"Perhaps," replied Constance, still meeting his sharp ferret eye
squarely, which increased his animosity.

"Your husband was Carlton Dunlap, cashier of Green & Company, was he
not?"

She bit her lip. The manner of his raking up of old scores, though
she had expected it, was cruel. It would have been cruel in court,
if she had had a lawyer to protect her rights. It was doubly cruel,
merciless, here. Before Dodge could interrupt, the detective added,
"Who committed suicide after forging checks to meet his--"

Murray was at Drummond like a hound. "Another word from you and I'll
throttle you," he blurted out.

"No, Murray, no. Don't," pleaded Constance. She was burning with
indignation, but it was not by violence that she expected to
prevail. "Let him say what he has to say."

Drummond smiled. He had no scruples about a "third degree" of this
kind, and besides there were three of them to Dodge.

"You were--both of you--at Woodlake not long ago, were you not?" he
asked calmly.

There was no escaping the implication of the tone. Still Drummond
was taking no chances of being misunderstood. "There was one man,"
he went on, "who embezzled for you. Here is another who has
embezzled. How will that look when it goes before a jury!" he
concluded.