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.