sioner as a dope squad. We want this
girl. We have others who will give evidence; but we want this one, too."

He said it with a bluster that even exaggerated the theatrical
character of the raid itself. Constance did not stop to weigh the value
of his words, but through the door she brushed quickly. Adele might
need her if she was indeed there.

As she entered the little living-room she saw a sight which almost
transfixed her. Adele was there--lying across a divan, motionless.

Constance bent over. Adele was cold. As far as she could determine
there was not a breath or a heart beat!

What did it mean? She did not stop to think. Instantly there flashed
over her the recollection of an instrument she had read about at one of
the city hospitals, It might save Adele. Before any one knew what she
was doing she had darted to the telephone in the lower hall of the
apartment and had called up the hospital frantically, imploring them to
hurry. Adele must be saved.

Constance had no very clear idea of what happened next in the
hurly-burly of events, until the ambulance pulled up at the door and
the white-coated surgeon burst in carrying a heavy suitcase.

With one look at the unfortunate girl he muttered, "Paralysis of the
respiratory organs--too large a dose of the drug. You did perfectly
right," and began unpacking the case.

Constance, calm now in the crisis, stood by him and helped as deftly as
could any nurse.

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

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

"A pulmotor," replied the doctor, working quickly and carefully, "an
artificial lung. Sometimes it can revive even the medically dead. It is
our last chance with this girl."

Constance had picked up the packet which had fallen beside Adele and
was looking at the white powder.

"Almost pure cocaine," remarked the young surgeon, testing it. "The
hydrochloride, large crystals, highest quality. Usually it is
adulterated. Was she in the habit of taking it this way?"

Constance said nothing. She had seen Muller make up the
packet--specially now, she recalled. Instead of the adulterated dope he
had given Adele the purest kind. Why? Was there some secret he wished
to lock in her breast