"You have got to stop this swindling," the detective raged, taking a
step closer to her. "I know the bankers you have fooled. I know how
much you have worked them for."

"Swindling?" she repeated coolly, in assumed surprise. "Who says I
am swindling?"

"You know well enough what I mean--this revolution that is being
planned to bring about the new state of Vespuccia, as your friends
Santos and Gordon call it."

"Vespuccia--Santos--Gordon?"

"Yes," he shouted, "Vespuccia--Santos--Gordon. And I'll go further.
I'll tell you something you may not care to hear."

Drummond leaned over closer to her in his favorite bulldozing manner
when he dealt with a woman. All the malevolence of the human
bloodhound seemed concentrated in his look.

"Who forged those Carlton Realty checks?" he hissed. "Who played off
the weakness of Dumont and Beverley against the clever thefts of
Murray Dodge! Who is using a counterfeiter and a soldier of fortune
and swindling honest American bankers and business men as no man
crook--you seem to like that word--crook--could ever do?"

Constance met him calmly. "Oh," she laughed airily, "I suppose you
mean to imply that it is I."

"I don't imply," he ground out, "I assert--accuse."