then from New Orleans. You must--"

"But--Gordon?" His voice was hoarse.

She looked at Santos long and earnestly. "I will take care of him,"
she said in a tone that Santos could not mistake. "No--Ramon, no.
After the revolution--perhaps--who shall say? But now--to work!"

It was with a sigh of relief that she sank to rest at last when he
had gone. For the moment she had won.

Piece by piece, Santos and she secretly carried out the goods that
had already been collected at the Junta, during the next few days.
Without a word to a soul they were shipped south. The boxes and
barrels remained in the musty shop, apparently undisturbed.

Next the order for the arms and ammunition was quietly diverted so
that they, too, were on their way to New Orleans. Instead, cases
resembling them were sent to the Junta headquarters. Drummond, least
of all, must be allowed to think that there was any change in their
plans.

While Santos was at work gathering the parts, the stamping machine,
the press, the dies, the plates, and the rest of the counterfeiting
plant which had not yet been delivered, Constance, during the hours
that she was not collecting money from the concession-grabbers,
haunted the Junta. There was every evidence of activity there as the
week advanced.

She was between two fires, yet never had she enjoyed the tang of