watching the effect of his words. Instinctively she knew that it was
not alone enthusiasm over his scheme that inspired his confidences.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In her loneliness after she had given up Murray Dodge, life in New York
had seemed even more bitter to Constance than before. Yet the great
city cast a spell over her, with its countless opportunities for
adventure. She could not leave it, but had taken a suite in a quiet
boarding house overlooking the bay from the Heights in Brooklyn.

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

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

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

Constance was startled at the name. Murray had indeed written a little
note expressing his entire confidence in Mr. Santos. Formal as it was,
Constance thought she