emotions
within him. He could not know with what effort Constance held her poise
so admirably, keeping always that barrier of reserve beyond which now
and then he caught a glimpse.

"Let us cut out and bury ourselves in Europe," he urged.

"No," she replied firmly. "Wait. I have a plan. Wait. We could never
get away. They would find us and extradite us surely."

She was coming out of a broker's office one day after the close of the
market, only to run full tilt into Drummond, who had been waiting for
her, cat-like. Evidently he had a purpose.

"You will be interested to know," remarked the detective, watching her
narrowly, "that District Attorney Wickham, who had the case in charge
out there, is in New York, with the president of the Central Western
Trust."

"Yes?" she said non-committally.

"I told them I was on the trail, through a woman, and they have come
here to aid me."

Why had he told her that? Was it to put her on her guard or was it in a
spirit of bravado? She could not think so. It was not his style to
bluster at this stage of the game. No, there was a deep-laid purpose.
He expected her to make some move to extricate herself that would
display her hand and betray all. It was clever and a less clever person
than Constance would have fallen before the onslaught.

Constance was thinking rapidly, as he told her where and how the new
pursuers were active. Here, she felt, was the crisis, her opportunity.

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

She found Wickham registered at the Prince Henry, a new hotel and sent
up her card. A few moments later he received her, with considerable
restraint as if he knew about her and had not expected so soon to have
to show his own hand.

"I understand," she began quickly, "that you have come to New York
because Mr. Drummond claims to be able to clear up the Graeme Mackenzie
case."

"Yes?" he replied quizzically.

"Perhaps," she continued, coming nearer to the point of her
self-imposed mission, "perhaps there may be some other way to settle
this 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, I
understand, 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 to
another at any moment you take open action."