Constance shrugged her pretty shoulders.

"I want to tell you that I am employed by the Central American
consulates in this city," blustered Drummond. "And I am waiting only
for one thing. The moment an order is given for the withdrawal of
that stuff from the little shop in South Street--you know what I
mean--I am ready. I shall not be alone, then. You will have the
power of the United States Secret Service to deal with, this time,
my clever lady."

"Well, what of that?"

"There is this much of it. I warn you now against working with this
Santos. He--you--can make no move that we do not know."

Why had Drummond come to see her? Constance was asking herself. The
very insolence of the man seemed to arouse all the combativeness of
her nature. The detective had thought to "throw a scare into" her.
She turned suddenly and swept out of the room.

"I thank you for your kindness," she said icily. "It is unnecessary.
Good-night."

In her own room she paced the floor nervously, now that the strain
was off. Should she desert Santos and save herself? He had more need
of her help now than ever before. She did not stop to analyze her
own feelings. She knew he had been making love to her during the
past week as only a Spaniard could. It fascinated her without
blinding her. Yes, she would match her wits against this detective,