Constance Dunlap Read online

  CHAPTER IX

  THE SHOPLIFTERS

  "Madam, would you mind going with me for a few moments to the office onthe third floor?"

  Constance Dunlap had been out on a shopping excursion. She had stoppedat the jewelry counter of Stacy's to have a ring repaired and had goneon to the leather goods department to purchase something else.

  The woman who spoke to her was a quietly dressed young person, quiteinconspicuous, with a keen eye that seemed to take in everything withina radius of a wide-angled lens at a glance.

  She leaned over and before Constance could express even surprise, addedin a whisper, "Look in your bag."

  Constance looked hastily, then realized what had happened. The ring wasgone!

  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, treasurednot only for its intrinsic value but as a remembrance of Carlton andthe supreme sacrifice he had made for her.

  She had noticed nothing in the crowd, nothing more than she had noticedscores 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 who touchedyou. You see, we don't make any arrests in the store if we can help it,because we don't like to make a scene. It's bad for business. Besides,if she had anything else, we are safer when the case comes to court, ifwe have caught her actually leaving the store with it. Of course, whenwe make an arrest on the sidewalk, we bring the shoplifter back, but ina 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," she continued,"and if you will help identify her the store management will appreciateit--and make it worth your while. Besides," she urged, "It's reallyyour 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 lay apile of laces and small trinkets. There, too, was the beautiful diamondring which she had hidden in her muff. Constance fairly gasped at thesight.

  The girl was sitting limply in a chair crying bitterly. She was not ahardened looking creature. In fact, her face bore evident traces ofrefinement, and her long, slender fingers hinted at a nervous, artistictemperament. It was rather a shock to see such a girl under suchdistressing circumstances.

  "We've lost so much lately," a small ferret-eyed man was saying, "thatwe must make an example of some one. It's serious for us detectives,too. We'll lose our jobs unless we can stop you boosters."

  "Oh--I--I didn't mean to do it. I--I just couldn't help it," sobbed thegirl 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 all throughthe records and the photographs. We don't find her. And yet I don'tthink it is an alias--at least, if it is, not an alias for any one wehave any record of. I've a good eye for faces, and there isn't one wehave on file as--as good looking," she added, perhaps with a littletouch of wistfulness at her own plainness and this beauty 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 other ringin the world she felt sure that she would have said no. But, then, shereflected, there was that pile of stuff. There was no use in concealingher ownership of the ring. "Yes," she murmured.

  "One moment, please," answered the man brusquely. "I must send down forthe salesgirl who waited on you to identify you and your check--a mereformality, 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 couple ofmillion dollars' worth of stuff every year. It's the price we have topay for displaying our goods. But it's too high. They are thedepartment store's greatest unsolved problem. Now most of the storesare working together for their common interests, seeing what they cando to root them out. We all keep a sort of private rogue's gallery ofthem. But we don't seem to have anything on this girl, nor have any ofthe other stores who exchange photographs and information with usanything on her."

  "Evidently, then, it is her first offense," put in Constance, wonderingat herself. Strangely, she felt more of sympathy than of anger for thegirl.

  "You mean the first time she has been caught at it," corrected the headof 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 there seemedto come a complete breakdown. She wept as though her heart would break.

  "Oh," exclaimed the man, "can it! Cut out the sob stuff!"

  "And yet," mused Constance half to herself, watching the girl closely,"when one walks through the shops and sees thousands of dollars' worthof goods lying unprotected on the counters, is it any wonder that somepoor woman or girl should be tempted and fall? There, before her eyesand within her grasp, lies the very article above all others which sheso ardently craves. No one is looking. The salesgirl is busy withanother customer. The rest is easy. And then the store detective stepsin--and here she is--captured."

  The girl had been listening wildly through her tears. "Oh," she sobbed,"you don't understand--none of you. I don't crave anything. I--Ijust--can't help it--and then, afterwards--I--I HATE the stuff--and Iam so--afraid. I hurry home--and I--oh, what shall I do--what shall Ido?"

  Constance pitied her deeply. She looked from the wild-eyed,tear-stained face to the miscellaneous pile of material on the table,and the unwinking gaze of the store detectives. True, the girl hadtaken a very valuable diamond ring, and from herself. But the laces,the trinkets, all were abominably cheap, not worth risking anything for.

  Constance's attention was recalled by the man who beckoned her aside totalk to the salesgirl who had waited on her.

  "You remember seeing this lady at the counter?" he asked of the girl.She nodded. "And that woman in there?" he motioned. Again the salesgirlnodded.

  "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 thecharge--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 detectives werepreparing to argue. Constance hardly knew what she was saying, as shehurried on before any one else could speak.

  "No," she added, "but I'll tell you what I will do. If you will let hergo I will look after her. Parole her, unofficially, with me."

  Constance drew a card from her case and handed it to the detective. Heread it carefully, and a puzzled look came ov
er his face. "Chargeaccount--good customer--pays promptly," he muttered under his breath.

  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, agetwenty-seven years, in consideration of the sum of One Dollar, herebyadmit taking the following property... without having paid therefor andwith intent not to pay therefor, and by reason of the withdrawal of thecomplaint of larceny, OF WHICH I AM GUILTY, I hereby remise, release,and forever discharge the said Stacy Co. or its representatives fromany claims, action, or causes of action which I may have against theStacy Co. or its representatives or agents by reason of the withdrawalof said charge of larceny and failure to prosecute."

  "Signed, Kitty Carr."

  "Now, Kitty," soothed Constance, as the trembling signature was blottedand added to a photograph which had quietly been taken, "they are goingto let you go this time--with me. Come, straighten your hat, wipe youreyes. You must take me home with you--where we can have a nice longtalk. Remember, I am your friend."

  On the way uptown and across the city the girl managed to tell most ofher history. She came from a family of means in another city. Herfather was dead, but her mother and a brother were living. She herselfhad a small annuity, sufficient to live on modestly, and had come toNew York seeking a career as an artist. Her story, her ambitionsappealed to Constance, who had been somewhat of an artist herself andrecognized even in talking to the girl that she was not without someability.

  Then, too, she found that Kitty actually lived, as she had said, in acozy little kitchenette apartment with two friends, a man and his wife,both of whom happened to be out when they arrived. As Constance lookedabout she could see clearly that there was indeed no adequate reasonwhy 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 little betternow."

  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 in blackentered. She was well-dressed, in fact elegantly dressed in a quietway, 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 so kindto 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 is thematter?"

  The girl had turned her face down in the sofa pillows and was sobbingagain. Between sobs she blurted out the whole of the sordid story. Andas she proceeded, Annie glanced quickly from her to Constance, forconfirmation.

  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--toogood."

  There was a little catch in the woman's voice. But Constance could notquite 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 a talkingto that I thought she would be able to restrain herself when she feltthat way again."

  It was growing late and Constance recollected that she had anengagement for the evening. As she rose to go Kitty almost overwhelmedher with embraces.

  "I'll keep in touch with Kitty," whispered Constance at the door, "andif you will let me know when anything comes up that I may help her in,I shall thank you."

  "Depend on me," answered Mrs. Grayson, "and I want to add my thanks toKitty'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 men washer 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, andclimbed the stairs noiselessly. Voices inside the apartment told herthat she had not been mistaken. It was the apartment of the Graysonsand Kitty that they sought.

  The hall door was of thin, light wood, and as she stood there she couldeasily 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. Youknow I've had them before."

  Drummond's voice then spoke up.

  "Did you see the Trimble ad. to-night?" he asked, evidently of Annie."They have a lot of new diamonds from Arkansas, they say,--one of themis a big one, the Arkansas Queen, I believe they call it."

  "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 deal aboutit."

  "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 his paceand 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. Shefelt the hot tingle of indignation in her cheeks. But she said nothing.

  "Huh!" exclaimed Drummond, walking along beside her, and addingcontemptuously, "I don't know the young one, but you know who the otheris?"

  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 profile pictureof a woman, and on the back of the card was a little writing.

  He selected one and handed it to Constance. Instantly she recognizedthe face. It was Annie Grayson, with half a dozen aliases written afterthe 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 the restwill ever know."

  Constance longed to ask him what had taken him to the Grayson flat thenight before, but thought better of it. There was no use in angeringDrummond further. Instead, she let him think that he had succeeded infrightening her off.

  She went back to her own apartment to wait and worry. EvidentlyDrummond was pretty sure of something, or he would not have
disclosedhis hand to her, even partially. She felt that she must see Kittybefore it was too late. Then the thought crossed her mind that perhapsalready it was too late. Drummond evidently was working in some way foran 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 had achance.

  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 she talkedan idea had occurred to her that it might have other uses than thosewhich the doctor made of it. She had bought one. While she was waitingit occurred to her that perhaps it might serve her purpose. She got theinstrument out. It consisted of a little arrangement that fitted overthe forearm, and was attached by a tube to a dial that registered inmillimeters a column of mercury. Would it really show anything, shewondered?

  There was a quick call on the telephone and she answered it, her handtrembling, for she felt sure that it was something about the littlewoman she had befriended.

  Somehow or other her voice hardened as she answered the call and foundthat it was from Drummond. It would never do to betray even nervousnessbefore him.

  "Your friend, Miss Carr," shot out Drummond with brutal directness,"has been caught again. She fell into something as neatly as if she hadreally meant to do it. Yesterday, you know, Trimble's advertised thenew diamond, the Arkansas Queen, on exhibition. Well, it was made ofpaste, anyway. But it was a perfect imitation. But that didn't make anydifference. We caught Kitty just now trying to lift it. I'm sorry itwasn't the other one. But small fry are better than none. We'll gether, too, yet. Besides, I find this Kitty has a record already atStacy'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 wait therejust 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 hurriedly shepicked up the little instrument and dropped it into her hand-bag.

  "You see, it's no use," almost chortled Drummond as Constance steppedoff the elevator and opened the door to a little room at Trimble's muchlike that which she had already seen at Stacy's. "A shoplifter becomeshabitual after twenty-five. They get to consorting with others of theirkind."

  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 had notcaught 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 she foundan 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 she wasleaving the store. Yes, they found the other paste jewel on her. Shewas caught with the goods."

  "Replica?" repeated Constance, thinking of the picture that hadappeared in the papers the night before. "How could she get a replicaof 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 already underarrest, and from what I have heard we may get something on her now. Wehave a record against the Carr girl. We can use it against her friend.We're just about taking her to the flat to identify the Grayson woman.Would you like to come along?" he added in a spirit of bravado. "Ithink you are a material witness in the Stacy case, anyhow."

  Constance felt bitterly her defeat. Still she went with them. There wasalways a chance that something might turn up.

  As they entered the door of the kitchenette loud voices told them thatsome one was disputing inside.

  Drummond strode in.

  The sight of a huge pile of stuff that two strange men had drawn out ofdrawers and closets and stacked on the table riveted Constance's eyes.Only dimly she could hear that Annie Grayson was violently threateningDrummond, who stood coolly surveying the scene.

  The stuff on the table was, in fact, quite enough to dazzle the eyes.There were articles of every sort and description there--silks, laces,jewelry and trinkets, little antiques, even rare books--everythingsmall and portable, some of the richest and most exquisite, others ofthe cheapest and most tawdry. It was a truly remarkable collection,which the raiding detectives had brought to light.

  As Constance took in the scene--the raiding detectives holding thestormy Annie Grayson at bay, Drummond, cool, supercilious, Kitty almoston the edge of collapse--she wondered how Jim Grayson had managed toslip 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 for shoplifters.In addition to her other accomplishments, the queen of the shoplifterswas a "Fagin," educating others to the tricks of her trade, takingadvantage of their lack of facility in disposing of the stolen goods.

  Just then the woman caught sight of Constance standing in the doorway.

  In an instant she had broken loose and ran toward her.

  "What are you," she hissed, "one of these department store Moll Dicks,too?"

  Quick as a flash Kitty Carr had leaped to her feet and placed herselfbetween them.

  "No, Annie, no. She was a real friend of mine. No--if your own friendshad been as loyal as she was to me this would never have happened--Ishould never have been caught again, for I should never have given thema 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 of that.We shall need both of you in our business. I've no objection to yourtalking; 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 was KittyCarr, in a revulsion of feeling, her hands pressed tightly to her headagain, as if it were bursting. She was swaying as if she would faint.

  Constance caught her gently about the waist and forced her down on thecouch where she had been lying the night before. With her back to theothers, she reached quickly into her hand-bag and pulled out the littleinstrument she had hastily stuffed into it. Deftly she fastened it toKitty's wrist and forearm.

  She dropped down on her knees beside the poor girl, and gently strokedher free hand, reassuring her in a low tone.

  "There, there," she soothed. "You are not well, Kitty. Perhaps, afterall, 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 all couldsee now.

  "This girl," she said, speaking rapidly, "is afflicted with a nervousphysical disorder, a mania, which is uncontrollable, and takes thisoutlet. It is emotional insanity--not loss of control of the will, butperversion of the will."

  "Humph!" was Drummond's sole comment with a significant glance at thepile 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 works fort
he benefit he may derive from objects stolen after he gets them. Hereis a girl who apparently has no further use for an article after shegets it, who forgets, perhaps hates it."

  "Oh, yes," remarked Drummond; "but why are they all so careful not toget 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 almost superhumancunning. No; the test is whether knowing the nature and consequences, aperson suffers under such a defect of will that in spite of everything,in the face of everything, that person cannot control 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, oreven a finger-print outfit, Annie Grayson would probably have foughtlike a tigress. But this thing was a new one. She had a peculiar spiritof bravado.

  "Such terms as kleptomania," went on Constance, "are often regarded asexcuses framed up by the experts to cover up plain ordinary stealing.But did you wiseacres of crime ever stop to think that perhaps they doactually 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 her voiceand taking advantage of the very novelty of the situation she hadcreated. "Such diseases are the product of civilization, ofsensationalism. Naturally enough, then, woman, with her delicatelybalanced nervous organization, is the first and chief offender--if youinsist on calling such a person an offender under your antiquatedmethods of dealing with such cases."

  She had paused.

  "What did you say you called this thing?" asked Drummond as he tappedthe 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 a mouse.

  "That?" answered Constance, taking it off Annie Grayson's wrist beforeshe could do anything with it. "Why, I don't know that I said anythingabout it. It is really a sphygmomanometer--the little expert witnessthat never lies--one of the instruments the insurance companies use nowto register blood pressure and discover certain diseases. It occurredto me that it might be put to other and equally practical uses. For noone can conceal the emotions from this instrument, not even a person ofcast-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-fivemillimeters is the normal pressure. Kitty Carr is absolutely abnormal.I do not know, but I think that she suffers from periodical attacks ofvertigo. Almost all kleptomaniacs do. During an attack they are utterlyirresponsible."

  Drummond was looking at the thing carefully. Constance turned to AnnieGrayson.

  "Where's your husband?" she asked offhand.

  "Oh, he disappeared as soon as these department store dicks showed up,"she replied bitterly. She had been watching Constance narrowly, quitenonplussed, and unable to make anything out of what was going on.

  Constance looked at Drummond inquiringly.

  He shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid we'll never catch him," he said."He got the jump on us--although we have our lines out for him, 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, a brightlittle police whistle gleaming in her hand, ready for its shrill alarmif 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 with thealleged 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 a manwho lived with her as her own husband. For she was not operating."

  Annie Grayson moved as if to face out her accusers at this sudden turnof 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 right totake her, to have her treated for her--her disease. I claim it becausethe real shoplifter, the queen of the shoplifters, Annie Grayson, hasworked out a brand-new scheme, taking up a true kleptomaniac and usingher insanity to carry out the stealings which she suggested--andsafely, to this point, has profited by!"