Constance Dunlap Page 11

  CHAPTER XI

  THE DOPE FIENDS

  "I have a terrible headache," remarked Constance Dunlap to her friend,Adele Gordon, the petite cabaret singer and dancer of the Mayfair, whohad dropped in to see her one afternoon.

  "You poor, dear creature," soothed Adele. "Why don't you go to see Dr.Price? He has cured me. He's splendid--splendid."

  Constance hesitated. Dr. Moreland Price was a well-known physician. Allday and even at night, she knew, automobiles and cabs rolled up to hisdoor and their occupants were, for the most part, stylishly gownedwomen.

  "Oh, come on," urged Adele. "He doesn't charge as highly as people seemto think. Besides, I'll go with you and introduce you, and he'll chargeonly as he does the rest of us in the profession."

  Constance's head throbbed frantically. She felt that she must have somerelief soon. "All right," she agreed, "I'll go with you, and thank you,Adele."

  Dr. Price's office was on the first floor of the fashionable RechercheApartments, and, as she expected, Constance noted a line of motor carsbefore it.

  They entered and were admitted to a richly furnished room, in mahoganyand expensive Persian rugs, where a number of patients waited. Oneafter another an attendant summoned them noiselessly and politely tosee the doctor, until at last the turn of Constance and Adele came.

  Dr. Price was a youngish, middle-aged man, tall, with a sallowcountenance and a self-confident, polished manner which went a long wayin 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 their ailments.

  "Doctor," began Constance's introducer, "I've brought my friend, Mrs.Dunlap, who is suffering from one of those awful headaches. I thoughtperhaps you could give her some of that medicine that has done me somuch good."

  The doctor bowed without saying anything and shifted his eyes fromAdele to Constance. "Just what seems to be the difficulty?" he inquired.

  Constance told him how she felt, of her general lassitude and the big,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 no differenceto me personally, but I would advise that you have it filled atMuller's--Miss Gordon knows the place. I think Muller's drugs areperhaps fresher than those of most druggists, and that makes a greatdeal 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 his attendantto 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 I wantto say to you."

  She did not catch Adele's answer, but as they left the marble and onyx,brass-grilled entrance, Adele remarked: "That's his car--over there.Oh, but he is a reckless driver--dashes along pell-mell--but alwaysseems to have his eye out for everything--never seems to be arrested,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. Whatwas 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 Constance didso.

  The second powder increased the effect of the first marvelously. ButConstance noticed that she now began to feel queer. She was not used totaking medicine. For a moment she felt that she was above, beyond thereach of ordinary rules and laws. She could have done any sort ofphysical task, she felt, no matter how difficult. She was amazed atherself, as compared to what she had been only a few moments before.

  "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 I wantto 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 have anyeffect."

  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't sayI 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 one else.

  As they walked along Adele quickened her pace, until they came again tothe 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 face ofher friend. She was amazed to discover that Adele looked as if she hadhad a spell of sickness. Her eyes were large and glassy, her skin coldand sweaty, and she looked positively pallid and thin.

  As they entered the store Muller, the druggist, bowed again and lookedat Adele a moment as she leaned over the counter and whisperedsomething to him. Without a word he went into the arcana behind thepartition that cuts off the mysteries of the prescription room in everydrug 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 the pocketbookclose 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 recollected something,"I promised a friend of mine I'd telephone this afternoon, and I haveforgotten to do it. I see a pay station here." Constance waited.

  Adele returned much quicker than one would have expected she could callup a number, but Constance thought nothing of it at the time. She didnotice, however, that as her friend emerged from the booth a mostmarvelous change had taken place in her. Her step was firm, her eyeclear, her hand steady. Whatever it was, reasoned Constance, it couldnot 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 and seemedto 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 two unexpectedencounters with Drummond, was startled to see him here again.Fortunately he did not see her, and she slipped unobserved into anangle 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 who itwas. The outdoor walk and a good dinner had checked her headache, andnow 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 unattractive forsome reason or other. He was very thin, very pale, and very stary aboutthe eyes. Then, too, it seemed as if the bon
e in his nose was going,due perhaps to the shrinkage of the blood vessels from some cause.

  Constance noticed a couple of girls whom she had seen Adele speak to onseveral other occasions approaching the young man.

  There came an opportune lull in the music and from around the corner ofher protecting angle Constance could just catch the greeting of one ofthe 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 line ofvision, and as she did so she saw two silver quarters gleam momentarilyfrom hand to hand, and the young man passed each girl stealthily asmall white paper packet.

  Others came to him, both men and women. It seemed to be an establishedthing, and Constance noted that Drummond watched it all covertly.

  "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 coke fiend."

  "Which means a cocaine fiend, I suppose!" she queried.

  "Yes. He's a lobbygow for the grapevine system they have now of sellingthe 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. Buthe 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 top ismaking 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 had broughtwith him. As the last packet went, he rose slowly, and shuffled out.Constance, who knew that Adele would not come for some time, determinedto follow him. She rose quietly and, under cover of a party going out,managed to disappear without, as far as she knew, letting Drummondcatch a glimpse of her. This would not only employ her time, but it wasbetter to avoid Drummond as far as possible, at present, too, she felt.

  At a distance of about half a block she followed the curiouslyshuffling figure. He crossed the avenue, turned and went uptown, turnedagain, and, before she knew it, disappeared in a drug store. She hadbeen so engrossed in following the lobbygow that it was with a startthat she realized that he had entered Muller's.

  What did it all mean? Was the druggist, Muller, the man higher up? Sherecalled suddenly her own experience of the afternoon. Had Muller triedto palm off something on her? The more she thought of it the more sureshe was that the powders she had taken had been doped.

  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 and satdown 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 got out,Adele. For a moment she stopped to talk, then Dr. Price waved a gaygood-bye and was off. All she could catch was a hasty, "No; I don'tthink 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, so popularwas she. It was not long before the two girls whom Constance had seendealing 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?" asked Constancepointedly.

  "Oh, no," returned the girl quite casually. "That was Sleighbells," andthey all laughed.

  Constance thought immediately of Drummond. "The other one, then," shesaid, "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 light shehad 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. "I mustfix up a bit. No," she added to Constance, "don't come with me."

  She returned from the dressing room a different person, and plungedinto the wild dance for which the limited orchestra was already tuningup. It was a veritable riot of whirl and rhythm. Never before hadConstance seen Adele dance with such abandon. As she executed the wildmazes of a newly imported dance, she held even the jaded Mayfairspellbound. And when she concluded with one daring figure and sat down,flushed and excited, the diners applauded and even shouted approval. Itwas an event for even the dance-mad Mayfair.

  Constance did not share in the applause. At last she understood. Adelewas a dope fiend, too. She felt it with a sense of pain. Always, sheknew, the fiends tried to get away alone somewhere for a few minutes tosnuff some of their favorite nepenthe. She had heard before of thecocaine "snuffers" who took a little of the deadly powder, placed it onthe back of the hand, and inhaled it up the nose with a quick intake ofbreath. Adele was one. It was not Adele who 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 a detective."

  Constance watched her companion curiously, for at the mere word she hadstopped short and faced her. "He is?" she asked quickly. "Then that waswhy Dr. Price--"

  She managed to suppress the remark and continued her walk home withoutanother word.

  In Adele's little apartment Constance was quick to note that the samehaggard look had returned to her friend's face.

  Adele had reached for her pocketbook with a sort of clutching eagernessand was about to leave the room.

  Constance rose. "Why don't you give up the stuff?" she asked earnestly."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, Ican sing, dance, do anything--and then--every part of my body beginscrying for more 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 'hunting thecocaine bug,' as they call it, imagining that in my skin, under theflesh, are worms crawling, perhaps see them, see the little animalsrunning around and biting me."

  She said it with a half-reckless cynicism. "Oh, you don't know. Thereare two souls in the cocainist--one tortured by the pain of not havingthe stuff, the other laughing and mocking at the dangers of it. Itstimulates. It makes your mind work--without effort, by itself. And itgives such visions of success, makes you feel able to do so much, andto 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 they call'Sleighbells.' They call it 'snow,' you know, and the girls who use it'snowbirds.' The law does prohibit its sale, but--"

  She paused significantly.

  "Yes," agreed Constance; "but Sleighbells is only a part of the systemafter all. Who is the man at the top?"

  Adele shrugged her shoulders and was silent. Still, Constance did notfail to note a sudden look of suspicion which Adele shot at her. WasAdele 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. Whowas it? Who was the man higher up?

  In the morning as she was working about her little kitchenette an ideacame to her. Why not hire the vacant apartment cross the hall fromAdele? An optician, who was a friend of hers, in the course of a recentconversation had mentioned an invention, a model of which he had madefor 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 careful calculationshe determined about where came the little prescription department.Carefully, so as to arouse no suspicion, she began to bore away at thewall with various tools, until finally she had a small, almostimperceptible opening. It was tedious work, and toward the end neededgreat care so as not to excite suspicion. But finally she was rewarded.Through it she could see just a trace of daylight, and by squintingcould see a row of bottles on a shelf opposite.

  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 the littleroom.

  It was a detectascope, invented by Gaillard Smith, adapter of thedetectaphone, an instrument built up on the principle of the cytoscopewhich physicians use to explore internally down the throat. Only, inthe end of the tube, instead of an ordinary lens, was placed what isknown as a "fish-eye" lens, which had a range something like nature hasgiven the eyes of fishes, hence the name. Ordinarily cameras, becauseof the flatness of their lenses, have a range of only a few degrees,the greatest being scarcely more than ninety. But this lens wasglobular, and, like a drop of water, refracted light from alldirections. When placed so that half of it caught the light it "saw"through an angle of 180 degrees, "saw" everything in the room insteadof just that little row of bottles on the shelf opposite.

  Constance set herself to watch, and it was not long before hersuspicions were confirmed, and she was sure that this was nothing morethan a "coke" joint. Still she wondered whether Muller was the realsource of the traffic of which Sleighbells was the messenger. She wasdetermined to find out.

  All day she watched through her detectascope. Once she saw Adele comein and buy more dope. It was with difficulty that she kept frominterfering. But, she reflected, the time was not ripe. She had thoughtthe thing out. There was no use in trying to get at it through Adele.The only way was to stop the whole curse at its source, to dam thestream. People came and went. She soon found that he was selling thempackets from a box hidden in the woodwork. That much 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 that shefelt her heart give a leap of apprehension, as she looked again throughthe detectascope. There was Drummond in the back of the store talkingto Muller and a woman who looked as if she might be Mrs. Muller, forboth, seemed nervous and anxious.

  As nearly as she could make out, Drummond was alternately threateningand arguing with Muller. Finally the three seemed to agree, forDrummond walked over to a typewriter on a table, took a fresh sheet ofcarbon paper from a drawer, placed it between two sheets of paper, andhastily wrote something.

  Drummond read over what he had written. It seemed to be short, and thethree apparently agreed on it. Then, in a trembling hand, Muller signedthe two copies which Drummond had made, one of which Drummond himselfkept and the other he sealed in an envelope and sent away by a boy.Drummond reached into his pocket and pulled out a huge roll of bills oflarge denomination. He counted out what seemed to be approximatelyhalf, handed it to the woman, and replaced the rest in his pocket. Whatit was all about Constance could only vaguely guess. She longed to knowwhat was in the letter and why the money had been paid to the woman.

  Perhaps a quarter of an hour after Drummond left Adele appeared again,pleading for more dope. Muller went back of the partition and made up afresh 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, yetshe wished to interfere with the deadly course of Adele. Still, perhapsthe girl would resent interference if she found out that Constance wasspying on her. She determined to wait a little while before seeingAdele. It was only after a decided effort that she tore herself awayfrom the detectascope and knocked on Adele's door as if she had justcome in for a visit. Again she knocked, but still there was no answer.Every minute something might be happening next door. She hurried backto 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 society thanhe would otherwise have been. That thought gave Constance an idea.

  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. What couldit have been that Drummond was doing? It was no good, she felt positive.

  Suddenly before her eye, glued to its eavesdropping aperture, she saw astrange sight. There was a violent commotion in the store. Blue-coatedpolicemen seemed to swarm in from nowhere. And in the rear, directingthem, appeared Drummond, holding by the arm the unfortunateSleighbells, quaking with fear, evidently having been picked up alreadyelsewhere 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 letter andthe passing of the money. Muller evidently had nothing to say aboutthat. What did it mean?

  The police were still holding Muller, and Constance had not noted thatDrummond had disappeared.

  "It's on the first floor--left, men," sounded a familiar voice outsideher own door. "I know she's there. My shadow saw her buy the dope andtake 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 in sayingthat Adele was out. But if Drummond's man had seen her enter, might shenot have been there all the time, be there still, in a stupor? Shedreaded to think of what might happen if the poor girl once fell intotheir hands. It would be the final impulse that would complete her ruin.

  Constance did not stop to reason it out. Her woman's intuition told herthat 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 of thehallway. "You are mixed up in these violations of the new drug law,too!"

  Constance said nothing. She had determined first to make Drummonddis
play 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 men havebeen assigned to me by the Commissioner as a dope squad. We want thisgirl. We have others who will give evidence; but we want this one, too."

  He said it with a bluster that even exaggerated the theatricalcharacter of the raid itself. Constance did not stop to weigh the valueof his words, but through the door she brushed quickly. Adele mightneed 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 one ofthe city hospitals, It might save Adele. Before any one knew what shewas doing she had darted to the telephone in the lower hall of theapartment and had called up the hospital frantically, imploring them tohurry. Adele must be saved.

  Constance had no very clear idea of what happened next in thehurly-burly of events, until the ambulance pulled up at the door andthe white-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 deftly ascould any nurse.

  It was a curious arrangement of tubes and valves, with a large rubberbag, and a little pump that the doctor had brought. Quickly he placed acap, attached to it, over the nose and mouth of the poor girl, andstarted the machine.

  "Wh-what is it?" gasped Drummond as he saw Adele's hitherto motionlessbreast now rise and fall.

  "A pulmotor," replied the doctor, working quickly and carefully, "anartificial lung. Sometimes it can revive even the medically dead. It isour 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 thepacket--specially now, she recalled. Instead of the adulterated dope hehad given Adele the purest kind. Why? Was there some secret he wishedto lock 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 up thecarbon sheet on which the letter had been copied, turned it over andheld 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, thathe had messengers out, like Sleighbells, that he had often put dope inthe prescriptions sent him by the doctor, and had repeatedly violatedthe law and refilled such prescriptions. On its face it was completeand convincing.

  Yet it did not satisfy Constance. She could not believe that Adele hadcommitted suicide. Adele must possess some secret. What was it?

  "Is--is there any change?" she asked anxiously of the young surgeon nowengrossed 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 to flickerover 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--wrong withit--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. Constance bentover to catch the faint words which would have been lost to the others.

  "They--are going to--double cross the Health Department," she murmuredas if to herself, then gathering strength she went on, "Muller andSleighbells will be arrested and take the penalty. They have beencaught with the goods, anyhow. It has all been arranged so that thedetective will get his case. Money--will be paid to both of them, toMuller and the detective, to swing the case and protect him. He made medo it. I saw the detective, even danced with him and he agreed to doit. Oh, I would do anything--I am his willing tool when I have thestuff. But--this time--it was--" She rambled off incoherently.

  "Who made you do it? Who told you?" prompted Constance. "For whom wouldyou do anything?"

  Adele moaned and clutched Constance's hand convulsively. Constance didnot pause to consider the ethics of questioning a half-unconsciousgirl. 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 even thefaintest sound. "He told me--all about it--last night--in the car."

  Instantly Constance understood. Adele was the only one outside who heldthe secret, who could upset the carefully planned frame-up that was toprotect the real head of the dope trust who had paid liberally to savehis own wretched skin.

  She rose quickly and wheeled about suddenly on Drummond.

  "You will convict Dr. Price also," she said in a low tone. "This girlmust not be dragged down, too. You will leave her alone, and both youand Mr. Muller will hand over that money to her for her cure of thehabit."

  Drummond started forward angrily, but fell back as Constance added in alower 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 the table,oblivious to the surroundings. It was a brilliant sight in the greatafter-theater rendezvous, the beautiful faces and gowns, the exquisitemusic, the bright lights and the gayety. She had chosen this time andplace for a reason. She had hoped that the contrast with what she hadto say would be most marked in its influence on the man.

  "Nevertheless," she replied keenly, "I recognize the picture--as thoughyou were Bertillon's new 'spoken portrait' of this Graeme Mackenzie."

  She deliberately folded up a newspaper clipping and shoved it into herhand-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. He wouldhave said the same thing if she had been a real detective, had walkedup behind him suddenly in the subway crush, had tapped his shoulder,and whispered, "You're wanted."

  "We are dealing with facts, not suppositions," she replied evasively.

  Momentarily, a strange look passed over Macey's face. What was shedriving at--blackmail? He could not think so, even though he had onlyjust come to know Constance. He rejected the thought before it was halfformed.

  "Put it as you please," he persisted. "I am, then, this GraemeMackenzie who has decamped from Omaha with half a million--it is half amillion in the
article, is it not?--of cash and unregistered stocks andbonds. Now what would you do?"

  Constance felt unconsciously the shift which he had skilfully made intheir positions. Instead of being the pursuer, she was now the pursued,at least in their conversation. He had admitted nothing of what herquick 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 search herown. They were large eyes, the eyes of a dreamer, rather than of apractical man, eyes of a man who goes far and travels long with thewoman 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 unto you'?"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 cannot webe 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, butappeared 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. Hewas like most men. Whatever his own morals, he demanded a high standardin her.

  "We formed an amateur partnership in crime," she hurried on. "He losthis life, was unable to stand up against the odds, while he was alone,away from me. Since then I have been helping those who have becomeinvolved, on the wrong side, with the law. There," she concludedsimply, "I have put myself in your power. I have admitted my part insomething that, try as they would, they could never connect me with. Ihave 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 faithfully fora safe deposit company for years. He was getting eighty-five dollars amonth. That is more than it seems to you here in New York. But it wasvery little for what he did. Why, as superintendent of the safe depositvaults he had helped to build up that part of the trust company'sbusiness to such an extent that he knew he deserved more.

  "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 chewing gumpalmed in the hand. Or he has access to a number of keys of unrentedboxes; he can, as opportunity offers, make duplicates, and then whenthe boxes are rented, he has a key. Even if the locks of unrented boxesare blanks, set by the first insertion of the key chosen at random, hecan still do the same thing. And even if it takes two to get at theidle keys, himself and another trusted employe, he can get at them, ifhe is clever, without the other officer knowing it, though it may bedone almost before his eyes. You see, it all comes down to the honestyof the man."

  He paused. Constance was fascinated at the coolness with which this manhad gone to work, and with which he told of it.

  "This superintendent earned more than he received. He deserved it. Butwhen he asked for a raise, they told him he was lucky to keep thejob,--they reduced him, instead, to seventy-five dollars. He was angryat the stinging rebuke. He determined to make them smart, to show themwhat he could do.

  "One noon he went out to lunch and--they have been looking for him eversince. 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 now nothingto be gained by concealment from her, as if only he wanted to puthimself in the best light with the woman who had won from him hissecret. 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 to her,direct, as she liked a man to talk. He had seen her home that night,had asked to call, and on the other nights had taken her to the theaterand 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 a littlebit 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 drowned somein the depths of the under-world, or thrust others into the degradationof the demi-monde, at least. He admired and respected her. He, thedreamer, saw in her the practical. She, an adventurer in amateurlawlessness 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 astory of embezzlement of trust company and other funds from the OmahaCentral Western Trust of half a million, she had not been whollysurprised. Instead, she felt almost a sense of elation. The man wasneither better nor worse than herself. And he needed help.

  Her mind wandered back to a time, months before, when she had learnedthe bitter lesson of what it was to be a legal outcast, and haddetermined always to keep within the law, no matter how close to theedge of things she went.

  Mackenzie continued looking at her, as if waiting for the answer to hisfirst 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 must haveseen that article."

  Graeme listened blankly. It was true. His fancied security in the citywas over. He had fled to New York because there, in the mass of people,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 and lookeddeeply into his eyes. "Let me take those securities," she said. "I willbe able to do safely what you cannot do."

  Graeme did not seem now to consider the fortune for which he had riskedso much. The woman before him was enough.

  "Will you?" he asked eagerly.

  "I will do with them as I would for myself, better, because--because itis a trust," she accepted.

  "More than a trust," he added, as he leaned over in turn and in spiteof 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. Rather shewatched in his eyes the subtle physical change in the man that her verytouch produced, watched and felt a response in herself.

  Quickly she withdrew her hand. "I must go," she said rather hurriedly,"it is getting late."

  "Constance," he whispered, as he helped her on with her wraps, brushingthe waiter aside that he might himself perform any duty that involvedeven touching her, "Constance, I am in your hands--absolutely."

  It had been pleasant to dine with him. It was more pleasant now to feelher influence and
power over him. She knew it, though she only halfadmitted 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 reality suddenly.He handed her out, and the excitement of the evening was over. She sawthe 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 she waswhisked up in the elevator, leaving Mackenzie with a sense of loss andloneliness.

  "By the Lord," he muttered, as he swung down the street in preferenceto 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 knew better.She chose a bachelor apartment where the tenants never arose beforenoon and where night was turned into day. Men would not ask questions.In an apartment like her own there was nothing but gossip.

  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 they plannedthe campaigns; she executed them with consummate skill and adroitness.

  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, they hadto pass a crowd on Broadway. Constance saw a familiar face hurrying by.It gave her a start. It was Drummond, the detective. He was not,apparently, looking for her. But then that was his method. He mighthave been looking. At any rate it reminded her unpleasantly of the factthat 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 time Itold you about."

  "Oh," he subsided. But if Drummond had been there, Mackenzie could havebeen 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 at herdoor.

  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 her coldnesswas plainly one of interrogation.

  "A case has been placed in my hands by some western clients of ours,"he said by way of swaggering explanation, "of an embezzler who ishiding in New York. It required no great reasoning power to decide thatthe man's trail would sooner or later cross Wall Street. I believe ithas done so--not directly, but indirectly. The trail, I think, hasbrought me back to the proverbial point of 'CHERCHEZ LA FEMME.' I amdelighted," he dwelt on the word to see what would be its effect, "tosee 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 I believeyou are the receiver of Graeme Mackenzie's stolen goods!"

  "You do?" she answered calmly. "That remains for you to prove. Why doyou believe it? Is it because you are ready to believe anything of me!"

  "I have noticed that you are more active downtown than--"

  "Oh, it is because I speculate. Have I no means of my own?" she askedpointedly.

  "Where is he? Not here, I know. But where?" insinuated Drummond with aknowing 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 point andshe had picked it out infallibly. Whatever his suspicions, he had beenable to prove nothing, though he suspected much in the buying andselling of Constance.

  A week of bitterness, of a constant struggle against the wiles of oneof the most subtle sleuths followed, avoiding hidden traps that besether on every side. Was this to be the end of it all? Was Drummond'sheroic effort to entangle her to succeed at last?

  She felt that a watch of the most extraordinary kind was set on her, aninvisible net woven about her. Eyes that never slept were upon her;there was no minute in her regular haunts that she was not guarded. Sheknew it, though she could not see it.

  It was a war of subtle wits. Yet from the beginning Constance was thewinner 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. Itseemed hopeless, but, like all good detectives, Drummond knew fromexperience that a clue might come to the surface when it was leastexpected. 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 in thecity.

  A tenant moved into the apartment across the hall from Constance, andanother hired an apartment in the next house, across the court. Therewas constant espionage. She seemed to "sense" it. The newcomer was veryneighborly, explaining that her husband was a traveling salesman, andthat she was alone for weeks at a time.

  The lines tightened. The next door neighbor always seemed to be aroundat mail time, trying to get a look at the postmarks on the Dunlapletters. She had an excuse in the number of letters to herself. "Ordersfor my husband," she would smile. "He gets lots of them personallyhere."

  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 went withher whom she had to shake off sooner or later. There were visits ofpeddlers, gas men, electric light and telephone men. They were alldetectives, also, always seeking a chance to make a search that mightreveal her secret. The janitor who collected the waste paper found thatit had a ready sale at a high price. Every stratagem that Drummond'sastute mind could devise was called into play. But nothing, not a scrapof new evidence did they find.

  Yet all the time Constance was in direct communication with Mackenzie.

  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 do thatwould 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 like fiftythousand dollars on the turn over of the stuff he had stolen. Anotherweek 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 her unconventionalvisit 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 had lefthim at the elevator, of the feeling now every moment of the time shewas 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 her poiseso admirably, keeping always that barrier of reserve beyond which nowand 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 of themarket, only to run full tilt into Drummond, who had been waiting forher, cat-like. Evidently he had a purpose.

  "You will be interested to know," remarked the detective, watching hernarrowly, "that District Attorney Wickham, who had the case in chargeout there, is in New York, with the president of the Central WesternTrust."

  "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 it in aspirit of bravado? She could not think so. It was not his style tobluster at this stage of the game. No, there was a deep-laid purpose.He expected her to make some move to extricate herself that woulddisplay her hand and betray all. It was clever and a less clever personthan 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, her opportunity.

  Scarcely had Drummond gone, than she, too, was hurrying down the streeton her way to see Mackenzie's pursuers face to face.

  She found Wickham registered at the Prince Henry, a new hotel and sentup her card. A few moments later he received her, with considerablerestraint as if he knew about her and had not expected so soon to haveto 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 Graeme Mackenziecase."

  "Yes?" he replied quizzically.

  "Perhaps," she continued, coming nearer to the point of herself-imposed mission, "perhaps there may be some other way to settlethis case 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, Iunderstand, you don't even know where he is--whether he is in New York,London, Paris, or Berlin, or whether he may not go from one city toanother at any moment you take open action."

  Wickham bit his lip. He knew she was right. Even yet the case hung onthe 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 whole sum,with interest to date. Then and only then can we consider his plea forclemency."

  "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 she mightnot 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 say nothingmore definite. She was obdurate.

  "You must leave it all to me," she repeated. "I would not betray him.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 was goingto be a battle royal with this man, that now she had taken a step evenso far in the open it was every one for himself and the devil take thehindmost.

  "I can't help it," he concluded. "Those are the terms. It is as far asI can trust a--a thief."

  "But I will keep my word," she said quietly. "When you prove to me thatyou are absolutely on the level, that Mackenzie can make restitution infull with interest, and in return be left as free a man as he is atthis moment--why,--I can have him give up."

  "Mrs. Dunlap," said Wickham with an air of finality, "I will make oneconcession. I will adopt any method of restitution he may prefer. Butit must be by direct dealing between Mackenzie and myself, withDrummond present as well as Mr. Taylor, president of the Trust Company,who is now also in New York. That is my ultimatum. Good-afternoon."

  Constance left the room with flushed face and eyes that glinted withdetermination. Over and over she thought out methods to accomplish whatshe had planned. When they complied with all the conditions that wouldsafeguard Mackenzie, she had determined to act. But Graeme must bemaster 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 over thehalf million with, say, twelve thousand dollars interest, in return forfreedom?"

  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 would saythat I would not go there under any guarantee they might give. I do nottrust 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 there wasthe 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 seen amethod 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 will doanything 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 entered theapartment and placed on a table before him a small oblong box of blackenameled metal, beneath which was a roll of paper. Above was anothersomewhat 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 even nowbegan to dawn on him.

  "A telautograph," she replied simply, "a long distance writer which Ihave had installed over a leased wire from the hotel room of Wickham tomeet the demands of you two. With it you write over wires just as withthe telephone you talk over wires. It is as though you took one of theold pantagraphs, split it in half, and had each half c
onnected only bythe telephone wires. While you write on this transmitter, theirreceiver records for them what you write. Look!"

  "... of $500,000," it continued to write, "in cash, stocks and bonds,with interest to date, all proceedings against Graeme Mackenzie will bedropped 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 the suddennessand 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 safe depositbox in New York where the stocks and bonds I possess are located and tohand over a key and written order to the same. I now agree immediatelyto 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 boldly thename, "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 Universal Bankas 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, too uncannyto be true. Here he was, without stirring forth from the security ofhis hiding place; there were his pursuers in their hotel. With theprecautions taken by Constance, neither party knew where the other was.Yet they were in instant touch, not by the ear alone, but byhandwriting 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 that theymight rescind their action before he could finish.

  "Now the securities," she said. "I have withdrawn already the amount wehave made trading--it is a substantial sum. Write out an order to theSafe Deposit Company to deliver the key and the rest of the contents ofthe box to Taylor. I have fixed it with them after a special interviewthis 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 now thatthe excitement was over, she realized that he was free, independent ofher again.

  The telautograph had stopped. No, it was starting again. Had there beena slip! Was the dream at last to turn to ashes? They watched anxiously.

  "Mrs. Dunlap," the words unfolded, "I take my hat off to you. You haveput 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 of thebitter hours he had caused in the discharge of his duty.

  As they looked at the writing they realized its import. The detectivehad abandoned the long search. It was as though he had put his "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 talked ina moment of confidence of the loneliness she had felt since she hadembarked as the rescuer of amateur criminals.

  Graeme bent down and took her hand, as he had the first night when theyhad entered their strange partnership.

  "Never--never can I begin to pay you what I owe," he said huskily, hisface near hers.

  He felt her warm breath almost on his cheek, saw the quick color comeinto her face, her breast rise and fall with suppressed emotion. Theireyes met.

  "You need not pay," she whispered. "I am yours."

  THE END