here, " she answered calmly. "Why?"

"Never mind why, " he blustered. "I knew you saw me the other night. I heard you tell 'em to hit it up so as to shake me. But I found outall right. "

"Found out what?" asked Constance coldly. 

"Say, that's about your style, isn't it? You always get in when itcomes to trimming the good spenders, don't you?"

"Mr. Drummond, " she replied, "I don't care to talk to you. "

"You don't, hey? Well, perhaps, when the time comes you'll have totalk. How about that?"

She was thinking rapidly. Was Mrs. Warrington preparing to strike ablow that would be the last impulse necessary to send the plungerdown for the last time? She decided to take a chance, to temporizeuntil some one else made a move. 

"I'd thank you to place your fingers on this pad, " said Constancequietly. "I'm making a collection of these things. "

"You are, are you?"

"Yes, " she cut short. "And if my collection isn't large enough Ishall call up Mrs. Warrington and ask her to come over, too, " sheadded significantly. 

Floretta entered again. "Please wipe the ink off Mr. Drummond'sfingers, " ordered Constance quietly, still holding out the pad. 

"Confound your impudence, " he ground out, seizing the pad. "There!What do you mean by Mrs. Warrington? What has she to do with this?Have a care, Mrs. Dunlap--you're on the wrong track here, and goingthe wrong way. "

"Mr. Warrington is--" began Floretta. 

"Show him in--quick, " demanded Constance, determined to bring theaffair to a show-down on the spot. 

As the door swung open, Warrington looked at the group in unfeignedsurprise. 

"Mr. Warrington, " greeted Constance without giving any of the othersa chance, "this morning, I heard a little conversation up here. Floretta, will you go into the little room, and on the top shelf youwill find a bottle. Bring it here carefully. I have a sheet ofpaper, also, which I am going to show you. I had already seen thelittle woman, Mr. Warrington, whom you have treated so unjustly. Shewas here trying vainly to win you back by those arts which shethinks must appeal to you. "

Floretta returned with the bottle and placed it on the secretarybeside Constance. 

"Some one took some tablets from this bottle and gave them to someone else who wrote on this paper, " she resumed, bending first overthe paper she had torn from the pad. "Ah, a loop with twelve ridges, another loop, a whorl, a whorl, a loop. The marks on this papercorrespond precisely with those made here just now by--Vera Charmantherself!"

"You get out of here--quick, " snarled Drummond, placing himselfbetween the now furious Vera and Constance. 

"One minute, " replied Constance calmly. "I am sure Mr. Warrington isa gentleman, if you are not. Perhaps I have no finger prints tocorrespond with those on the bottle. If not, I am sure that we cansend for some one whose prints will do so. "

She was studying the bottle. 

"The other, however, " she said slowly to conceal her own surprise, "was a person who has been set to trail you and Stella, Mr. Warrington, a detective named Drummond!"

Suddenly the truth flashed over her. Drummond was not employed byMrs. Warrington at all. Then by whom? By the directors. And the restof these people? Grafters who were using Stella to bait the hook. Braden had gone over to them, had aided in plunging Warrington intothe wild life until he could no longer play the business game asbefore. Charmant was his confederate, Drummond his witness. 

"Stella, " said Constance, turning suddenly to the little actress, "Stella, they are using you, 'Diamond Jack' and Vera, using you tolead him on, playing the game of the minority of the directors ofthe Syndicate to get him out. There is to be a meeting of thedirectors to-night at the Prince Henry. He was to be in no conditionto go. Are you willing to be mixed up in such a scandal?"

Stella Larue was crying into a lace handkerchief. "You--you are all--against me, " she sobbed. "What have I done?"

"Nothing, " soothed Constance, patting her shoulder. "As for Charmantand Drummond, they are tied by these proofs, " she added, tapping thepapers with the prints, then picking them up and handing them toWarrington. "I think if the story were told to the directors at thePrince Henry to-night with reporters waiting downstairs in thelobby, it might produce a quieting effect. "

Warrington was speechless. He saw them all against him, Vera, Braden, Stella, Drummond. 

"More than that, " added Constance, "nothing that you can ever do canequal the patience, the faith of the little woman I saw here to-day, slaving, yes, slaving for beauty. Here in my hand, in these scrapsof paper, I hold your old life, --not part of it, but ALL of it, " sheemphasized. "You have your chance. Will you take it?"

He looked up quickly at Stella Larue. She had risen impulsively andflung her arms about Constance. 

"Yes, " he muttered huskily, taking the papers, "all of it. "

CHAPTER VIII

THE ABDUCTORS

"Take care of me--please--please!"

A slip of a girl, smartly attired in a fur-trimmed dress and a chiclittle feather-tipped hat, hurried up to Constance Dunlap late oneafternoon as she turned the corner below her apartment. 

"It isn't faintness or illness exactly--but--it's all so hazy, "stammered the girl breathlessly. "And I've forgotten who I am. I'veforgotten where I live--and a man has been following me--oh, ever solong. "

The weariness in the tone of the last words caused Constance to lookmore closely at the girl. Plainly she was on the verge of hysterics. Tears were streaming down her pale cheeks and there were dark ringsunder her eyes, suggestive of a haunting fear of something fromwhich she fled. 

Constance was astounded for the moment. Was the girl crazy? She hadheard of cases like this, but to meet one so unexpectedly was surelydisconcerting. 

"Who has been following you!" asked Constance gently, lookinghastily over her shoulder and seeing no one. 

"A man, " exclaimed the girl, "but I think he has gone now. "

"Can't you think of your name!" urged Constance. "Try. "

"No, " cried the girl, "no, I can't, I can't. "

"Or your address?" repeated Constance. "Try--try hard!"

The girl looked vacantly about. 

"No, " she sobbed, "it's all gone--all. "

Puzzled, Constance took her arm and slowly walked her up the streettoward her own apartment in the hope that she might catch sight ofsome familiar face or be able to pull herself together. 

But it was of no use. 

They passed a policeman who eyed them sharply. The mere sight of theblue-coated officer sent a shudder through the already tremblinggirl on her arm. 

"Don't, don't let them take me to a hospital--don't, " pleaded thegirl in a hoarse whisper when they had passed the officer. 

"I won't, " reassured Constance. "Was that the man who was followingyou?"

"No--oh, no, " sobbed the girl nervously looking back. 

"Who was he, then?" asked Constance eagerly. 

The girl did not answer, but continued to look back wildly from timeto time, although there was no doubt that, if he existed at all, theman had disappeared. 

Suddenly Constance realized that she had on her hands a case ofaphasia, perhaps real, perhaps induced by a drug. 

At any rate, the fear of being sent away to an institution was sostrong in the poor creature that Constance felt intuitively howdisastrous to her might be the result of disregarding the obsession. 

She was in a quandary. What should she do with the girl? To leaveher on the street was out of the question. She was now more helplessthan ever. 

They had reached the door of the apartment. Gently she led thetrembling girl into her own home. 

But now the question of what to do arose with redoubled force. Shehesitated to call a physician, at least yet, because his firstadvice would probably be to send the poor little stranger to thepsychopathic ward of some hospital. 

Constance's eye happened to rest on the dictionary in her bookcase. Perhaps she might recall the girl's name to her, if she were notshamming, by reading over the list of women's names in the back ofthe book. 

It meant many minutes, perhaps hours. But then Constance reflectedon what might have happened to the girl if she had chanced to appealto some one who had not felt a true interest in her. It was worthtrying. She would do it. 

Starting with "A, " she read slowly. 

"Is your name Abigail?"

Down through Barbara, Camilla, Deborah, Edith, Faith, she read. 

"Flora?" she asked. 

The girl seemed to apprehend something, appear less blank. 

"Florence?" persisted Constance. 

"Oh, yes, " she cried, "that's it--that's my name. "

But as for the last name and the address she was just as hazy asever. Still, there was now something different about her. 

"Florence--Florence what?" reiterated Constance patiently. 

There was no answer. But with the continued repetition it seemed asif some depth in her nature had been stirred. Constance could nothelp feeling that the girl had really found herself. 

She had risen and was facing Constance, both hands pressed to herthrobbing temples as if to keep her head from bursting. Constancehad assisted her off with her coat and hat, and now the sartorialwreck of her masses of blonde hair was apparent. 

"I suppose, " she cried incoherently, "I'm just one more of thethousands of girls who drop out of sight every year. "

Constance listened in amazement. As the spell of her influenceseemed to calm the overwrought mind of the girl there succeeded ahardness in her tone that was wholly out of keeping with her youth. There was something that breathed of a past where there should havebeen nothing but the thought of a future. 

"Tell me why, " soothed Constance with an air that invitedconfidence. 

The girl looked up and again passed her hand over her white foreheadwith its mass of tangled fallen hair. Somehow Constance felt atingling sensation of sympathy in her heart. Impulsively she put outher hand and took the cold moist hand of the girl. 

"Because, " she hesitated, struggling now with re-floodingconsciousness, "because--I don't know. I thought, perhaps--" sheadded, dropping her eyes, "you could--help me. "

She was speaking rapidly enough now, "I think they have employeddetectives to trace me. One of them is almost up with me. I'm afraidI can't slip out of the net again. And--I--I won't go back to them. I can't. I won't. "

"Go back to whom?" queried her friend. "Detectives employed bywhom?"

"My folks, " she answered quickly. 

Constance was surprised. Least of all had she expected that. 

"Why won't you go home?" she prompted as the girl seemed about tolapse into a sort of stolid reticence. 

"Home?" she repeated bitterly. "Home? No one would believe my story. I couldn't go home, now. They have made it impossible for me to gohome. I mean, every newspaper has published my picture. There wereheadlines for days, and only by chance I was not recognized. "

She was sobbing now convulsively. "If they had only let me alone! Imight have gone back, then. But now--after the newspapers and thesearch--never! And yet I am going to have revenge some day. When heleast expects it I am going to tell the truth and--"

She stopped. 

"And what?" asked Constance. 

"Tell the truth--and then do a cowardly thing. I would--"

"You would not!" blazed Constance. 

There was no mistaking the meaning. 

"Leave it to me. Trust me. I will help you. "

She pulled the girl down on the divan beside her. 

"Why talk of suicide?" mused Constance. "You can plead this aphasiaI have just seen. I know lots of newspaper women. We could carry itthrough so that even the doctors would help us. Remember, aphasiawill do for a girl nowadays what nothing else can do. "

"Aphasia!" Florence repeated harshly. "Call it what you like--weakness--anything. I--I loved that man--not the one who followedme--another. I believed him. But he left me--left me in a place--across in Brooklyn. They said I was a fool, that some other fellow, perhaps better, with more money, would take care of me. But I left. I got a place in a factory. Then some one in the factory becamesuspicious. I had saved a little. It took me to Boston. 

"Again some one grew suspicious. I came back here, here--the onlyplace to hide. I got another position as waitress in the Betsy RossTea Room. There I was able to stay until yesterday. But then a mancame in. He had been there before. He seemed too interested in me, not in a way that others have been, but in me--my name. Some how Isuspected. I put on my hat and coat. I fled. I think he followed me. All night I have walked the streets and ridden in cars to get awayfrom him. At last--I appealed to you. "

The girl had sunk back into the soft pillows of the couch beside hernew friend and hid her face. Softly Constance patted and smoothedthe wealth of golden hair. 

"You--you poor little girl, " she sympathized. 

Then a film came over her own eyes. 

"New York took me at a critical time in my own life, " she said moreto herself than to the girl. "She sheltered me, gave me a new start. What she did for me she will do for any other person who reallywishes to make a fresh start in life. I made few acquaintances, nofriends. Fortunately, the average New Yorker asks only that hisneighbor leave him alone. No hermit could find better and morecomplete solitude than in the heart of this great city. "

Constance looked pityingly at the girl before her. 

"Why can't you tell them, " she suggested, "that you wanted to beindependent, that you went away to make your own living?"

"But--they--my father--is well off. And they have this detective whofollows me. He will find me some day--for the reward--and will tellthe truth. "

"The reward?"

"Yes--a thousand dollars. Don't you remember reading--"

The girl stopped short as if to check herself. 

"You--you are Florence Gibbons!" gasped Constance as with a rushthere came over her the recollection of a famous unsolved mystery ofseveral months before. 

The girl did not look up as Constance bent over and put her armsabout her. 

"Who was he?" she asked persuasively. 

"Preston--Lansing Preston, " she sobbed bitterly. "Only the other dayI read of his engagement to a girl in Chicago--beautiful, insociety. Oh--I could KILL him, " she cried, throwing out her armspassionately. "Think of it. He--rich, powerful, respected. I--poor, almost crazy--an outcast. "

Constance did not interfere until the tempest had passed. 

"What name did you give at the tea room?" asked Constance. 

"Viola Cole, " answered Florence. 

"Rest here, " soothed Constance. "Here at least you are safe. I havean idea. I shall be back soon. "

The Betsy Ross was still open after the rush of tired shoppers andlater of business women to whom this was not only a restaurant but aclub. Constance entered and sat down. 

"Is the manager in?" she asked of the waitress. 

"Mrs. Palmer? No. But, if you care to wait, I think she'll be backdirectly. "

As Constance sat toying absently with some food at one of the snowywhite tables, a man entered. A man in a tea room is an anomaly. Forthe tea room is a woman's institution, run by women for women. Menenter with diffidence, and seldom alone. This man was quiteevidently looking for some one. 

His eye fell on Constance. Her heart gave a leap. It was her oldenemy, Drummond, the detective. For a moment he hesitated, thenbowed, and came over to her table. 

"Peculiar places, these tea rooms, " observed Drummond. 

Constance was doing some quick thinking. Could this be the detectiveFlorence Gibbons had mentioned?

"The only thing lacking to make them complete, " he rattled on, "is alicense. Now, take those places that have a ladies' bar--that doopenly what tea rooms do covertly. They don't reckon with theattitude of women. This is New York--not Paris. Such things areyears off. I don't say they'll not come or that women won't usethem--but not by that name--not yet. "

Constance wondered what his cynical inconsequentialities masked. 

"I think it adds to the interest, " she observed, watching himfurtively, "this evasion of the laws. "

Drummond was casting about for something to do and, naturally, to amind like his, a drink was the solution. Evidently, however, therewere degrees of brazenness, even in tea rooms. The Betsy Ross notonly would not produce a labeled bottle and an obvious glass butstoutly denied their ability to fill such an order, even whispered. 

"Russian tea?" suggested Drummond cryptically. 

"How will you have it--with Scotch or rye?" asked the waitress. 

"Bourbon, " hazarded Drummond. 

When the "Russian tea" arrived it was in a neat little pot with twoothers, the first containing real tea and the second hot water. Itwas served virtuously in tea cups, so opaquely concealed that no onebut the clandestine drinker could know what sort of poison was beingserved. 

Mrs. Palmer was evidently later than expected. Drummond fidgetedafter the manner of a man out of his accustomed habitat. And yet hedid not seem to be interested really in Constance, or even in Mrs. Palmer. For after a few moments, he rose and excused himself. 

"How did HE come here?" Constance asked herself over and over. 

As far as she could reason it out, there could be only one reason. Drummond was clearly up with Florence. Did he also know thatConstance was shielding her?

The more she thought of it, the more she shuddered at the tactlessway in which the detective would perform the act of "charity" bydiscovering the lost girl--and pocketing the reward. 

If her family only knew, how eagerly they might let her come back inher own way. She looked up the address of Everett Gibbons while shewas waiting, a half-formed plan taking definite shape in her mind. 

What--she did must be done quickly. Here at the tea room at leastFlorence, or rather Viola, was known. Perhaps the best way, afterall, was to let her be discovered here. They could not deny that shehad been working for them acceptably for some time. 

Half an hour later, Mrs. Palmer, a bustling business woman, came inand the waitress pointed her out to Constance. 

"Did you have a waitress here named Viola Cole?" began Constance, watching keenly the effect of her inquiry. 

"Yes, " replied Mrs. Palmer in a tone of interest that reassuredConstance that, if there were any connection between Drummond'spresence and Mrs. Palmer, it was wholly on his seeking. "But shedisappeared last night. A most peculiar girl--but a splendidworker. "

"She has been ill, " Constance hastened to explain. "I am a friend ofhers. I have a business downtown and could not come around until to-night to tell you that she will be back to-morrow if you will takeher back. "

"Of course I'll take her back. I'm sorry she's ill, " and Mrs. Palmerbustled out into the kitchen, not unfeelingly but merely becausethat was her manner. 

Constance paid her check and left the tea room. So far she hadsucceeded. The next thing she had planned was a visit to Mr. Gibbons. That need not take long, for she was not going to tellanything. Her idea was merely to pave the way. 

The Gibbons she found, lived in a large house on one of the numerousside streets from the Park, in a neighborhood that was in factsomething more than merely well-to-do. 

Fortunately she found Everett Gibbons in and was ushered into hisstudy, where he sat poring over some papers and enjoying an after-dinner cigar. 

"Mr. Gibbons, " began Constance, "I believe there is a one thousanddollar reward for news of the whereabouts of your daughter, Florence. "

"Yes, " he said in a colorless tone that betrayed the hopelessness ofthe long search. "But we have traced down so many false clues thatwe have given up hope. Since the day she went away, we have neverbeen able to get the slightest trace of her. Still, we welcomeoutside aid. "

"Of detectives?" she asked. 

"Official and private--paid and volunteer--anybody, " he answered. "Imyself have come to the belief that she is dead, for that is theonly explanation I can think of for her long silence. "

"She is not dead, " replied Constance in a low tone. 

"Not dead?" he repeated eagerly, catching at even such a straw as anunknown woman might cast out. "Then you know--"

"No, " she interrupted positively, "I cannot tell you any more. Youmust call off all other searchers. I will let you know. "

"When?"

"To-morrow, perhaps the next day. I will call you on the telephone. "

She rose and made a hasty adieu before the man who had beenprematurely aged might overwhelm her with questions and break downher resolution to carry the thing through as she had seen best. 

Cheerily, Constance turned the key in the lock of her door. 

There was no light and somehow the silence smote on her ominously. 

"Florence!" she called. 

There was no answer. 

Not a sign indicated her presence. There was the divan with thepillows disarranged as they had been when she left. The furniturewas in the same position as before. Hastily she went from one roomto another. Florence had disappeared!

She went to the door again. All seemed right there. If any one hadentered, it must have been because he was admitted, for there wereno marks to indicate that the lock had been forced. 

She called up the tea room. Mrs. Palmer was very sympathetic, butthere had been no trace of "Viola Cole" there yet. 

"You will let me know if you get any word?" asked Constanceanxiously. 

"Surely, " came back Mrs. Palmer's cordial reply. 

A hundred dire possibilities crowded through her mind. MightFlorence be held somewhere as a "white slave"--not by physical forcebut by circumstances, ignorant of her rights, afraid to break awayagain?

Or was it suicide, as she had threatened? She could not believe it. Nothing could have happened in such a short time to change herresolution about revenge. 

The recollection of all the stories she had read recently crossedher mind. Could it be a case of drugs? The girl had given noevidence of being a "dope" fiend. 

Perhaps some one had entered, after all. 

She thought of the so-called "poisoned needle" cases. Might she nothave been spirited off in that way? Constance had doubted thestories. She knew that almost any doctor would say that it wasimpossible to inject a narcotic by a sudden jab of a hypodermicsyringe. That was rather a slow, careful and deliberate operation, to be submitted to with patience. 

Yet Florence was gone!

Suddenly it flashed over Constance that Drummond might not beseeking the reward primarily, after all. His first object might beshielding Preston. She recollected that Mr. Gibbons had said nothingabout Drummond, either one way or the other. And if he were bothshielding Preston and working for the reward, he would care littlehow much Florence suffered. He might be playing both ends to servehimself. 

She rang the elevator bell. 

"Has anybody called at my apartment while I was out?" she asked. 

"Yes'm. A man came here. "

"And you let him up?"

"I didn't know you were out. You see I had just come on. He said hewas to meet some one at your apartment. And when he pressed thebuzzer, the door opened, and I ran the elevator down again. Ithought it was all right, ma'am. "

"And then what?" inquired Constance breathlessly. 

"Well, in about five minutes my bell rang. I ran the elevator upagain, and, waiting, was this man with a girl I had never seenbefore. You understand--I thought it was all right--he told me hewas going to meet some one. "

"Yes--yes. I understand. Oh, my God, if I had only thought to leaveword not to let her go. How did she look?"

"Her clothes, you mean, Ma'am?"

"No--her face, her eyes!"

"Beggin' your pardon, I thought she was--well, er, --acted queer--scared--dazed-like. "

"You didn't notice which way they went, I suppose!"

"No ma'am, I didn't. "

Constance turned back again into her empty apartment, heart-sick. Inspite of all she had planned and done, she was defeated--worse thandefeated. Where was Florence! What might not happen to her! Shecould have sat down and cried. Instead she passed a feverishlyrestless night. 

All the next day passed, and still not a word. She felt her ownhelplessness. She could not appeal to the police. That might defeatthe very end she sought. She was single-handed. For all she knew, she was fighting the almost limitless power of brains and money ofPreston. Inquiry developed the fact that Preston himself wasreported to be in Chicago with his fiancee. Time and again she wason the point of making the journey to let him know that some one atleast was watching him. But, she reflected, if she did that shemight miss the one call from Florence for help. 

Then she thought bitterly of the false hopes she had raised in thedespairing father of Florence Gibbons. It was maddening. 

Several times during the day Constance dropped into the Betsy Ross, without finding any word. 

Late that night the buzzer on her door sounded. It was Mrs. Palmerherself, with a letter at last, written on rough paper in pencilwith a trembling hand. 

Constance almost literally pounced on it. 

"Will you tell the lady who was so kind to me that while she was outseeing you at the tea room, there was a call at her door? I didn'tlike to open it, but when I asked who was there, a man said it wasthe steam-fitter she had asked to call about the heat. 

"I opened the door. From that moment when I saw his face until Icame to myself here I remember nothing. I would write to her, only Idon't know where she lives. One of the bell-boys here is kind enoughto smuggle this note out for me addressed to the Betsy Boss. 

"Tell her please, that I am at a place in Brooklyn, I think, calledLustgarten's--she can recognize it because it is at a railroadcrossing--steam railroads, not trolleys or elevateds. 

"I know you think me crazy, Mrs. Palmer, but the other lady can tellyou about it. Oh, it was the same horrible feeling that came over methat night as before. It isn't a dream; it's more like a trance. Itcomes in a second--usually when I am frightened. I suddenly feelnervous and shaky. I can't tell what is going on around me. I losemy hearing. Part of the time it is as though, I had a paralyticstroke of the tongue. The next day, perhaps, it is gone. But whileit lasts it is terrifying. It's like walking into a new world, witheverybody, everything strange about me. "

The note ended with a most pathetic appeal. 

Constance was already nervously putting on her hat. 

"You are going to go there?" asked Mrs. Palmer. 

"If I can locate the place, " she answered. 

"Aren't you afraid?" inquired the other. 

Constance did not reply. She ostentatiously slipped a little ivory-handled revolver into her handbag. 

"It's a new one, " she explained finally, "like nothing you everheard of before, I guess. I bought it only the other day after afriend of mine told me about it. "

Mrs. Palmer was watching her closely. 

"You--you are a wonderful woman, " she burst out finally. "It isn'tgood business, it isn't good sense. "

Constance stopped short in her preparations for the search. "Whatare business and sense compared to the--the life of--"

She checked herself on the very point of revealing the girl's realname. 

"Nothing, " replied Mrs. Palmer. "I had already made up my mind to gowith you before I spoke--if you will let me. "

In a moment the two understood each other better than after years ofcasual acquaintance. 

Back and forth through the mazes of streets and car lines of thecity across the river the two women traveled, asking veiledquestions of every wearer of a uniform, until at last they foundsuch a place as Florence had described in her note. 

There, it seemed, had sprung up a little center of vice. Whilereformers were trying to clamp down tight the "lid" in New York, allthe vicious elements were prying it up here. Crushed in one place, they rose again in another. 

There was the electric sign--"Lustgarten. " Even a cursory glancetold them that it included a saloon on the first floor, with a sortof dance hall and second-rate cabaret. Above that was a hotel. Thewindows were darkened, with awnings pulled down, even on what musthave been in the daytime the shady side. 

"Shall we go in? Are you game?" asked Constance of her companion. 

"I haven't gone so far without considering that, " replied Mrs. Palmer, somewhat reproachfully. 

Without a word Constance entered the door down the street followedby her companion. 

A negro at the little cubby hole of an office pushed out a registerat them. Constance signed the first names that came into her head, and a moment later they were on their way up to a big double room onthe third floor, led by another, younger negro. 

"Will you send the bell-boy up?" asked Constance as they entered theroom. 

"I'm the bell-boy ma'am, " was his disconcerting reply. 

"I mean the other one, " replied Constance, hazarding, "the one whois here in the day time. "

"There ain't no other boy, ma'am. There ain't no--"

"Could you deliver a note for me at a tea room in New York to-morrow?" interrupted Constance, striking while the iron seemed hot. 

The boy turned around abruptly from his busy occupation of doingsomething useless that would elicit a tip. He quietly shut the door, and wheeled about with his hand still on the knob. 

"Do you want to know what room she's in?" he asked. 

Constance opened her handbag. Mrs. Palmer suppressed a littlescream. She had expected that ivory-handled thing to appear. Insteadthere was a treasury note of a size that caused the white part ofthe boy's eyes to expand beyond all the laws of optics. 

"Yes, " she said, pressing it into his hand. 

"Forty-two-down the hall, around the turn, on the other side, "whispered the boy. "And for God's sake, ma'am, don't tell nobody Itold you. "

His shuffle down the hall had scarcely ceased before the two womenwere stealthily creeping in the opposite direction, looking eagerlyat the numbers. 

Constance had stopped abruptly around the turn. Through a transom ofone of the rooms they could hear voices but could see no light. 

"Well, go back then, " growled a gruff voice. "Your family will neverbelieve your story, never believe that you came again and stayed atLustgarten's against your will. Why, " the voice taunted with a harshlaugh, "if they knew the truth, they would turn you from the door, instead of offering a reward. "

There was a moment of silence. Then a woman's voice, strangelyfamiliar to Constance, spoke. 

"The truth!" she exclaimed bitterly. "He knew it was a case of agirl who liked a good time, liked pretty clothes, a ride in anautomobile, theaters, excitement, bright lights, night life--a girlwith a romantic disposition in whom all that was repressed at home. He knew it, " she repeated, raising the tone to an almost hystericalpitch, "led me on, made me love him because he could give them allto me. And when I began to show the strain of the pace-they all showit more than the men--he cast me aside like a squeezed-out lemon. "

As she listened, Constance understood it all now. It was to makeFlorence Gibbons a piece of property, a thing to be traded in, bartered--that was the idea. Discover her--yes; but first to thrusther into the life if she would not go into it herself--anything todiscredit her testimony beforehand, anything to save the preciousreputation of one man. 

"Well, " shouted the other voice menacingly, "do you want to know thetruth? Haven't you read it often enough? Instead of hoping you willreturn, they pray that you are DEAD!"

He hissed the words out, then added, "They prefer to think that youare dead. Why--damn it!--they turn to that belief for COMFORT!"

Constance had seized Mrs. Palmer by the arm, and, acting in concert, they threw both their weights against the thin wooden door. 

It yielded with a crash. 

Inside the room was dark. 

Indistinctly Constance could make out two figures, one standing, theother seated in a deep rocker. 

A suppressed exclamation of surprise was followed by a hasty lungeof the standing figure toward her. 

Constance reached quickly into her handbag and drew out the littleivory-handled pistol. 

"Bang!" it spat almost into the man's face. 

Choking, sputtering, the man groped a minute blindly, then fell onthe floor and frantically tried to rise again and call out. 

The words seemed to stick in his throat. 

"You--you shot him?" gasped a woman's voice which Constance now knewwas Florence's. 

"With the new German Secret Service gun, " answered Constancequietly, keeping it leveled to cow any assistance that might bebrought. "It blinds and stupefies without killing--a bulletlessrevolver intended to check and render harmless the criminal insteadof maiming him. The cartridges contain several chemicals thatcombine when they are exploded and form a vapor which blinds a manand puts him out. No one wants to kill such a person as this. "

She reached over and switched on the lights. 

The man on the floor was Drummond himself. 

"You will tell your real employer, Mr. Preston, " she addedcontemptuously, "that unless he agrees to our story of his elopementwith Florence, marries her, and allows her to start an undefendedaction for divorce, we intend to make use of the new federal MannAct--with a jail sentence--for both of you. "

Drummond looked up sullenly, still blinking and choking. 

"And not a word of this until the suit is filed. Then WE will seethe reporters--not he. Understand?"

"Yes, " he muttered, still clutching his throat. 

An hour later Constance was at the telephone in her own apartment. 

"Mr. Gibbons? I must apologize for troubling you at this late, orrather early, hour. But I promised you something which I could notfulfill until now. This is the Mrs. Dunlap who called on you theother day with a clue to your daughter Florence. I have found her--yes--working as a waitress in the Betsy Ross Tea Boom. No--not aword to anyone--not even to her mother. No--not a word. You can seeher to-morrow--at my apartment. She is going to live with me for afew days until--well--until we get a few little matters straightenedout. "

Constance had jammed the receiver back on the hook hastily. 

Florence Gibbons, wild-eyed, trembling, imploring, had flung herarms about her neck. 

"No--no--no, " she cried. "I can't. I won't. "

With a force that was almost masculine, Constance took the girl byboth shoulders. 

"The one thousand dollar reward which comes to me, " said Constancedecisively, "will help us--straighten out those few little matterswith Preston. Mrs. Palmer can stretch the time which you have workedfor her. "

Something of Constance's will seemed to be infused into FlorenceGibbons by force of suggestion. 

"And remember, " Constance added in a tense voice, "for anythingafter your elopement--it's aphasia, aphasia, APHASIA!"

CHAPTER IX

THE SHOPLIFTERS

"Madam, would you mind going with me for a few moments to the officeon the third floor?"

Constance Dunlap had been out on a shopping excursion. She hadstopped at the jewelry counter of Stacy's to have a ring repairedand had gone on to the leather goods department to purchasesomething else. 

The woman who spoke to her was a quietly dressed young person, quiteinconspicuous, with a keen eye that seemed to take in everythingwithin a radius of a wide-angled lens at a glance. 

She leaned over and before Constance could express even surprise, added in a whisper, "Look in your bag. "

Constance looked hastily, then realized what had happened. The ringwas gone!

It gave her quite a shock, too, for the ring, a fine diamond, was apresent from her husband, one of the few pieces of jewelry, treasured not only for its intrinsic value but as a remembrance ofCarlton and the supreme sacrifice he had made for her. 

She had noticed nothing in the crowd, nothing more than she hadnoticed scores of times before. The woman watched her puzzled look. 

"I've been following you, " she said. "By this time the other storedetectives must have caught the shoplifter and bag-opener whotouched you. You see, we don't make any arrests in the store if wecan help it, because we don't like to make a scene. It's bad forbusiness. Besides, if she had anything else, we are safer when thecase comes to court, if we have caught her actually leaving thestore with it. Of course, when we make an arrest on the sidewalk, webring the shoplifter back, but in a private, back elevator. "

Constance was following the young woman mechanically. At least therewas a chance of recovering the ring. 

"She was standing next to you at the jewelry counter, " shecontinued, "and if you will help identify her the store managementwill appreciate it--and make it worth your while. Besides, " sheurged, "It's really your duty to do it, madam. "

Constance remembered now the rather simply but richly gowned youngwoman who had been standing next to her at the counter, seeminglyunable to decide which of a number of beautiful rings she reallywanted. She remembered because, with her own love of beauty, she hadwanted one herself, in fact had thought at the time that she, too, might have difficulty in choosing. 

With the added feeling of curiosity, Constance followed the womandetective up in the elevator. 

In the office, apart in a little room curiously furnished with acamera, innumerable photographs, cabinets, and filing cases, was ayoung woman, perhaps twenty-six or seven. On a table before her laya pile of laces and small trinkets. There, too, was the beautifuldiamond ring which she had hidden in her muff. Constance fairlygasped at the sight. 

The girl was sitting limply in a chair crying bitterly. She was nota hardened looking creature. In fact, her face bore evident tracesof refinement, and her long, slender fingers hinted at a nervous, artistic temperament. It was rather a shock to see such a girl undersuch distressing circumstances. 

"We've lost so much lately, " a small ferret-eyed man was saying, "that we must make an example of some one. It's serious for usdetectives, too. We'll lose our jobs unless we can stop youboosters. "

"Oh--I--I didn't mean to do it. I--I just couldn't help it, " sobbedthe girl over and over again. 

"Yes, " drawled the man, "that's what they all say. But you've beencaught with the goods, this time, young lady. "

A woman entered, and the man turned to her quickly. 

"Carr--Kitty Carr. Did you find anything under that name?"

"No, sir, " replied the woman store detective. "We've looked allthrough the records and the photographs. We don't find her. And yetI don't think it is an alias--at least, if it is, not an alias forany one we have any record of. I've a good eye for faces, and thereisn't one we have on file as--as good looking, " she added, perhapswith a little touch of wistfulness at her own plainness and thisbeauty gone wrong. 

"This is the woman who lost the ring, " put in the other womandetective, motioning to Constance, who had accompanied her and wasstanding, a silent spectator. 

The man held up the ring, which Constance had already recognized. 

"Is that yours?" he asked. 

For a moment, strangely, she hesitated. If it had been any otherring in the world she felt sure that she would have said no. But, then, she reflected, there was that pile of stuff. There was no usein concealing her ownership of the ring. "Yes, " she murmured. 

"One moment, please, " answered the man brusquely. "I must send downfor the salesgirl who waited on you to identify you and your check--a mere formality, you know, but necessary to keep things straight. "

Constance sat down. 

"I suppose you don't realize it, " explained the man, turning toConstance, "but the shoplifters of the city get away with a coupleof million dollars' worth of stuff every year. It's the price wehave to pay for displaying our goods. But it's too high. They arethe department store's greatest unsolved problem. Now most of thestores are working together for their common interests, seeing whatthey can do to root them out. We all keep a sort of private rogue'sgallery of them. But we don't seem to have anything on this girl, nor have any of the other stores who exchange photographs andinformation with us anything on her. "

"Evidently, then, it is her first offense, " put in Constance, wondering at herself. Strangely, she felt more of sympathy than ofanger for the girl. 

"You mean the first time she has been caught at it, " corrected thehead of the store detectives. 

"It is my weakness, " sobbed the girl. "Sometimes an irresistibleimpulse to steal comes over me. I just can't help it. "

She was sobbing convulsively. As she talked and listened thereseemed to come a complete breakdown. She wept as though her heartwould break. 

"Oh, " exclaimed the man, "can it! Cut out the sob stuff!"

"And yet, " mused Constance half to herself, watching the girlclosely, "when one walks through the shops and sees thousands ofdollars' worth of goods lying unprotected on the counters, is it anywonder that some poor woman or girl should be tempted and fall?There, before her eyes and within her grasp, lies the very articleabove all others which she so ardently craves. No one is looking. The salesgirl is busy with another customer. The rest is easy. Andthen the store detective steps in--and here she is--captured. "

The girl had been listening wildly through her tears. "Oh, " shesobbed, "you don't understand--none of you. I don't crave anything. I--I just--can't help it--and then, afterwards--I--I HATE the stuff--and I am so--afraid. I hurry home--and I--oh, what shall I do--whatshall I do?"

Constance pitied her deeply. She looked from the wild-eyed, tear-stained face to the miscellaneous pile of material on the table, andthe unwinking gaze of the store detectives. True, the girl had takena very valuable diamond ring, and from herself. But the laces, thetrinkets, all were abominably cheap, not worth risking anything for. 

Constance's attention was recalled by the man who beckoned her asideto talk to the salesgirl who had waited on her. 

"You remember seeing this lady at the counter?" he asked of thegirl. She nodded. "And that woman in there?" he motioned. Again thesalesgirl nodded. 

"Do you remember anything else that happened?" he asked Constance asthey faced Kitty Carr and he handed Constance the ring. 

Constance looked the detective squarely in the face for a moment. 

"I have my ring. You have the other stuff, " she murmured. "Besides, there is no record against her. She doesn't even look like aprofessional bad character. No--I'll not appear to press the charge--I'll make it as hard as I can before I'll do it, " she addedpositively. 

The woman, who had overheard, looked her gratitude. The detectiveswere preparing to argue. Constance hardly knew what she was saying, as she hurried on before any one else could speak. 

"No, " she added, "but I'll tell you what I will do. If you will lether go I will look after her. Parole her, unofficially, with me. "

Constance drew a card from her case and handed it to the detective. He read it carefully, and a puzzled look came over his face. "Chargeaccount--good customer--pays promptly, " he muttered under hisbreath. 

For a moment he hesitated. Then he sat down at a desk. 

"Mrs. Dunlap, " he said, "I'll do it. "

He pulled a piece of printed paper from the desk, filled in a fewblanks, then turned to Kitty Carr, handing her a pen. 

"Sign here, " he said brusquely. 

Constance bent over and read. It was a form of release:

"I, Kitty Carr, residing at--East --th Street, single, age twenty-seven years, in consideration of the sum of One Dollar, hereby admittaking the following property. .. Without having paid therefor andwith intent not to pay therefor, and by reason of the withdrawal ofthe complaint of larceny, OF WHICH I AM GUILTY, I hereby remise, release, and forever discharge the said Stacy Co. Or itsrepresentatives from any claims, action, or causes of action which Imay have against the Stacy Co. Or its representatives or agents byreason of the withdrawal of said charge of larceny and failure toprosecute. "

"Signed, Kitty Carr. "

"Now, Kitty, " soothed Constance, as the trembling signature wasblotted and added to a photograph which had quietly been taken, "they are going to let you go this time--with me. Come, straightenyour hat, wipe your eyes. You must take me home with you--where wecan have a nice long talk. Remember, I am your friend. "

On the way uptown and across the city the girl managed to tell mostof her history. She came from a family of means in another city. Herfather was dead, but her mother and a brother were living. Sheherself had a small annuity, sufficient to live on modestly, and hadcome to New York seeking a career as an artist. Her story, herambitions appealed to Constance, who had been somewhat of an artistherself and recognized even in talking to the girl that she was notwithout some ability. 

Then, too, she found that Kitty actually lived, as she had said, ina cozy little kitchenette apartment with two friends, a man and hiswife, both of whom happened to be out when they arrived. AsConstance looked about she could see clearly that there was indeedno adequate reason why the girl should steal. 

"How do you feel?" asked Constance when the girl had sunk halfexhausted on a couch in the living room. 

"Oh, so nervous, " she replied, pressing her hands to the back of herhead, "and I have a terrible headache, although it is a littlebetter now. "

They had talked for perhaps half an hour, as Constance soothed her, when there was the sound of a key in the door. A young woman inblack entered. She was well-dressed, in fact elegantly dressed in aquiet way, somewhat older than Kitty, but by no means as attractive. 

"Why--hello, Kitty, " she cried, "what's the matter!"

"Oh, Annie, I'm so unstrung, " replied the girl, then recollectingConstance, added, "let me introduce my friend, Mrs. Dunlap. This isMrs. Annie Grayson, who has taken me in as a lodger and is ever sokind to me. "

Constance nodded, and the woman held out her hand frankly. 

"Very glad to meet you, " she said. "My husband, Jim, is not at home, but we are a very happy little family up here. Why, Kitty, what isthe matter?"

The girl had turned her face down in the sofa pillows and wassobbing again. Between sobs she blurted out the whole of the sordidstory. And as she proceeded, Annie glanced quickly from her toConstance, for confirmation. 

Suddenly she rose and extended her hand to Constance. 

"Mrs. Dunlap, " she said, "how can I ever thank you for what you havedone for Kitty? She is almost like a sister to me. You--you were--too good. "

There was a little catch in the woman's voice. But Constance couldnot quite make out whether it was acted or wholly genuine. 

"Did she ever do anything like that before?" she asked. 

"Only once, " replied Annie Grayson, "and then I gave her such atalking to that I thought she would be able to restrain herself whenshe felt that way again. "

It was growing late and Constance recollected that she had anengagement for the evening. As she rose to go Kitty almostoverwhelmed her with embraces. 

"I'll keep in touch with Kitty, " whispered Constance at the door, "and if you will let me know when anything comes up that I may helpher in, I shall thank you. "

"Depend on me, " answered Mrs. Grayson, "and I want to add my thanksto Kitty's for what you have done. I'll try to help you. "

As she groped her way down the as yet unlighted stairs, Constancebecame aware of two men talking in the hall. As she passed them shethought she recognized one of the voices. She lowered her head, andfortunately her thin veil in the half-light did the rest. She passedunnoticed and reached the door of the apartment. 

As she opened it she heard the men turn and mount the stairs. Instinctively she realized that something was wrong. One of the menwas her old enemy, Drummond, the detective. 

They had not recognized her, and as she stood for a moment with herhand on the knob, she tried to reason it out. Then she crept back, and climbed the stairs noiselessly. Voices inside the apartment toldher that she had not been mistaken. It was the apartment of theGraysons and Kitty that they sought. 

The hall door was of thin, light wood, and as she stood there shecould easily hear what passed inside. 

"What--is Kitty ill?" she heard the strange man's voice inquire. 

"Yes, " replied Mrs. Grayson, then her voice trailed off into anindistinguishable whisper. 

"How are you, Kitty?" asked the man. 

"Oh, I have a splitting headache, Jim. I've had it all day. I couldjust get up and--screech!"

"I'm sorry. I hope it gets better soon. "

"Oh, I guess it will. They often go away as suddenly as they come. You know I've had them before. "

Drummond's voice then spoke up. 

"Did you see the Trimble ad. To-night?" he asked, evidently ofAnnie. "They have a lot of new diamonds from Arkansas, they say, --one of them is a big one, the Arkansas Queen, I believe they callit. "

"No, I didn't see the papers, " replied Annie. 

There was the rustle of a newspaper. 

"Here's a picture of it. It must be great. I've heard a good dealabout it. "

"Have you seen it?" asked Annie. 

"No, but I intend to see it. "

They had passed into the next room, and Constance, fearing to bediscovered, decided to get away before that happened. 

Early the next morning she decided to call on Kitty, but by the timeConstance arrived at the apartment it was closed, and a neighborinformed her that the two women had gone out together about half anhour before. 

Constance was nervous and, as she left the apartment, she did notnotice that a man who had been loitering about had quickened hispace and overtaken her. 

"So, " drawled a voice, "you're traveling with shoplifters now. "

She looked up quickly. This time she had run squarely into Drummond. There was no concealment possible now. Her only refuge was silence. She felt the hot tingle of indignation in her cheeks. But she saidnothing. 

"Huh!" exclaimed Drummond, walking along beside her, and addingcontemptuously, "I don't know the young one, but you know who theother is?"

Constance bit her lip. 

"No?" he queried. "Then I'll show you. "

He had taken from his pocket a bunch of oblong cards. Each bore, shecould see from the corner of her eye, a full face and a profilepicture of a woman, and on the back of the card was a littlewriting. 

He selected one and handed it to Constance. Instantly she recognizedthe face. It was Annie Grayson, with half a dozen aliases writtenafter the name. 

"There!" he fairly snorted. "That's the sort of people your littlefriend consorts with. Why, they call Annie Grayson the queen of theshoplifters. She has forgotten more about shoplifting than all therest will ever know. "

Constance longed to ask him what had taken him to the Grayson flatthe night before, but thought better of it. There was no use inangering Drummond further. Instead, she let him think that he hadsucceeded in frightening her off. 

She went back to her own apartment to wait and worry. EvidentlyDrummond was pretty sure of something, or he would not havedisclosed his hand to her, even partially. She felt that she mustsee Kitty before it was too late. Then the thought crossed her mindthat perhaps already it was too late. Drummond evidently was workingin some way for an alliance of the department stores outside. 

Constance had had her own ideas about Kitty. And as she waited andwatched, she tried to reason how she might carry them out if she hada chance. 

She had just been insured, and had been very much interested in thevarious tests that the woman doctor of the insurance company hadapplied to her. One in particular which involved the use of a littlesimple instrument that fitted over the forearm had interested herparticularly. She had talked to the doctor about it, and as shetalked an idea had occurred to her that it might have other usesthan those which the doctor made of it. She had bought one. Whileshe was waiting it occurred to her that perhaps it might serve herpurpose. She got the instrument out. It consisted of a littlearrangement that fitted over the forearm, and was attached by a tubeto a dial that registered in millimeters a column of mercury. Wouldit really show anything, she wondered?

There was a quick call on the telephone and she answered it, herhand trembling, for she felt sure that it was something about thelittle woman she had befriended. 

Somehow or other her voice hardened as she answered the call andfound that it was from Drummond. It would never do to betray evennervousness before him. 

"Your friend, Miss Carr, " shot out Drummond with brutal directness, "has been caught again. She fell into something as neatly as if shehad really meant to do it. Yesterday, you know, Trimble's advertisedthe new diamond, the Arkansas Queen, on exhibition. Well, it wasmade of paste, anyway. But it was a perfect imitation. But thatdidn't make any difference. We caught Kitty just now trying to liftit. I'm sorry it wasn't the other one. But small fry are better thannone. We'll get her, too, yet. Besides, I find this Kitty has arecord already at Stacy's. "

He added the last words with a taunting sneer. Constance realizedsuddenly the truth. The whole affair had been a plant of Drummond's!

"You are at Trimble's?" she inquired quickly. "Well, can you waitthere just a few minutes? I'd like to see Miss Carr. "

Drummond promised. His acquiescence in itself boded no good, butnevertheless she decided to go. As she left her apartment hurriedlyshe picked up the little instrument and dropped it into her hand-bag. 

"You see, it's no use, " almost chortled Drummond as Constancestepped off the elevator and opened the door to a little room atTrimble's much like that which she had already seen at Stacy's. "Ashoplifter becomes habitual after twenty-five. They get toconsorting with others of their kind. "

Kitty was sitting rigidly motionless in a chair, staring straightahead, as Constance entered. She gave a start at the sight of afamiliar face, rose, and would almost have fainted if Constance hadnot caught her. It seemed as if something had snapped in the girl'smake-up. For the first time tears came. Constance patted her handsoftly. The girl was an enigma. Was she a clever actress--one minutehardened Miss Sophisticated, the next appealing Miss Innocence?

"How did you--catch her?" asked Constance a moment later as shefound an opportunity to talk to Drummond alone. 

"Oh, she was trying to substitute a paste replica for the allegedArkansas Queen. The clerk noticed the replica in time, saw a littlespot of carbon on it--and she was shadowed and arrested just as shewas leaving the store. Yes, they found the other paste jewel on her. She was caught with the goods. "

"Replica?" repeated Constance, thinking of the picture that hadappeared in the papers the night before. "How could she get areplica of it?"

"How do I know?" shrugged Drummond coldly. 

Constance looked him squarely in the eyes. 

"What about Annie Grayson?" she asked pointblank. 

"I have taken care of that, " he replied harshly. "She is alreadyunder arrest, and from what I have heard we may get something on hernow. We have a record against the Carr girl. We can use it againsther friend. We're just about taking her to the flat to identify theGrayson woman. Would you like to come along?" he added in a spiritof bravado. "I think you are a material witness in the Stacy case, anyhow. "

Constance felt bitterly her defeat. Still she went with them. Therewas always a chance that something might turn up. 

As they entered the door of the kitchenette loud voices told themthat some one was disputing inside. 

Drummond strode in. 

The sight of a huge pile of stuff that two strange men had drawn outof drawers and closets and stacked on the table riveted Constance'seyes. Only dimly she could hear that Annie Grayson was violentlythreatening Drummond, who stood coolly surveying the scene. 

The stuff on the table was, in fact, quite enough to dazzle theeyes. There were articles of every sort and description there--silks, laces, jewelry and trinkets, little antiques, even rarebooks--everything small and portable, some of the richest and mostexquisite, others of the cheapest and most tawdry. It was a trulyremarkable collection, which the raiding detectives had brought tolight. 

As Constance took in the scene--the raiding detectives holding thestormy Annie Grayson at bay, Drummond, cool, supercilious, Kittyalmost on the edge of collapse--she wondered how Jim Grayson hadmanaged to slip through the meshes of the net. 

She had read of such things. Annie Grayson was to all appearances a"fence" for stolen goods. This was, perhaps, a school forshoplifters. In addition to her other accomplishments, the queen ofthe shoplifters was a "Fagin, " educating others to the tricks of hertrade, taking advantage of their lack of facility in disposing ofthe stolen goods. 

Just then the woman caught sight of Constance standing in thedoorway. 

In an instant she had broken loose and ran toward her. 

"What are you, " she hissed, "one of these department store MollDicks, too?"

Quick as a flash Kitty Carr had leaped to her feet and placedherself between them. 

"No, Annie, no. She was a real friend of mine. No--if your ownfriends had been as loyal as she was to me this would never havehappened--I should never have been caught again, for I should neverhave given them a chance to get it on me. "

"Little fool!" ground out Annie Grayson, raising her arm. 

"Here--here--LADIES!" interposed Drummond, protruding an arm betweenthe two, and winking sarcastically to the two other men. "None ofthat. We shall need both of you in our business. I've no objectionto your talking; but cut out the rough stuff. "

Constance had stepped back. She was cool, cool as Drummond, althoughshe knew her heart was thumping like a sledge-hammer. There wasKitty Carr, in a revulsion of feeling, her hands pressed tightly toher head again, as if it were bursting. She was swaying as if shewould faint. 

Constance caught her gently about the waist and forced her down onthe couch where she had been lying the night before. With her backto the others, she reached quickly into her hand-bag and pulled outthe little instrument she had hastily stuffed into it. Deftly shefastened it to Kitty's wrist and forearm. 

She dropped down on her knees beside the poor girl, and gentlystroked her free hand, reassuring her in a low tone. 

"There, there, " she soothed. "You are not well, Kitty. Perhaps, after all, there may be something--some explanation. "

In spite of all, however, Kitty was on the verge of the wildesthysterics. Annie Grayson sniffed contemptuously at such weakness. 

Drummond came over, an exasperating sneer on his face. As he lookeddown he saw what Constance was doing, and she rose, so that allcould see now. 

"This girl, " she said, speaking rapidly, "is afflicted with anervous physical disorder, a mania, which is uncontrollable, andtakes this outlet. It is emotional insanity--not loss of control ofthe will, but perversion of the will. "

"Humph!" was Drummond's sole comment with a significant glance atthe pile of goods on the table. 

"It is not the articles themselves so much, " went on Constance, following his glance, "as it is the pleasure, the excitement, thesatisfaction--call it what you will--of taking them. A thief worksfor the benefit he may derive from objects stolen after he getsthem. Here is a girl who apparently has no further use for anarticle after she gets it, who forgets, perhaps hates it. "

"Oh, yes, " remarked Drummond; "but why are they all so careful notto get caught? Every one is responsible who knows the nature andconsequences of his act. "

Constance had wheeled about. 

"That is not so, " she exclaimed. "Any modern alienist will tell youthat. Sometimes the chief mark of insanity may be knowing the natureand consequences, craftily avoiding detection with an almostsuperhuman cunning. No; the test is whether knowing the nature andconsequences, a person suffers under such a defect of will that inspite of everything, in the face of everything, that person cannotcontrol that will. "

As she spoke, she had quickly detached the little instrument and hadplaced it on Annie Grayson's arm. If it had been a Bertillon camera, or even a finger-print outfit, Annie Grayson would probably havefought like a tigress. But this thing was a new one. She had apeculiar spirit of bravado. 

"Such terms as kleptomania, " went on Constance, "are often regardedas excuses framed up by the experts to cover up plain ordinarystealing. But did you wiseacres of crime ever stop to think thatperhaps they do actually exist?

"There are many things that distinguish such a woman as I havedescribed to you from a common thief. There is the insane desire tosteal--merely for stealing's sake--a morbid craving. Of course in asense it is stealing. But it is persistent, incorrigible, irrational, motiveless, useless. 

"Stop and think about it a moment, " she concluded, lowering hervoice and taking advantage of the very novelty of the situation shehad created. "Such diseases are the product of civilization, ofsensationalism. Naturally enough, then, woman, with her delicatelybalanced nervous organization, is the first and chief offender--ifyou insist on calling such a person an offender under yourantiquated methods of dealing with such cases. "

She had paused. 

"What did you say you called this thing?" asked Drummond as hetapped the arrangement on Annie Grayson's arm. 

He was evidently not much impressed by it, yet somehow instinctivelyregarded it with somewhat of the feelings of an elephant toward amouse. 

"That?" answered Constance, taking it off Annie Grayson's wristbefore she could do anything with it. "Why, I don't know that I saidanything about it. It is really a sphygmomanometer--the littleexpert witness that never lies--one of the instruments the insurancecompanies use now to register blood pressure and discover certaindiseases. It occurred to me that it might be put to other andequally practical uses. For no one can conceal the emotions fromthis instrument, not even a person of cast-iron nerves. "

She had placed it on Drummond's arm. He appeared fascinated. 

"See how it works?" she went on. "You see one hundred and twenty-five millimeters is the normal pressure. Kitty Carr is absolutelyabnormal. I do not know, but I think that she suffers fromperiodical attacks of vertigo. Almost all kleptomaniacs do. Duringan attack they are utterly irresponsible. "

Drummond was looking at the thing carefully. Constance turned toAnnie Grayson. 

"Where's your husband?" she asked offhand. 

"Oh, he disappeared as soon as these department store dicks showedup, " she replied bitterly. She had been watching Constance narrowly, quite nonplussed, and unable to make anything out of what was goingon. 

Constance looked at Drummond inquiringly. 

He shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid we'll never catch him, " hesaid. "He got the jump on us--although we have our lines out forhim, too. "

She had glanced down quickly at the little innocent-looking buttelltale sphygmomanometer. 

"You lie!" she exclaimed suddenly, with all the vigor of a man. 

She was pointing at the quivering little needle which registered asudden, access of emotion totally concealed by the sang-froid ofDrummond's well-schooled exterior. 

She wrenched the thing off his wrist and dropped it into her bag. Amoment later she stood by the open window facing the street, abright little police whistle gleaming in her hand, ready for itsshrill alarm if any move were made to cut short what she had to say. 

She was speaking rapidly now. 

"You see, I've had it on all of you, one after another, and each hastold me your story, just enough of it for me to piece it together. Kitty is suffering from a form of vertigo, an insanity, kleptomania, the real thing. As for you, Mr. Drummond, you were in league withthe alleged husband--your own stool pigeon--to catch Annie Grayson. "

Drummond moved. So did the whistle. He stopped. 

"But she was too clever for you all. She was not caught, even by aman who lived with her as her own husband. For she was notoperating. "

Annie Grayson moved as if to face out her accusers at this suddenturn of fortune. 

"One moment, Annie, " cut in Constance. 

"And yet, you are the real shoplifter, after all. You fell into thetrap which Drummond laid for you. I take pleasure, Mr. Drummond, inpresenting you with better evidence than even your own stool pigeoncould possibly have given you under the circumstances. "

She paused. 

"For myself, " she concluded, "I claim Kitty Carr. I claim the rightto take her, to have her treated for her--her disease. I claim itbecause the real shoplifter, the queen of the shoplifters, AnnieGrayson, has worked out a brand-new scheme, taking up a truekleptomaniac and using her insanity to carry out the stealings whichshe suggested--and safely, to this point, has profited by!"

CHAPTER X

THE BLACKMAILERS

"They're late this afternoon. "

"Yes. I think they might be on time. I wish they had made theappointment in a quieter place. "

"What do you care, Anita? Probably somebody else is doing the samething somewhere else. What's sauce for the gander is sauce for thegoose. "

"I know he has treated me like a dog, Alice, but--"

There was just a trace of a catch in the voice of the second womanas she broke off the remark and left it unfinished. 

Constance Dunlap had caught the words unintentionally above the humof conversation and the snatches of tuneful music wafted from thelarge dining-room where day was being turned into night. 

She had dropped into the fashionable new Vanderveer Hotel, not tomeet any one, but because she liked to watch the people in "PeacockAlley, " as the corridor of the hotel was often popularly called. 

Somehow, as she sat inconspicuously in a deep chair in an angle, shefelt that very few of the gaily chatting couples or of the waitingmen and women about her were quite what they seemed on the surface. 

The conversation from around the angle confirmed her opinion. Here, apparently at least, were two young married women with a grievance, and it was not for those against whom they had the grievance, realor imagined, that they were waiting so anxiously. 

Constance leaned forward to see them better. The woman nearest herwas a trifle the elder of the two, a very attractive-looking woman, tastefully gowned and carefully groomed. The younger, who had beenthe first speaker, was, perhaps, the more dashing. Certainly sheappeared to be the more sophisticated. And as Constance caught hereye she involuntarily thought of the old proverb, "Never trust a manwho doesn't look you in the eye or a woman who does. "

Two men sauntered down the long corridor, on the way from a visit tothe bar. As they caught sight of the two ladies, there was a smileof recognition, an exchange of remarks between each pair, and themen hurried in the direction of the corner. 

They greeted the two ladies in low, bantering, familiar terms--"Mr. Smith, " "Mrs. Jones, " "Mr. White" and "Mrs. Brown. "

"You got my card!" asked one of the men of the woman nearestConstance. "Sorry we're late, but a business friend ran into us aswe were coming in and I had to shunt him off in the otherdirection. "

He nodded toward the opposite end of the corridor with a laugh. 

"You've been bad boys, " pouted the other woman, "but we forgive you--this time. "

"Perhaps we may hope to be reinstated after a little--er--tea--and adance?" suggested the other man. 

The four were all moving in the direction of the dining-room and thegay music. 

They had disappeared in the crush about the door before Constancenoticed that the woman who had been sitting nearest her had droppedan envelope. She picked it up. It was on the stationery of anotherfashionable hotel, evidently written by one of those who lounge in, and on the strength of a small bill in the cafe use the writingroom. In a man's hand was the name, "Mrs. Anita Douglas, TheMelcombe Apartments, City"

Before she realized it, Constance had pulled out the card inside andglanced at it. It read:

 MY DEAREST A----:

 Can you meet us in the Vanderveer to-morrow afternoon at four? Bring along your little friend. 

 With many * * * *

 Yours, ?????

Mechanically Constance crumpled the card and the envelope in herhand and held them as she regarded the passing throng, intending tothrow them away when she passed a scrap basket on the way out. 

Still, it was a fascinating scene, this of the comedy and tragedy ofhuman weaknesses, and she stayed much longer than she had intended. One by one the people had either gone to dinner in the main dining-room or elsewhere and Constance had nearly decided on going, too. 

She was looking down the corridor toward the desk when she sawsomething that caused her to change her mind. There was the younglady who had been talking so flippantly to the woman with agrievance, and she was now talking, of all people, to Drummond!

Constance shrank back into her wicker chair in the protecting angle. What did it mean? If Drummond had anything to do with it, evenremotely, it boded no good, at least. 

Suddenly a possible explanation crossed her mind. Was it a side-light upon that peculiar industry of divorce as practiced in noplace except New York?

It was not only that Constance longed for, lived by excitement. Shefelt a sense of curiosity as to what the detective was up to now. And, somehow, she felt a duty in the case. She determined to returnthe envelope and card, and meet the woman. And the more she thoughtof it the more imperative became the idea. 

So it came about that the following forenoon Constance sought outthe Melcombe Apartments, a huge stone and brick affair on a streetwhich the uptown trend of population was transforming. 

Anita Douglas, she had already found out by an inquiry or two, wasthe wife of a well-known business man. Yet, as she entered thelittle apartment, she noticed that there was no evidence about it ofa man's presence. 

Mrs. Douglas greeted her unexpected visitor with an inquiring look. 

"I was passing through the corridor of the Vanderveer yesterdayafternoon, " began Constance, leaping into the middle of her errand, "and I happened to see this envelope lying on the carpet. I thoughtfirst of destroying it; then that perhaps you would rather destroyit yourself. "

Mrs. Douglas almost pounced on the letter as Constance handed it toher. "Thank you, " she exclaimed. "It was very thoughtful of you. "

For a moment or two they chatted of inconsequential things. 

"Who was your friend?" asked Constance at length. 

The woman caught her breath and flushed a bit, evidently wonderingjust how much Constance really knew. 

"The young lady, " added Constance, who had put the question in thisform purposely. 

"Why do you ask?" Mrs. Douglas inquired in a tone that betrayedconsiderable relief. 

"Because I can tell you something of her, I think. "

"A friend of mine--a Mrs. Murray. Why?"

"Aren't you just a little bit afraid of--er--friends that you maychance to make in the city?" queried Constance. 

"Afraid?" repeated the other. 

"Yes, " said Constance, coming gradually to the point. "You knowthere are so many detectives about. "

Mrs. Douglas laughed half nervously. "Oh, I've been shadowed, " shereplied confidently. "I know how to shake them off. If you can't doanything else, you can always take a taxi. Besides, I think I canuncover almost any shadow. All you have to do, if you think you'rebeing shadowed, is to turn a corner and stop. That uncovers theshadow as soon as he comes up to the corner, and after that he isuseless. You know him. "

"That's all right, " nodded Constance; "but you don't know thesecrooked detectives nowadays as I do. They can fake up evidence toorder. That is their business, you know, to manufacture it. You mayuncover a six-dollar operative, Mrs. Douglas, but are you the equalof a twenty-dollar-a-day investigator?"

The woman looked genuinely scared. Evidently Constance knew somethings she didn't know, at least about detectives. 

"You--you don't think there is anything like that, do you?" sheasked anxiously. 

"Well, " replied Constance slowly to impress her, "I saw your friend, Mrs. Murray, after you had left the Vanderveer, talking to adetective whom I have every reason to fear as one of the mostunscrupulous in the game. "

"Oh, that is impossible!" persisted Mrs. Douglas. 

"Not a bit of it, " pursued Constance. "Think it over for a moment. Who would be the last person a man or woman would suspect of being adetective? Why, just such an attractive young woman, of course. Yousee, it is just this way. They reason that if they can only getacquainted with people the rest is easy. For, people, under theright circumstances, will tell everything they know. "

The woman was staring at Constance. 

"For example, " urged Constance, "I'm talking to you now as if I hadknown you for years. Why, Mrs. Douglas, men tell their mostimportant business secrets to chance luncheon and dinner companionswhom they think have no direct or indirect interest in them. Overtea-tables women tell their most intimate personal affairs. In fact, all you have to do is to keep your ears open. "

Mrs. Douglas had risen and was nervously watching Constance, who sawthat she had made an impression and that all that was necessary wasto follow it up. 

"Now, for instance, " added Constance quickly, "you say she is afriend of yours. How did you meet her?"

Mrs. Douglas did not raise her eyes to Constance's now. Yet sheseemed to feel that Constance was different from other chanceacquaintances, to feel a sort of confidence, and to want to meetfrankness with frankness. 

"One day I was with a friend of mine at the new Palais de Maxixe, "she answered in a low voice as if making a confession. "A woman inthe dressing-room borrowed a cigarette. You know they often do that. We got talking, and it seemed that we had much in common in ourlives. Before I went back to him--"

She bit her lip. She had evidently not intended to admit that sheknew any other men. Constance, however, appeared not to notice theslip. 

"I had arranged to meet her at luncheon the next day, " she continuedhastily. "We have been friends ever since. "

"You went to luncheon with her, and--" Constance prompted. 

"Oh, she told me her story. It was very much like my own--a husbandwho was a perfect bear, and then gossip about him that so manypeople, besides his own wife, seemed to know, and--"

Constance shook her head. "Really, " she observed thoughtfully, "it'sa wonder to me how any one stays married these days. Somebody isalways mixing in, getting one or the other so wrought up that theyget to thinking there is no possibility of happiness. That's wherethe crook detective comes in. "

Anita Douglas, confidence established now, poured out her storyunreservedly, as there was little reason why she should not, a storyof the refined brutality and neglect and inhumanity of her husband. 

She told of her own first suspicions of him, of a girl who had beenhis stenographer, a Miss Helen Brett. 

But he was careful. There had never been any direct, positiveevidence against him. Still, there was enough to warrant aseparation and the payment to her of an allowance. 

They had lived, she said, in a pretty little house in the suburb ofGlenclair, near New York. Now that they were separated, she hadtaken a little kitchenette apartment at the new Melcombe. Herhusband was living in the house, she believed, when he was not inthe city at his club, "or elsewhere, " she added bitterly. 

"But, " she confided as she finished, "it is very lonely here in abig city all alone. "

"I know it is, " agreed Constance sympathetically as they parted. "I, too, am often very lonely. Call on me, especially if you findanything crooked going on. Call on me, anyhow. I shall be glad tosee you any time. "

The words, "anything crooked going on, " rang in Mrs. Douglas's earslong after the elevator door had clanged shut and her new friend hadgone. She was visibly perturbed. And the more she thought about itthe more perturbed she became. 

She had carried on a mild, then an ardent, flirtation with the manwho had introduced himself as "Mr. White"--really Lynn Munro. Butshe relied on her woman's instinct in her judgment of him. No, shefelt sure that he could not be other than she thought. But as forAlice Murray and her friend whom she had met at the Palais deMaxixe--well, she was forced to admit that she did not know, thatConstance's warning might, after all, be true. 

Munro had had to run out of town for a few days on a business trip. That she knew, for it had been the reason why he had wanted to seeher before he went. 

He had, in fact, spent the evening in her company, after the othercouple had excused themselves on one pretext or another. 

She called up Alice Murray at the number she had given. She was notthere. In fact, no one seemed to know when she would be there. Itwas strange, because always before it had seemed possible to get herat any moment, almost instantly. That, too, worried her. 

She tried to get the thing out of her mind, but she could not. Shehad a sort of foreboding that her new friend had not spoken withoutreason, a feeling of insecurity as though something were impendingover her. 

The crisis came sooner than even Constance had anticipated when shecalled on Anita Douglas. It was early in the afternoon, while Anitawas still brooding, that a strange man called on her. Instinctivelyshe seemed to divine that he was a detective. He, at least, had thelook. 

"My name, " he introduced himself, "is Drummond. "

Drummond paused and glanced about as if to make sure that he couldby no possibility be overheard. 

"I have called, " he continued, "on a rather delicate matter. "

He paused for effect, then went on:

"Some time ago I was employed by Mr. Douglas to--er--to watch hiswife. "

He was watching her narrowly to see what effect his sudden remarkwould have on her. She was speechless. 

"Since then, " he added quietly, "I have watched, I have seen--what Ihave seen. "

Drummond had faced her. Somehow the effect of his words was morepotent on her than if he had not accused her by indirection. Stillshe said nothing. 

"I can suppress it, " he insinuated. 

Her heart was going like a trip-hammer. 

"But it will cost something to do that. "

Here was a straw--she caught at it eagerly. 

"Cost something?" she repeated, facing him. "How much?"

Drummond never took his eyes from her anxious face. 

"I was to get a fee of one thousand dollars if I obtained someletters that had passed from her to a man named Lynn Munro. He hasgone out of town--has left his rooms unguarded. I have the letters. "

She felt a sinking sensation. One thousand dollars!

Suddenly the truth of the situation flashed over her. He had comewith an offer that set her bidding against her husband for theletters. And in a case of dollars her husband would win. Onethousand dollars! It was blackmail. 

"I--I can't afford it, " she pleaded weakly. "Can't you make it--less?"

Drummond shook his head. Already he had learned what he had come tolearn. She did not have the money. 

"No, " he replied positively, adding, by way of inserting the knifeand turning it around, "I shall have to turn the letters over to himto-day. "

She drew herself up. At least she could fight back. 

"But you can't prove anything, " she cut in quickly. 

"Can't I?" he returned. "The letters don't speak for themselves, dothey? You don't realize that this interview helps to prove it, doyou? An innocent woman wouldn't have considered my offer, much lessplead with me. Bah! can't prove anything. Why, it's all in plainblack and white!"

Drummond flicked the ashes from his cigar into the fireplace as herose to go. At the door he turned for one parting shot. 

"I have all the evidence I need, " he concluded. "I've got the goodson you. To-night it will be locked in his safe--documentaryevidence. If you should change your mind--you can reach me at hisoffice. Call under an assumed name--Mrs. Green, perhaps. "

He was gone, with a mocking smile at the parting shot. 

Anita Douglas saw it all now. Things had not been going fast enoughto suit her new friend, Mrs. Murray. So, after a time, she had begunto tell of her own escapades and to try to get Anita to admit thatshe had had similar adventures. It was a favorite device ofdetectives, working under the new psychological method by use of thelaw of suggestion. 

She had introduced herself, had found out about Lynn Munro, and insome way, after he had left town, had got the letters. Was he in theplot, too? She could not believe it. 

Suddenly the thought came to her that the blackmailers might giveher husband material that would look very black if a suit fordivorce came up in court. 

What if he were able to cut off her little allowance? She trembledat the thought of being thus cast adrift on the world. 

Anita Douglas did not know which way to turn. In her dilemma shethought only of Constance. She hurried to her. 

"It was as you said, a frame-up, " she blurted out, as she enteredConstance's apartment, then in the same breath added, "That Mrs. Murray was just a stool pigeon. "

Constance received her sympathetically. She had expected such avisit, though not so soon. 

"Just how much do they--know?" she asked pointedly. 

Anita had pressed her hands together nervously. "Really--I confess, "she murmured, "indiscretions--yes; misconduct--no!"

She spoke the last words defiantly. Constance listened eagerly, though she did not betray it. 

She had found out that it was a curious twist in feminine psychologythat the lie under such circumstances was a virtue, that it showedthat there was hope for such a woman. Admission of the truth, evento a friend, would have shown that the woman was hopelessly lost. Lie or not, Constance felt in her inmost heart that she approved ofit. 

"Still, it looks badly, " she remarked. 

"Perhaps it does--on the surface, " persisted Anita. 

"You poor dear creature, " soothed Constance. "I don't say I blameyou for your--indiscreet friendships. You are more sinned againstthan sinning. "

Sympathy had its effect. Anita was now sobbing softly, as Constancestole her arm about her waist. 

"The next question, " she reasoned, considering aloud, "is, ofcourse, what to do? If it was just one of these blackmailingdetective cases it would be common, but still very hard to dealwith. There's a lot of such blackmailing going on in New York. Nextto business and political cases, I suppose, it is the privatedetective's most important graft. Nearly everybody has a past--although few are willing to admit it. The graft lies in the factthat people talk so much, are so indiscreet, take such recklesschances. It's a wonder, really, that there isn't more of it. "

"Yet there is the--evidence, as he called it--my letters to Lynn--and the reports that that woman must have made of our--ourconversations, " groaned Anita. "How they may distort it all!"

Constance was thinking rapidly. 

"It is now after four o'clock, " she said finally, looking at herwrist watch. "You say it was not half an hour ago that Drummondcalled on you. He must be downtown about now. Your husband willhardly have a chance more than to glance over the papers thisafternoon. "

Suddenly an idea seemed to occur to her. "What do you suppose hewill do with them?" she asked. 

Mrs. Douglas looked up through her tears, calmer. "He is verymethodical, " she answered slowly. "If I know him rightly, I think hewill probably go out to Glenclair with them to-night, to look themover. "

"Where will he keep them?" broke in Constance suddenly. 

"He has a little safe in the library out there where he keeps allsuch personal papers. I shouldn't be surprised if he looked themover and locked them up there until he intends to use them at leastuntil morning. "

"I have a plan, " exclaimed Constance excitedly. "Are you game?"

Anita Douglas looked at her friend squarely. In her face Constanceread the desperation of a woman battling for life and honor. 

"Yes, " replied Anita in a low, tense tone, "for anything. "

"Then meet me after dinner in the Terminal. We'll go out toGlenclair. "

The two looked deeply into each other's eyes. Nothing was said, butwhat each read was a sufficient answer to a host of unspokenquestions. 

A moment after Mrs. Douglas had gone, Constance opened a cabinet. From the false back of a drawer she took two little vials of powderand a small bottle with a sponge. 

Then she added a long steel bar, with a peculiar turn at the end, toher paraphernalia for the trip. 

Nothing further occurred until they met at the Terminal, or, infact, on the journey out. On most of the ride Mrs. Douglas kept herface averted, looking out of the window into the blackness of thenight. Perhaps she was thinking of other journeys out to Glenclair, perhaps she was afraid of meeting the curious gaze of any latesojourners who might suffer from acute suburban curiosity. 

Quietly the two women alighted and quickly made their way from thestation up the main street, then diverged to a darker and lessfrequented avenue. 

"There's the house, " pointed out Mrs. Douglas, halting Constance, with a little bitter exclamation. 

Evidently she had reasoned well. He had gone out there early andthere was a light in the library. 

"He isn't much of a reader, " whispered Mrs. Douglas. "Oh--it's clearto me that he has the stuff all right. He's devouring it, gloatingover it. "

The sound of footsteps approaching down the paved walk came to them. Loitering on the streets of a suburban town always occasionssuspicion, and instinctively Constance drew Anita with her into theshadow of a hedge that set off the house from that next to it. 

There was no fence cutting it off from the sidewalk, but at thecorner of the plot a large bush stood. In this bower they wereperfectly hidden in the shadow. 

Hour after hour they waited, watching that light in the library, speculating what it was he was reading, while Anita, half afraid totalk, wondered what it was that Constance had in mind. 

Finally the light in the library winked out and the house was indarkness. 

Midnight passed, and with it the last belated suburbanite. 

At last, when the moon had disappeared under some clouds, Constancepulled Anita gently along up the lawn. 

There was no sign of life about the house, yet Constance observedall the caution she would have if it had been well guarded. 

Quickly they advanced over the open space to the cottage, approaching in the shadow as much as possible. 

Tiptoeing over the porch, Constance tried a window, the windowthrough which had shown the tantalizing light. It was fastened. 

Without hesitation she pulled out the long steel bar with thetwisted head, and began to insert the sharp end between the sashes. 

"Aren't--you--afraid?" chattered her companion. 

"No, " she whispered, not looking up from her work. "You know, mostpersons don't know enough about jimmies. Against them an ordinarydoor lock or window catch is no protection at all. Why, with thisjimmy, even a woman can exert a pressure of a ton or so. Not onecatch in a thousand can stand it--certainly not this one. "

Constance continued to work, muffling the lever as much as possiblein a piece of felt. 

At last a quick wrench and the catch yielded. 

The only thing wrong about it was the noise. There had been no wind, no passing trolley, nothing to conceal it. 

They shrank back into the shadow, and waited breathless. Had it beenheard? Would a window open presently and an alarm be sounded?

There was not a sound, save the rustle of the leaves in the nightwind. 

A few minutes later Constance carefully raised the lower sash andthey stepped softly into the house--once the house over which AnitaDouglas had been mistress. 

Cautiously Constance pressed the button on a little pocket storage-battery lamp and flashed it slowly about the room. 

All was quiet in the library. The library table was disordered, asif some one in great stress of mind had been working at it. Anitawondered what had been the grim thoughts of the man as he ponderedon the mass of stuff, the tissue of falsehoods that the blackmailingdetective had handed to him at such great cost. 

At last the cone of light rested on a little safe at the oppositeend. 

"There it is, " whispered Anita, pointing, half afraid even of thesoft tones of her own voice. 

Constance had pulled down all the shades quietly, and drew thecurtains tightly between the room and the foyer. 

On the top of the safe she was pouring some of the powder in a neatpile from one of the vials. 

"What is that?" asked Anita, bending close to her ear. 

"Some powdered metallic aluminum mixed with oxide of iron, "whispered Constance in return. "I read of this thing in a scientificpaper the other day, and I determined to get some of it. But Ididn't think I'd ever really have occasion to use it. "

She added some powder from the other vial. 

"And that?"

"Magnesium powder. "

Constance had lighted a match. 

"Stand back, Anita, " she whispered, "back, Anita, " she whispered, "back in the farthest corner of the room, and keep quiet. Shut youreyes--turn your face away!"

There was a flash, blinding, then a steady, brilliant burst ofnoiseless, penetrating, burning flame. 

Anita had expected an explosion. Instead she found that her eyeshurt. She had not closed them tightly quick enough. 

Still, Constance's warning had been sufficient to prevent any damageto the sight, and she slowly recovered. 

Actually, the burning powder seemed to be sinking into the verysteel of the safe itself, as if it had been mere ice!

Was it an optical illusion, a freak of her sight?

"Wh-what is it!" she whispered in awe, drawing closer to her friend. 

"Thermit, " whispered Constance in reply, as the two watched theglowing mass fascinated, "an invention of a German chemist namedGoldschmidt. It will burn a hole right through steel--at a terrifictemperature, three thousand or more degrees. "

The almost burned out mass seemed to fall into the safe as if it hadbeen a wooden box instead of chrome steel. 

They waited a moment, still blinking, to regain control over theireyes in spite of the care they had used to shield them. 

Then they tiptoed across the floor. 

In the top of the safe yawned a hole large enough to stick one'shand and arm through!

Constance reached into the safe and drew out something on which sheflashed the pocket light. 

There was bundle after bundle of checks, the personal checks of amethodical business man, carefully preserved. 

Hastily she looked them over. All seemed to be perfectly straight--payments to tradesmen, to real estate agents, payments of all sorts, all carefully labeled. 

"Oh, he'd never let anything like that lie around, " remarked Anita, as she began to comprehend what Constance was after. 

Constance was scrutinizing some of the checks more carefully thanothers. Suddenly she held one up to the light. Apparently it was inpayment of legal services. 

Quickly she took the little bottle of brownish fluid which she hadbrought with the sponge. 

She dipped the sponge in it lightly and brushed it over the check. Then she leaned forward breathlessly. 

"Eradicating ink is simply a bleaching process, " she remarked, "which leaves the iron of the ink as a white oxide instead of ablack oxide. The proper reagent will restore the original color--partially and at least for a time. Ah--yes--it is as I thought. There have been erasures in these checks. Other names have beenwritten in on some of them in place of those that were originallythere. The sulphide of ammonia ought to bring out anything that ishidden here. "

There, faintly, was the original writing. It read, "Pay to the orderof--Helen Brett--"

Mrs. Douglas with difficulty restrained an exclamation of anger andhatred at the mere sight of the name of the other woman. 

"He was careful, " remarked Constance. "Reckless at first in givingchecks-he has tried to cover it up. He didn't want to destroy them, yet he couldn't have such evidence about. So he must have alteredthe name on the canceled vouchers after they were returned to himpaid by the bank. Very clever--very. "

Constance reached into the safe again. There were some personal andsome business letters, some old check books, some silver and goldtrinkets and table silver. 

She gave a low exclamation. She had found a packet of letters and asheaf of typewritten flimsy tissue paper pages. 

Mrs. Douglas uttered a little cry, quickly suppressed. The letterswere those in her own handwriting addressed to Lynn Munro. 

"Here are Drummond's reports, too, " Constance added. 

She looked them hastily over. The damning facts had been massed in away that must inevitably have prejudiced any case for the defensethat Mrs. Douglas might set up. 

"There--there's all the evidence against you, " whispered Constancehoarsely, handing it over to Anita. "It's all yours again. Destroyit"

In her eagerness, with trembling hands, Anita had torn up the wholemass of incriminating papers and had cast them into the fireplace. She was just about to strike a match. 

Suddenly there came a deep voice from the stairs. 

"Well--what's all this?"

Anita dropped the match from her nerveless hands. Constance felt anarm grasp her tightly. For a moment a chill ran over her at beingcaught in the nefarious work of breaking and entering a dwelling-house at night. The hand was Anita's, but the voice was that of aman. 

Lights flashed all over the house at once, from a sort of electriclight system that could be instantly lighted and would act as a"burglar expeller. "

It was Douglas himself. He was staring angrily at his wife and thestranger with her. 

"Well!" he demanded with cold sarcasm. "Why this--this burglary?"

Before he could quite take in the situation, with a quick motion, Constance struck a match and touched it to the papers in thefireplace. 

As they blazed up he caught sight of what they were and almostleaped across the floor. 

Constance laid her hand on his arm. "One moment, Mr. Douglas, " shesaid quietly. "Look at that!"

"Who--who the devil are you?" he gasped. "What's all this?"

"I think, " remarked Constance slowly and quietly, "that your wife isnow in a position to prove that you--well, don't come into courtwith clean hands, if you attempt to do so. Besides, you know, thecourts rather frown on detectives that practice collusion andconspiracy and frame up evidence, to say nothing of trying toblackmail the victims. I thought perhaps you'd prefer not to sayanything about this--er--visit to-night--after you saw that. "

Constance had quietly laid one of the erased checks on the librarytable. Again she dipped the sponge into the brownish liquid. Againthe magic touch revealed the telltale name. With her finger she waspointing to the faintly legible "Helen Brett" on the check as thesulphide had brought it out. 

Douglas stared-dazed. 

He rubbed his eyes and stared again as the last of the flickeringfire died away. In an instant he realized that it was not a dream, that it was all a fact. 

He looked from one to the other of the women. 

He was checkmated. 

Constance ostentatiously folded up the erased vouchers. 

"I--I shall not--make any--contest, " Douglas managed to gasphuskily. 

CHAPTER XI

THE DOPE FIENDS

"I have a terrible headache, " remarked Constance Dunlap to herfriend, Adele Gordon, the petite cabaret singer and dancer of theMayfair, who had dropped in to see her one afternoon. 

"You poor, dear creature, " soothed Adele. "Why don't you go to seeDr. Price? He has cured me. He's splendid--splendid. "

Constance hesitated. Dr. Moreland Price was a well-known physician. All day and even at night, she knew, automobiles and cabs rolled upto his door and their occupants were, for the most part, stylishlygowned women. 

"Oh, come on, " urged Adele. "He doesn't charge as highly as peopleseem to think. Besides, I'll go with you and introduce you, andhe'll charge only as he does the rest of us in the profession. "

Constance's head throbbed frantically. She felt that she must havesome relief soon. "All right, " she agreed, "I'll go with you, andthank you, Adele. "

Dr. Price's office was on the first floor of the fashionableRecherche Apartments, and, as she expected, Constance noted a lineof motor cars before it. 

They entered and were admitted to a richly furnished room, inmahogany and expensive Persian rugs, where a number of patientswaited. One after another an attendant summoned them noiselessly andpolitely to see the doctor, until at last the turn of Constance andAdele came. 

Dr. Price was a youngish, middle-aged man, tall, with a sallowcountenance and a self-confident, polished manner which went a longway in reassuring the patients, most of whom were ladies. 

As they entered the doctor's sanctum behind the folding doors, Adeleseemed to be on very good terms indeed with him. 

They seated themselves in the deep leather chairs beside Dr. Price'sdesk, and he inclined his head to listen to the story of theirailments. 

"Doctor, " began Constance's introducer, "I've brought my friend, Mrs. Dunlap, who is suffering from one of those awful headaches. Ithought perhaps you could give her some of that medicine that hasdone me so much good. "

The doctor bowed without saying anything and shifted his eyes fromAdele to Constance. "Just what seems to be the difficulty?" heinquired. 

Constance told him how she felt, of her general lassitude and thebig, throbbing veins in her temples. 

"Ah--a woman's headaches!" he smiled, adding, "Nothing serious, however, in this case, as far as I can see. We can fix this one allright, I think. "

He wrote out a prescription quickly and handed it to Constance. 

"Of course, " he added, as he pocketed his fee, "it makes nodifference to me personally, but I would advise that you have itfilled at Muller's--Miss Gordon knows the place. I think Muller'sdrugs are perhaps fresher than those of most druggists, and thatmakes a great deal of difference. "

He had risen and was politely and suavely bowing them out of anotherdoor, at the same time by pressing a button signifying to hisattendant to admit the next patient. 

Constance had preceded Adele, and, as she passed through the otherdoor, she overheard the doctor whisper to her friend, "I'm going tostop for you to-night to take a ride. I have something important Iwant to say to you. "

She did not catch Adele's answer, but as they left the marble andonyx, brass-grilled entrance, Adele remarked: "That's his car--overthere. Oh, but he is a reckless driver--dashes along pell-mell--butalways seems to have his eye out for everything--never seems to bearrested, never in an accident. "

Constance turned in the direction of the car and was startled to seethe familiar face of Drummond across the street dodging behind it. What was it now, she wondered--a divorce case, a scandal--what?

The medicine was made up into little powders, to be taken until theygave relief, and Constance folded the paper of one, poured it on theback of her tongue and swallowed a glass of water afterward. 

Her head continued to throb, but she felt a sense of well-being thatshe had not before. Adele urged her to take another, and Constancedid so. 

The second powder increased the effect of the first marvelously. ButConstance noticed that she now began to feel queer. She was not usedto taking medicine. For a moment she felt that she was above, beyondthe reach of ordinary rules and laws. She could have done any sortof physical task, she felt, no matter how difficult. She was amazedat herself, as compared to what she had been only a few momentsbefore. 

"Another one?" asked Adele finally. 

Constance was by this time genuinely alarmed at the sudden unwontedeffect on herself. "N-no, " she replied dubiously, "I don't think Iwant to take any more, just yet. "

"Not another?" asked Adele in surprise. "I wish they would affect methat way. Sometimes I have to take the whole dozen before they haveany effect. "

They chatted for a few minutes, and finally Adele rose. 

"Well, " she remarked with a nervous twitching of her body, as if shewere eager to be doing something, "I really must be going. I can'tsay I feel any too well myself. "

"I think I'll take a walk with you, " answered Constance, who did notlike the continued effect of the two powders. "I feel the need ofexercise--and air. "

Adele hesitated, but Constance already had her hat on. She had seenDrummond watching Dr. Price's door, and it interested her to knowwhether he could possibly have been following Adele or some oneelse. 

As they walked along Adele quickened her pace, until they came againto the drug store. 

"I believe I'll go in and get something, " she remarked, pausing. 

For the first time in several minutes Constance looked at the faceof her friend. She was amazed to discover that Adele looked as ifshe had had a spell of sickness. Her eyes were large and glassy, herskin cold and sweaty, and she looked positively pallid and thin. 

As they entered the store Muller, the druggist, bowed again andlooked at Adele a moment as she leaned over the counter andwhispered something to him. Without a word he went into the arcanabehind the partition that cuts off the mysteries of the prescriptionroom in every drug store from the front of the store. 

When Muller returned he handed her a packet, for which she paid andwhich she dropped quickly into her pocketbook, hugging thepocketbook close to herself. 

Adele turned and was about to hurry from the store with Constance. "Oh, excuse me, " she said suddenly as if she had just recollectedsomething, "I promised a friend of mine I'd telephone thisafternoon, and I have forgotten to do it. I see a pay station here. "Constance waited. 

Adele returned much quicker than one would have expected she couldcall up a number, but Constance thought nothing of it at the time. She did notice, however, that as her friend emerged from the booth amost marvelous change had taken place in her. Her step was firm, hereye clear, her hand steady. Whatever it was, reasoned Constance, itcould not have been serious to have disappeared so quickly. 

It was with some curiosity as to just what she might expect thatConstance went around to the famous cabaret that night. The Mayfairoccupied two floors of what had been a wide brownstone house beforebusiness and pleasure had crowded the residence district further andfurther uptown. It was a very well-known bohemian rendezvous, whereunder-, demi-and upper-world rubbed elbows without friction andseemed to enjoy the novelty and be willing to pay for it. 

Adele, who was one of the performers, had not arrived yet, butConstance, who had come with her mind still full of the twounexpected encounters with Drummond, was startled to see him hereagain. Fortunately he did not see her, and she slipped unobservedinto an angle near the window overlooking the street. 

Drummond had been engrossed in watching some one already there, andConstance made the best use she could of her eyes to determine whoit was. The outdoor walk and a good dinner had checked her headache, and now the excitement of the chase of something, she knew not what, completed the cure. 

It was not long before she discovered that Drummond was watchingintently, without seeming to do so, a nervous-looking fellow whosegeneral washed-out appearance of face was especially unattractivefor some reason or other. He was very thin, very pale, and verystary about the eyes. Then, too, it seemed as if the bone in hisnose was going, due perhaps to the shrinkage of the blood vesselsfrom some cause. 

Constance noticed a couple of girls whom she had seen Adele speak toon several other occasions approaching the young man. 

There came an opportune lull in the music and from around the cornerof her protecting angle Constance could just catch the greeting ofone of the girls, "Hello, Sleighbells! Got any snow!"

It was a remark that seemed particularly malapropos to the sultryweather, and Constance half expected a burst of laughter at theunexpected sally. 

Instead, she was surprised to hear the young man reply in a veryserious and matter-of-fact manner, "Sure. Got any money, May?"

She craned her neck, carefully avoiding coming into Drummond's lineof vision, and as she did so she saw two silver quarters gleammomentarily from hand to hand, and the young man passed each girlstealthily a small white paper packet. 

Others came to him, both men and women. It seemed to be anestablished thing, and Constance noted that Drummond watched it allcovertly. 

"Who is that?" asked Constance of the waiter who had served hersometimes when she had been with Adele, and knew her. 

"Why, they call him Sleighbells Charley, " he replied, "a cokefiend. "

"Which means a cocaine fiend, I suppose!" she queried. 

"Yes. He's a lobbygow for the grapevine system they have now ofselling the dope in spite of this new law. "

"Where does he get the stuff!" she asked. 

The waiter shrugged his shoulders. "Nobody knows, I guess. I don't. But he gets it in spite of the law and peddles it. Oh, it's alladulterated--with some white stuff, I don't know what, and the pricethey charge is outrageous. They must make an ounce retail at five orsix times the cost. Oh, you can bet that some one who is at the topis making a pile of money out of that graft, all right. "

He said it not with any air of righteous indignation, but with acertain envy. 

Constance was thinking the thing over in her mind. Where did the"coke" come from? The "grapevine" system interested her. 

"Sleighbells" seemed to have disposed of all the "coke" he hadbrought with him. As the last packet went, he rose slowly, andshuffled out. Constance, who knew that Adele would not come for sometime, determined to follow him. She rose quietly and, under cover ofa party going out, managed to disappear without, as far as she knew, letting Drummond catch a glimpse of her. This would not only employher time, but it was better to avoid Drummond as far as possible, atpresent, too, she felt. 

At a distance of about half a block she followed the curiouslyshuffling figure. He crossed the avenue, turned and went uptown, turned again, and, before she knew it, disappeared in a drug store. She had been so engrossed in following the lobbygow that it was witha start that she realized that he had entered Muller's. 

What did it all mean? Was the druggist, Muller, the man higher up?She recalled suddenly her own experience of the afternoon. HadMuller tried to palm off something on her? The more she thought ofit the more sure she was that the powders she had taken had beendoped. 

Slowly, turning the matter over in her mind, she returned to theMayfair. As she peered in cautiously before entering she saw thatDrummond had gone. Adele had not come in yet, and she went in andsat down again in her old place. 

Perhaps half an hour later, outside, she heard a car drive up with afurious rattle of gears. She looked out of the window and, as far asshe could determine in the shadows, it was Dr. Price. A woman gotout, Adele. For a moment she stopped to talk, then Dr. Price waved agay good-bye and was off. All she could catch was a hasty, "No; Idon't think I'd better come in to-night, " from him. 

As Adele entered the Mayfair she glanced about, caught sight ofConstance and came and sat down by her. 

It would have been impossible for her to enter unobserved, sopopular was she. It was not long before the two girls whom Constancehad seen dealing with "Sleighbells" sauntered over. 

"Your friend was here to-night, " remarked one to Adele. 

"Which one?" laughed Adele. 

"The one who admired your dancing the other night and wanted to takelessons. "

"You mean the young fellow who was selling something?" askedConstance pointedly. 

"Oh, no, " returned the girl quite casually. "That was Sleighbells, "and they all laughed. 

Constance thought immediately of Drummond. "The other one, then, "she said, "the thick-set man who was all alone!"

"Yes; he went away afterward. Do you know him?"

"I've seen him somewhere, " evaded Constance; "but I just can't quiteplace him. "

She had not noticed Adele particularly until now. Under the lightshe had a peculiar worn look, the same as she had had before. 

The waiter came up to them. "Your turn is next, " he hinted to Adele. 

"Excuse me a minute, " she apologized to the rest of the party. "Imust fix up a bit. No, " she added to Constance, "don't come withme. "

She returned from the dressing room a different person, and plungedinto the wild dance for which the limited orchestra was alreadytuning up. It was a veritable riot of whirl and rhythm. Never beforehad Constance seen Adele dance with such abandon. As she executedthe wild mazes of a newly imported dance, she held even the jadedMayfair spellbound. And when she concluded with one daring figureand sat down, flushed and excited, the diners applauded and evenshouted approval. It was an event for even the dance-mad Mayfair. 

Constance did not share in the applause. At last she understood. Adele was a dope fiend, too. She felt it with a sense of pain. Always, she knew, the fiends tried to get away alone somewhere for afew minutes to snuff some of their favorite nepenthe. She had heardbefore of the cocaine "snuffers" who took a little of the deadlypowder, placed it on the back of the hand, and inhaled it up thenose with a quick intake of breath. Adele was one. It was not Adelewho danced. It was the dope. 

Constance was determined to speak. 

"You remember that man the girls spoke of?" she began. 

"Yes. What of him?" asked Adele with almost a note of defiance. 

"Well, I really DO know him, " confessed Constance. "He is adetective. "

Constance watched her companion curiously, for at the mere word shehad stopped short and faced her. "He is?" she asked quickly. "Thenthat was why Dr. Price--"

She managed to suppress the remark and continued her walk homewithout another word. 

In Adele's little apartment Constance was quick to note that thesame haggard look had returned to her friend's face. 

Adele had reached for her pocketbook with a sort of clutchingeagerness and was about to leave the room. 

Constance rose. "Why don't you give up the stuff?" she askedearnestly. "Don't you want to?"

For a moment Adele faced her angrily. Then her real nature seemedslowly to come to the surface. "Yes, " she murmured frankly. 

"Then why don't you?" pleaded Constance. 

"I haven't the power. There is an indescribable excitement to dosomething great, to make a mark. It's soon gone, but while it lasts, I can sing, dance, do anything--and then--every part of my bodybegins crying for mere of the stuff again. "

There was no longer any necessity of concealment from Constance. Shetook a pinch of the stuff, placed it on the back of her wrist andquickly sniffed it. The change in her was magical. From a quiveringwretched girl she became a self-confident neurasthenic. 

"I don't care, " she laughed hollowly now. 

"Yes, I know what you are going to tell me. Soon I'll be 'huntingthe cocaine bug, ' as they call it, imagining that in my skin, underthe flesh, are worms crawling, perhaps see them, see the littleanimals running around and biting me. "

She said it with a half-reckless cynicism. "Oh, you don't know. There are two souls in the cocainist--one tortured by the pain ofnot having the stuff, the other laughing and mocking at the dangersof it. It stimulates. It makes your mind work--without effort, byitself. And it gives such visions of success, makes you feel able todo so much, and to forget. All the girls use it. "

"Where do they get it?" asked Constance "I thought the new lawprohibited it. "

"Get it?" repeated Adele. "Why, they get it from that fellow theycall 'Sleighbells. ' They call it 'snow, ' you know, and the girls whouse it 'snowbirds. ' The law does prohibit its sale, but--"

She paused significantly. 

"Yes, " agreed Constance; "but Sleighbells is only a part of thesystem after all. Who is the man at the top?"

Adele shrugged her shoulders and was silent. Still, Constance didnot fail to note a sudden look of suspicion which Adele shot at her. Was Adele shielding some one?

Constance knew that some one must be getting rich from the traffic, probably selling hundreds of ounces a week and making thousands ofdollars. Somehow she felt a sort of indignation at the whole thing. Who was it? Who was the man higher up?

In the morning as she was working about her little kitchenette anidea came to her. Why not hire the vacant apartment cross the hallfrom Adele? An optician, who was a friend of hers, in the course ofa recent conversation had mentioned an invention, a model of whichhe had made for the inventor. She would try it. 

Since, with Constance, the outlining of a plan was tantamount to theexecution, it was not many hours later before she had both theapartment and the model of the invention. 

Her wall separated her from the drug store and by carefulcalculation she determined about where came the little prescriptiondepartment. Carefully, so as to arouse no suspicion, she began tobore away at the wall with various tools, until finally she had asmall, al-most imperceptible opening. It was tedious work, andtoward the end needed great care so as not to excite suspicion. Butfinally she was rewarded. Through it she could see just a trace ofdaylight, and by squinting could see a row of bottles on a shelfopposite. 

Then, through the hole, she pushed a long, narrow tube, like a puttyblower. When at last she placed her eye at it, she gave a lowexclamation of satisfaction. She could now see the whole of thelittle room. 

It was a detectascope, invented by Gaillard Smith, adapter of thedetectaphone, an instrument built up on the principle of thecytoscope which physicians use to explore internally down thethroat. Only, in the end of the tube, instead of an ordinary lens, was placed what is known as a "fish-eye" lens, which had a rangesomething like nature has given the eyes of fishes, hence the name. Ordinarily cameras, because of the flatness of their lenses, have arange of only a few degrees, the greatest being scarcely more thanninety. But this lens was globular, and, like a drop of water, refracted light from all directions. When placed so that half of itcaught the light it "saw" through an angle of 180 degrees, "saw"everything in the room instead of just that little row of bottles onthe shelf opposite. 

Constance set herself to watch, and it was not long before hersuspicions were confirmed, and she was sure that this was nothingmore than a "coke" joint. Still she wondered whether Muller was thereal source of the traffic of which Sleighbells was the messenger. She was determined to find out. 

All day she watched through her detectascope. Once she saw Adelecome in and buy more dope. It was with difficulty that she kept frominterfering. But, she reflected, the time was not ripe. She hadthought the thing out. There was no use in trying to get at itthrough Adele. The only way was to stop the whole curse at itssource, to dam the stream. People came and went. She soon found thathe was selling them packets from a box hidden in the woodwork. Thatmuch she had learned, anyhow. 

Constance watched faithfully all day with only time enough taken outfor dinner. It was after her return from this brief interval thatshe felt her heart give a leap of apprehension, as she looked againthrough the detectascope. There was Drummond in the back of thestore talking to Muller and a woman who looked as if she might beMrs. Muller, for both, seemed nervous and anxious. 

As nearly as she could make out, Drummond was alternatelythreatening and arguing with Muller. Finally the three seemed toagree, for Drummond walked over to a typewriter on a table, took afresh sheet of carbon paper from a drawer, placed it between twosheets of paper, and hastily wrote something. 

Drummond read over what he had written. It seemed to be short, andthe three apparently agreed on it. Then, in a trembling hand, Mullersigned the two copies which Drummond had made, one of which Drummondhimself kept and the other he sealed in an envelope and sent away bya boy. Drummond reached into his pocket and pulled out a huge rollof bills of large denomination. He counted out what seemed to beapproximately half, handed it to the woman, and replaced the rest inhis pocket. What it was all about Constance could only vaguelyguess. She longed to know what was in the letter and why the moneyhad been paid to the woman. 

Perhaps a quarter of an hour after Drummond left Adele appearedagain, pleading for more dope. Muller went back of the partition andmade up a fresh paper of it from a bottle also concealed. 

Constance was torn by conflicting impulses. She did not want to missanything in the perplexing drama that was being enacted before her, yet she wished to interfere with the deadly course of Adele. Still, perhaps the girl would resent interference if she found out thatConstance was spying on her. She determined to wait a little whilebefore seeing Adele. It was only after a decided effort that shetore herself away from the detectascope and knocked on Adele's dooras if she had just come in for a visit. Again she knocked, but stillthere was no answer. Every minute something might be happening nextdoor. She hurried back to her post of observation. 

One of the worst aspects of the use of cocaine, she knew, was thedesire of the user to share his experience with some one else. Thepassing on of the habit, which seemed to be one of the strongestdesires of the drug fiend, made him even more dangerous to societythan he would otherwise have been. That thought gave Constance anidea. 

She recalled also now having heard somewhere that it was a commoncharacteristic of these poor creatures to have a passion for fastautomobiling, to go on long rides, perhaps even without having themoney to pay for them. That, too, confirmed the idea which she had. 

As the night advanced she determined to stick to her post. Whatcould it have been that Drummond was doing? It was no good, she feltpositive. 

Suddenly before her eye, glued to its eavesdropping aperture, shesaw a strange sight. There was a violent commotion in the store. Blue-coated policemen seemed to swarm in from nowhere. And in therear, directing them, appeared Drummond, holding by the arm theunfortunate Sleighbells, quaking with fear, evidently having beenpicked up already elsewhere by the wily detective. 

Muller put up a stout resistance, but the officers easily seized himand, after a hasty but thorough search, unearthed his cache of thecontraband drug. 

As the scene unfolded, Constance was more and more bewildered afterhaving witnessed that which preceded it, the signing of the letterand the passing of the money. Muller evidently had nothing to sayabout that. What did it mean?

The police were still holding Muller, and Constance had not notedthat Drummond had disappeared. 

"It's on the first floor--left, men, " sounded a familiar voiceoutside her own door. "I know she's there. My shadow saw her buy thedope and take it home. "

Her heart was thumping wildly. It was Drummond leading his squad ofraiders, and they were about to enter the apartment of Adele. Theyknocked, but there was no answer. 

A few moments before Constance would have felt perfectly safe insaying that Adele was out. But if Drummond's man had seen her enter, might she not have been there all the time, be there still, in astupor? She dreaded to think of what might happen if the poor girlonce fell into their hands. It would be the final impulse that wouldcomplete her ruin. 

Constance did not stop to reason it out. Her woman's intuition toldher that now was the time to act--that there was no retreat. 

She opened her own door just as the raiders had forced in the flimsyaffair that guarded the apartment of Adele. 

"So!" sneered Drummond, catching sight of her in the dim light ofthe hallway. "You are mixed up in these violations of the new druglaw, too!"

Constance said nothing. She had determined first to make Drummonddisplay his hand. 

"Well, " he ground out, "I'm going to get these people this time. Irepresent the Medical Society and the Board of Health. These menhave been assigned to me by the Commissioner as a dope squad. Wewant this girl. We have others who will give evidence; but we wantthis one, too. "

He said it with a bluster that even exaggerated the theatricalcharacter of the raid itself. Constance did not stop to weigh thevalue of his words, but through the door she brushed quickly. Adelemight need her if she was indeed there. 

As she entered the little living-room she saw a sight which almosttransfixed her. Adele was there--lying across a divan, motionless. 

Constance bent over. Adele was cold. As far as she could determinethere was not a breath or a heart beat!

What did it mean? She did not stop to think. Instantly there flashedover her the recollection of an instrument she had read about at oneof the city hospitals, It might save Adele. Before any one knew whatshe was doing she had darted to the telephone in the lower hall ofthe apartment and had called up the hospital frantically, imploringthem to hurry. Adele must be saved. 

Constance had no very clear idea of what happened next in the hurly-burly of events, until the ambulance pulled up at the door and thewhite-coated surgeon burst in carrying a heavy suitcase. 

With one look at the unfortunate girl he muttered, "Paralysis of therespiratory organs--too large a dose of the drug. You did perfectlyright, " and began unpacking the case. 

Constance, calm now in the crisis, stood by him and helped as deftlyas could any nurse. 

It was a curious arrangement of tubes and valves, with a largerubber bag, and a little pump that the doctor had brought. Quicklyhe placed a cap, attached to it, over the nose and mouth of the poorgirl, and started the machine. 

"Wh-what is it?" gasped Drummond as he saw Adele's hithertomotionless breast now rise and fall. 

"A pulmotor, " replied the doctor, working quickly and carefully, "anartificial lung. Sometimes it can revive even the medically dead. Itis our last chance with this girl. "

Constance had picked up the packet which had fallen beside Adele andwas looking at the white powder. 

"Almost pure cocaine, " remarked the young surgeon, testing it. "Thehydrochloride, large crystals, highest quality. Usually it isadulterated. Was she in the habit of taking it this way?"

Constance said nothing. She had seen Muller make up the packet--specially now, she recalled. Instead of the adulterated dope he hadgiven Adele the purest kind. Why? Was there some secret he wished tolock in her breast forever?

Mechanically the pulmotor pumped. Would it save her?

Constance was living over what she had already seen through thedetectascope. Suddenly she thought of the strange letter and of themoney. 

She hurried into the drug store. Muller had already been taken away, but before the officer left in charge could interfere she picked upthe carbon sheet on which the letter had been copied, turned it overand held it eagerly to the light. 

She read in amazement. It was a confession. In it Muller admitted toDr. Moreland Price that he was the head of a sort of dope trust, that he had messengers out, like Sleighbells, that he had often putdope in the prescriptions sent him by the doctor, and had repeatedlyviolated the law and refilled such prescriptions. On its face it wascomplete and convincing. 

Yet it did not satisfy Constance. She could not believe that Adelehad committed suicide. Adele must possess some secret. What was it?

"Is--is there any change?" she asked anxiously of the young surgeonnow engrossed in his work. 

For answer he merely nodded to the apparently motionless form on thebed, and for a moment stopped the pulmotor. 

The mechanical movement of the body ceased. But in its place was aslight tremor about the lips and mouth. 

Adele moved--was faintly gasping for breath!

"Adele!" cried Constance softly in her ear. "Adele!"

Something, perhaps a far-away answer of recognition, seemed toflicker over her face. The doctor redoubled his efforts. 

"Adele--do you know me?" whispered Constance again. 

"Yes, " came back faintly at last. "There--there's something--wrongwith it--They--they--"

"How? What do you mean?" urged Constance. "Tell me, Adele. "

The girl moved uneasily. The doctor administered a stimulant and shevaguely opened her eyes, began to talk hazily, dreamily. Constancebent over to catch the faint words which would have been lost to theothers. 

"They--are going to--double cross the Health Department, " shemurmured as if to herself, then gathering strength she went on, "Muller and Sleighbells will be arrested and take the penalty. Theyhave been caught with the goods, anyhow. It has all been arranged sothat the detective will get his case. Money--will be paid to both ofthem, to Muller and the detective, to swing the case and protecthim. He made me do it. I saw the detective, even danced with him andhe agreed to do it. Oh, I would do anything--I am his willing toolwhen I have the stuff. But--this time--it was--" She rambled offincoherently. 

"Who made you do it? Who told you?" prompted Constance. "For whomwould you do anything?"

Adele moaned and clutched Constance's hand convulsively. Constancedid not pause to consider the ethics of questioning a half-unconscious girl Her only idea was to get at the truth. 

"Who was it?" she reiterated. 

Adele turned weakly. 

"Dr. Price, " she murmured as Constance bent her ear to catch eventhe faintest sound. "He told me--all about it--last night--in thecar. "

Instantly Constance understood. Adele was the only one outside whoheld the secret, who could upset the carefully planned frame-up thatwas to protect the real head of the dope trust who had paidliberally to save his own wretched skin. 

She rose quickly and wheeled about suddenly on Drummond. 

"You will convict Dr. Price also, " she said in a low tone. "Thisgirl must not be dragged down, too. You will leave her alone, andboth you and Mr. Muller will hand over that money to her for hercure of the habit. "

Drummond started forward angrily, but fell back as Constance addedin a lower but firmer tone, "Or I'll have you all up on a charge ofattempting murder. "

Drummond turned surlily to those of his "dope squad, " who remained:

"You can go, boys, " he said brusquely. 

"There's been some mistake here. "

CHAPTER XII

THE FUGITIVES

"Newspaper pictures seldom look like the person they represent, "asserted Lawrence Macey nonchalantly. 

Constance Dunlap looked squarely at the man opposite her at thetable, oblivious to the surroundings. It was a brilliant sight inthe great after-theater rendezvous, the beautiful faces and gowns, the exquisite music, the bright lights and the gayety. She hadchosen this time and place for a reason. She had hoped that thecontrast with what she had to say would be most marked in itsinfluence on the man. 

"Nevertheless, " she replied keenly, "I recognize the picture--asthough you were Bertillon's new 'spoken portrait' of this GraemeMackenzie. "

She deliberately folded up a newspaper clipping and shoved it intoher hand-bag on a chair beside the table. 

Lawrence Macey met her eye unflinchingly. 

"Suppose, " he drawled, "just for the sake of argument, that you areright. What would you do?"

Constance looked at the unruffled exterior of the man. With her keenperception she knew that it covered just as calm an interior. Hewould have said the same thing if she had been a real detective, hadwalked up behind him suddenly in the subway crush, had tapped hisshoulder, and whispered, "You're wanted. "

"We are dealing with facts, not suppositions, " she repliedevasively. 

Momentarily, a strange look passed over Macey's face. What was shedriving at--blackmail? He could not think so, even though he hadonly just come to know Constance. He rejected the thought before itwas half formed. 

"Put it as you please, " he persisted. "I am, then, this GraemeMackenzie who has decamped from Omaha with half a million--it ishalf a million in the article, is it not?--of cash and unregisteredstocks and bonds. Now what would you do?"

Constance felt unconsciously the shift which he had skilfully madein their positions. Instead of being the pursuer, she was now thepursued, at least in their conversation. He had admitted nothing ofwhat her quick intuition told her. 

Yet she felt an admiration for the sang-froid of Macey. She felt aspell thrown over her by; the magnetic eyes that seemed to searchher own. They were large eyes, the eyes of a dreamer, rather than ofa practical man, eyes of a man who goes far and travels long withthe woman on whom he fixes them solely. 

"You haven't answered my hypothetical question, " he reminded her. 

She brought herself back with a start. "I was only thinking, " shemurmured. 

"Then there is doubt in your mind what you would do?"

"N--no, " she hesitated. 

He bent over nearer across the table. "You would at least recall theold adage, 'Do unto others as you would that they should do untoyou'?" he urged. 

It was uncanny, the way this man read her thoughts. 

"You know whom they say quotes scripture, " she avoided. 

"And am I a--a devil?"

"I did not say so. "

"You hinted it. "

She had. But she said, "No, nor hinted it. "

"Then you did not MEAN to hint it?"

She looked away a moment at the gay throng. "Graeme Mackenzie, " shesaid, slowly, "what's the use of all this beating about? Why cannotwe be frank with one another?"

She paused, then resumed, meditatively, "A long time ago I becameinvolved with a man in a scheme to forge checks. I would have doneanything for him, anything. "

A cloud passed over his face. She saw it, had been watching for it, but appeared not to do so. His was a nature to brook no rivalry. 

"My husband had become involved in extravagances for which I was toblame, " she went on. 

The cloud settled, and in its place came a look of intense relief. He was like most men. Whatever his own morals, he demanded a highstandard in her. 

"We formed an amateur partnership in crime, " she hurried on. "Helost his life, was unable to stand up against the odds, while he wasalone, away from me. Since then I have been helping those who havebecome involved, on the wrong side, with the law. There, " sheconcluded simply, "I have put myself in your power. I have admittedmy part in something that, try as they would, they could neverconnect me with. I have done it because--because I want to help you. Be as frank with me. "

He eyed her keenly again. The appeal was irresistible. 

"I can tell you Graeme Mackenzie's story, " he began carefully. "Sixmonths ago there was a young man in Omaha who had worked faithfullyfor a safe deposit company for years. He was getting eighty-fivedollars a month. That is more than it seems to you here in New York. But it was very little for what he did. Why, as superintendent ofthe safe deposit vaults he had helped to build up that part of thetrust company's business to such an extent that he knew he deservedmore. 

"Now, a superintendent of a safe deposit vault has lots of chances. Sometimes depositors give him their keys to unlock their boxes forthem. It is a simple thing to make an impression in wax or chewinggum palmed in the hand. Or he has access to a number of keys ofunrented boxes; he can, as opportunity offers, make duplicates, andthen when the boxes are rented, he has a key. Even if the locks ofunrented boxes are blanks, set by the first insertion of the keychosen at random, he can still do the same thing. And even if ittakes two to get at the idle keys, himself and another trustedemploye, he can get at them, if he is clever, without the otherofficer knowing it, though it may be done almost before his eyes. You see, it all comes down to the honesty of the man. "

He paused. Constance was fascinated at the coolness with which thisman had gone to work, and with which he told of it. 

"This superintendent earned more than he received. He deserved it. But when he asked for a raise, they told him he was lucky to keepthe job, --they reduced him, instead, to seventy-five dollars. He wasangry at the stinging rebuke. He determined to make them smart, toshow them what he could do. 

"One noon he went out to lunch and--they have been looking for himever since. He had taken half a million in cash, stocks, and bonds, unregistered and hence easily hypothecated and traded on. "

"And his motive?" she asked. 

He looked at her long and earnestly as if making up his mind tosomething. "I think, " he replied, "I wanted revenge quite as much asthe money. "

He said it slowly, measured, as if realizing that there was nownothing to be gained by concealment from her, as if only he wantedto put himself in the best light with the woman who had won from himhis secret. It was his confession!

Acquaintances with Constance ripened fast into friendships. She hadknown Macey, as he called himself, only a fortnight. He had beenintroduced to her at a sort of Bohemian gathering, had talked toher, direct, as she liked a man to talk. He had seen her home thatnight, had asked to call, and on the other nights had taken her tothe theater and to supper. 

Delicately unconsciously, a bond of friendship had grown up betweenthem. She felt that he was a man vibrating with physical and mentalpower, long latent, which nothing but a strong will held in check, aman by whom she could be fascinated, yet of whom she was just alittle bit afraid. 

With Macey, it would have been difficult to analyze his feelings. Hehad found in Constance a woman who had seen the world in all itsphases, yet had come through unstained by what would have drownedsome in the depths of the under-world, or thrust others into thedegradation of the demi-monde, at least. He admired and respectedher. He, the dreamer, saw in her the practical. She, an adventurerin amateur lawlessness saw in him something kindred at heart. 

And so when a newspaper came to her in which she recognized with herkeen insight Lawrence Macey's face under Graeme Mackenzie's name, and a story of embezzlement of trust company and other funds fromthe Omaha Central Western Trust of half a million, she had not beenwholly surprised. Instead, she felt almost a sense of elation. Theman was neither better nor worse than herself. And he needed help. 

Her mind wandered back to a time, months before, when she hadlearned the bitter lesson of what it was to be a legal outcast, andhad determined always to keep within the law, no matter how close tothe edge of things she went. 

Mackenzie continued looking at her, as if waiting for the answer tohis first question. 

"No, " she said slowly, "I am not going to hand you over. I never hadany such intention. We are in each other's power. But you cannot goabout openly, even in New York, now. Some one besides myself musthave seen that article. "

Graeme listened blankly. It was true. His fancied security in thecity was over. He had fled to New York because there, in the mass ofpeople, he could best sink his old identity and take on a new. 

She leaned her head on her hand and her elbow on the table andlooked deeply into his eyes. "Let me take those securities, " shesaid. "I will be able to do safely what you cannot do. "

Graeme did not seem now to consider the fortune for which he hadrisked so much. The woman before him was enough. 

"Will you?" he asked eagerly. 

"I will do with them as I would for myself, better, because--becauseit is a trust, " she accepted. 

"More than a trust, " he added, as he leaned over in turn and inspite of other diners in the restaurant took her hand. 

There are times when the rest of the critical world and its frigidopinions are valueless. Constance did not withdraw her hand. Rathershe watched in his eyes the subtle physical change in the man thather very touch produced, watched and felt a response in herself. 

Quickly she withdrew her hand. "I must go, " she said ratherhurriedly, "it is getting late. "

"Constance, " he whispered, as he helped her on with her wraps, brushing the waiter aside that he might himself perform any dutythat involved even touching her, "Constance, I am in your hands--absolutely. "

It had been pleasant to dine with him. It was more pleasant now tofeel her influence and power over him. She knew it, though she onlyhalf admitted it. They seemed for the moment to walk on air, as theystrolled, chatting, out to a taxicab. 

But as the cab drew up before her own apartment, the familiarassociations of even the entrance brought her back to realitysuddenly. He handed her out, and the excitement of the evening wasover. She saw the thing in its true light. This was the beginning, not the end. 

"Graeme, " she said, as she lingered for a moment at the door. "To-morrow we must find a place where you can hide. "

"I may see you, though?" he asked anxiously. 

"Of course. Ring me up in the morning, Graeme. Good-night, " and shewas whisked up in the elevator, leaving Mackenzie with a sense ofloss and loneliness. 

"By the Lord, " he muttered, as he swung down the street inpreference to taking a cab, "what a woman that is!"

Together the next day they sought out a place where he could remainhidden. Mackenzie would have been near her, but Constance knewbetter. She chose a bachelor apartment where the tenants never arosebefore noon and where night was turned into day. Men would not askquestions. In an apartment like her own there was nothing butgossip. 

In the daytime he stayed at home. Only at night did he go forth andthen under her direction in the most unfrequented ways. 

Every day Constance went to Wall Street, where she had establishedconfidential relations with a number of brokers. Together theyplanned the campaigns; she executed them with consummate skill andadroitness. 

Constance was amazed. Here was a man who for years had been able toearn only eighty-five dollars a month and had not seemed to show anyability. Yet he was able to speculate in Wall Street with such dashthat he seemed to be in a fair way, through her, to accumulate afortune. 

One night as they were hurrying back to Graeme's after a walk, theyhad to pass a crowd on Broadway. Constance saw a familiar facehurrying by. It gave her a start. It was Drummond, the detective. Hewas not, apparently, looking for her. But then that was his method. He might have been looking. At any rate it reminded her unpleasantlyof the fact that there were detectives in the world. 

"What's the matter?" asked Graeme, noticing the change in her. 

"I just saw a man I know. "

The old jealousy flushed his face. Constance laughed in spite of herfears. Indeed, there was something that pleased her in his jealousy. 

"He was the detective who has been hounding me ever since that timeI told you about. "

"Oh, " he subsided. But if Drummond had been there, Mackenzie couldhave been counted on to risk all to protect her. 

"We must be more careful, " she shuddered. 

Constance was startled one evening just as she was going out to meetGraeme and report on the progress of the day at hearing a knock ather door. 

She opened it. 

"I suppose you think I am your Nemesis, " introduced Drummond, as hestepped in, veiling the keenness of his search by an attempt to befamiliar. 

She had more than half expected it. She said nothing, but hercoldness was plainly one of interrogation. 

"A case has been placed in my hands by some western clients ofours, " he said by way of swaggering explanation, "of an embezzlerwho is hiding in New York. It required no great reasoning power todecide that the man's trail would sooner or later cross Wall Street. I believe it has done so--not directly, but indirectly. The trail, Ithink, has brought me back to the proverbial point of 'CHERCHEZ LAFEMME. ' I am delighted, " he dwelt on the word to see what would beits effect, "to see in the Graeme Mackenzie case my old friend, Constance Dunlap. "

"So, " she replied quietly, "you suspect ME, now. I suppose _I_ amGraeme Mackenzie. "

"No, " Drummond replied dubiously, "you are not Graeme Mackenzie, ofcourse. You may be Mrs. Graeme Mackenzie, for all I know. But Ibelieve you are the receiver of Graeme Mackenzie's stolen goods!"

"You do?" she answered calmly. "That remains for you to prove. Whydo you believe it? Is it because you are ready to believe anythingof me!"

"I have noticed that you are more active downtown than--"

"Oh, it is because I speculate. Have I no means of my own?" sheasked pointedly. 

"Where is he? Not here, I know. But where?" insinuated Drummond witha knowing look. 

"Am I my brother's keeper?" she laughed merrily. "Come, now. Who isthis wonderful Graeme Mackenzie? First show me that I know him. Youknow the rule in a murder case--you must prove the CORPUS DELICTI. "

Drummond was furious. She was so baffling. That was his weak pointand she had picked it out infallibly. Whatever his suspicions, hehad been able to prove nothing, though he suspected much in thebuying and selling of Constance. 

A week of bitterness, of a constant struggle against the wiles ofone of the most subtle sleuths followed, avoiding hidden traps thatbeset her on every side. Was this to be the end of it all? WasDrummond's heroic effort to entangle her to succeed at last?

She felt that a watch of the most extraordinary kind was set on her, an invisible net woven about her. Eyes that never slept were uponher; there was no minute in her regular haunts that she was notguarded. She knew it, though she could not see it. 

It was a war of subtle wits. Yet from the beginning Constance wasthe winner of every move. She was on her mettle. They would not, shedetermined, find Graeme through her. 

Days passed and the detectives still had no sign of the missing man. It seemed hopeless, but, like all good detectives, Drummond knewfrom experience that a clue might come to the surface when it wasleast expected. Constance on her part never relaxed. 

One day it was a young woman dressed in most inconspicuous style whofollowed close behind her, a woman shadow, one of the shrewdest inthe city. 

A tenant moved into the apartment across the hall from Constance, and another hired an apartment in the next house, across the court. There was constant espionage. She seemed to "sense" it. The newcomerwas very neighborly, explaining that her husband was a travelingsalesman, and that she was alone for weeks at a time. 

The lines tightened. The next door neighbor always seemed to bearound at mail time, trying to get a look at the postmarks on theDunlap letters. She had an excuse in the number of letters toherself. "Orders for my husband, " she would smile. "He gets lots ofthem personally here. "

All their ingenuity went for naught. Constance was not to be caughtthat way. 

They tried new tricks. If it was a journey she took, some one wentwith her whom she had to shake off sooner or later. There werevisits of peddlers, gas men, electric light and telephone men. Theywere all detectives, also, always seeking a chance to make a searchthat might reveal her secret. The janitor who collected the wastepaper found that it had a ready sale at a high price. Everystratagem that Drummond's astute mind could devise was called intoplay. But nothing, not a scrap of new evidence did they find. 

Yet all the time Constance was in direct communication withMackenzie. 

Graeme, in his enforced idleness, was more deeply in love withConstance now than ever. He had eyes for nothing else. Even hisfortunes would have been disregarded, had he not felt that to dothat would have been the surest way to condemn himself before her. 

They had cut out the evening trips now, for fear of recognition. Shewas working faithfully. Already she had cleaned up something likefifty thousand dollars on the turn over of the stuff he had stolen. Another week and it would be some thousands more. 

Yet the strain was beginning to show. 

"Oh, Graeme, " she cried, one night after she had a particularly hardtime in shaking Drummond's shadows in order to make herunconventional visit to him, "Graeme, I'm so tired of it all--tired. "

He was about to pour out what was in his own heart when she resumed, "It's the lonesomeness of it. We are having success. But, what issuccess--alone?"

"Yes, " he echoed, thinking of his feeling that night when she hadleft him at the elevator, of the feeling now every moment of thetime she was away from him, "yes, alone!"

With the utmost difficulty he restrained the wildly surging emotionswithin him. He could not know with what effort Constance held herpoise so admirably, keeping always that barrier of reserve beyondwhich now and then he caught a glimpse. 

"Let us cut out and bury ourselves in Europe, " he urged. 

"No, " she replied firmly. "Wait. I have a plan. Wait. We could neverget away. They would find us and extradite us surely. "

She was coming out of a broker's office one day after the close ofthe market, only to run full tilt into Drummond, who had beenwaiting for her, cat-like. Evidently he had a purpose. 

"You will be interested to know, " remarked the detective, watchingher narrowly, "that District Attorney Wickham, who had the case incharge out there, is in New York, with the president of the CentralWestern Trust. "

"Yes?" she said non-committally. 

"I told them I was on the trail, through a woman, and they have comehere to aid me. "

Why had he told her that? Was it to put her on her guard or was itin a spirit of bravado? She could not think so. It was not his styleto bluster at this stage of the game. No, there was a deep-laidpurpose. He expected her to make some move to extricate herself thatwould display her hand and betray all. It was clever and a lessclever person than Constance would have fallen before the onslaught. 

Constance was thinking rapidly, as he told her where and how the newpursuers were active. Here, she felt, was the crisis, heropportunity. 

Scarcely had Drummond gone, than she, too, was hurrying down thestreet on her way to see Mackenzie's pursuers face to face. 

She found Wickham registered at the Prince Henry, a new hotel andsent up her card. A few moments later he received her, withconsiderable restraint as if he knew about her and had not expectedso soon to have to show his own hand. 

"I understand, " she began quickly, "that you have come to New Yorkbecause Mr. Drummond claims to be able to clear up the GraemeMackenzie case. "

"Yes?" he replied quizzically. 

"Perhaps, " she continued, coming nearer to the point of her self-imposed mission, "perhaps there may be some other way to settle thiscase than through Mr. Drummond. "

"We might hold you, " he shot out quickly. 

"No, " she replied, "you have nothing on me. And as for Mr. Mackenzie, I understand, you don't even know where he is--whether heis in New York, London, Paris, or Berlin, or whether he may not gofrom one city to another at any moment you take open action. "

Wickham bit his lip. He knew she was right. Even yet the case hungon the most slender threads. 

"I have been wondering, " she continued, "if there is not some way inwhich this thing can be compromised. "

"Never, " exclaimed Wickham positively. "He must return the wholesum, with interest to date. Then and only then can we consider hisplea for clemency. "

"You would consider it?" she asked keenly. 

"Of course. We should have to consider it. Voluntary surrender andreparation would be something like turning state's witness--againsthimself. "

Constance said nothing. 

"Can you do it?" he asked, watching craftily to see whether shemight not drop a hint that might prove valuable. 

"I know those who might try, " she answered, catching the look. 

Wickham changed. 

"What if we should get him without your aid!" he blustered. 

"Try, " she shrugged. 

Arguments and threats were of no avail with her. She would saynothing more definite. She was obdurate. 

"You must leave it all to me, " she repeated. "I would not betrayhim. You cannot prove anything on ME. "

"Bring the stuff up here yourself, then, " he insinuated. 

"But I don't trust you, either, " she replied frankly. 

The two faced each other. Constance knew in her heart that it wasgoing to be a battle royal with this man, that now she had taken astep even so far in the open it was every one for himself and thedevil take the hindmost. 

"I can't help it, " he concluded. "Those are the terms. It is as faras I can trust a--a thief. "

"But I will keep my word, " she said quietly. "When you prove to methat you are absolutely on the level, that Mackenzie can makerestitution in full with interest, and in return be left as free aman as he is at this moment--why, --I can have him give up. "

"Mrs. Dunlap, " said Wickham with an air of finality, "I will makeone concession. I will adopt any method of restitution he mayprefer. But it must be by direct dealing between Mackenzie andmyself, with Drummond present as well as Mr. Taylor, president ofthe Trust Company, who is now also in New York. That is myultimatum. Good-afternoon. "

Constance left the room with flushed face and eyes that glinted withdetermination. Over and over she thought out methods to accomplishwhat she had planned. When they complied with all the conditionsthat would safeguard Mackenzie, she had determined to act. ButGraeme must be master of the situation. 

Cautiously she went through her usual elaborate precautions to shakeoff any shadows that might be following her, and an hour later foundher with Mackenzie. 

"What has happened!" he asked eagerly, surprised at her early visit. 

Briefly she ran over the events of the afternoon. "Would you bewilling, " she asked, "to go to District Attorney Wickham, hand overthe half million with, say, twelve thousand dollars interest, inreturn for freedom?"

Graeme looked at Constance a moment doubtfully. 

"I would not do that, " he measured slowly. "How do I know what theywill do, the moment they get me in their power? No. Almost, I wouldsay that I would not go there under any guarantee they might give. Ido not trust them. The indictment must be dismissed first. "

"But they won't do that. The ultimatum was personal restitution. "

Constance was faced by an apparently insurmountable dilemma. She sawand agreed with the reasonableness of Graeme's position. But therewas the opposition and obstinacy of Wickham, the bitterness andunscrupulousness of Drummond. Here was a tremendous problem. How wasshe to meet it?

For perhaps half an hour they sat in silence. One plan after anothershe rejected. 

Suddenly an idea occurred to her. Somewhere, in a bank, she had seena method which might meet the difficulty. 

"To-morrow--I will arrange it--to suit both of you, " she criedconfidently. 

"How?" he asked. 

"Trust it all to me, " she appealed. 

"All, " replied Graeme, rising and standing before her. "All. I willdo anything you say. "

He was about to take her hand, but she rose. "No, Graeme. Not now. There is work--the crisis. No, I must go. Trust me. "

It was not until noon of the next day that he saw Constance again. There was an air of suppressed excitement about her as she enteredthe apartment and placed on a table before him a small oblong box ofblack enameled metal, beneath which was a roll of paper. Above wasanother somewhat similar box with another roll of paper. 

Constance attached the instrument to the telephone, an enigmaticalconversation followed, and she hung up the receiver. 

A few minutes later, she took the stylus that was in the lower box. Hastily across the blank paper she wrote the words, "We are ready. "

Mackenzie was too fascinated to ask questions. Suddenly, out of thecorner of his eye, he saw something in the upper box move, as if ofitself. It was a similar, self-inking stylus. 

"Watch!" exclaimed Constance. 

"Do you get this?" wrote the spirit hand. 

"Perfectly, " she scrawled in turn. "Go ahead, as you promised. "

The upper stylus was now moving freely at the ends of its two rigidarms, counterparts of those holding the lower stylus. 

"We promise, " it wrote, "that in consideration of the return. .. "

"What is it?" interrupted Graeme, as the meaning of the words evennow began to dawn on him. 

"A telautograph, " she replied simply, "a long distance writer whichI have had installed over a leased wire from the hotel room ofWickham to meet the demands of you two. With it you write over wiresjust as with the telephone you talk over wires. It is as though youtook one of the old pantagraphs, split it in half, and had each halfconnected only by the telephone wires. While you write on thistransmitter, their receiver records for them what you write. Look!"

". .. Of $500, 000, " it continued to write, "in cash, stocks andbonds, with interest to date, all proceedings against GraemeMackenzie will be dropped and the indictment quashed. 

"Marshall Taylor, Pres. Central Western Trust. "

"Maxwell Wickham, District Att'y. "

"Riley Drummond, Detective. "

"It is even broader than I had hoped, " cried Constance in delight. "Does that satisfy you, Graeme?"

"Y-yes, " he murmured, not through hesitation, but from thesuddenness and surprise of the thing. 

"Then sign this. "

She wrote quickly: "In consideration of the dropping of all chargesagainst me, I agree to tell the number and location of the safedeposit box in New York where the stocks and bonds I possess arelocated and to hand over a key and written order to the same. I nowagree immediately to pay by check the balance of the half million, including interest. "

She stepped aside from the machine. With a tremor of eagerness heseized the stylus and underneath what she had written wrote boldlythe name, "Graeme Mackenzie. "

Next Constance herself took the stylus. "Place in the telautograph ablank check, " she wrote. "He will write in the name of the bank, theamount, and the signature. "

She did the same. "Now, Graeme, sign this cheek on the UniversalBank as Lawrence Macey, " she said, writing in the amount. 

Mechanically he took the stylus. His fingers trembled as he held it, but with an effort he controlled himself. It was too weird, toouncanny to be true. Here he was, without stirring forth from thesecurity of his hiding place; there were his pursuers in theirhotel. With the precautions taken by Constance, neither party knewwhere the other was. Yet they were in instant touch, not by the earalone, but by handwriting itself. 

He placed the stylus on the paper. She had already written in thenumber of the check, the date, the bank, the amount, and the payee, Marshall Taylor. Hastily Graeme signed it, as though in fear thatthey might rescind their action before he could finish. 

"Now the securities, " she said. "I have withdrawn already the amountwe have made trading--it is a substantial sum. Write out an order tothe Safe Deposit Company to deliver the key and the rest of thecontents of the box to Taylor. I have fixed it with them after aspecial interview this morning. They understand. "

Again Graeme wrote, feverishly. 

"I--we--are entirely free from prosecution of any kind?" he askedeagerly. 

"Yes, " Constance murmured, with just a catch in her throat, as nowthat the excitement was over, she realized that he was free, independent of her again. 

The telautograph had stopped. No, it was starting again. Had therebeen a slip! Was the dream at last to turn to ashes? They watchedanxiously. 

"Mrs. Dunlap, " the words unfolded, "I take my hat off to you. Youhave put it across again. 

"DRUMMOND. "

Constance read it with a sense of overwhelming relief. It was amagnanimous thing in Drummond. Almost she forgave him for many ofthe bitter hours he had caused in the discharge of his duty. 

As they looked at the writing they realized its import. Thedetective had abandoned the long search. It was as though he had puthis "O. K. " on the agreement. 

"We are no longer fugitives!" exclaimed Graeme, drawing in a breaththat told of the weight lifted from him. 

For an instant he looked down into her upturned face and read theconflict that was going on in her. She did not turn away, as she hadbefore. It flashed over him that once, not long ago, she had talkedin a moment of confidence of the loneliness she had felt since shehad embarked as the rescuer of amateur criminals. 

Graeme bent down and took her hand, as he had the first night whenthey had entered their strange partnership. 

"Never--never can I begin to pay you what I owe, " he said huskily, his face near hers. 

He felt her warm breath almost on his cheek, saw the quick colorcome into her face, her breast rise and fall with suppressedemotion. Their eyes met. 

"You need not pay, " she whispered, "I am yours. "

THE END