A boy with a telegram emerged indiscreetly from the misty shadows.
Drummond seized it, tore it open, and read, "Buy cotton."

It was the code: "I am off safely."

The double cross had worked. Constance was thinking, as she smiled
to herself, of the money, her share, which she had hidden. There was
not a scrap of tangible evidence against her, except what Santos had
carried with him in the filibustering expedition already off from
New Orleans. Her word would stand against that of all of the victims
combined before any jury that could be empaneled.

"You thought I needed a warning," she cried, facing Drummond with
eyes that flashed scorn at the skulking figure of Gordon behind him.
"But the next time you employ a stool-pigeon to make love," she
added, "reckon in that thing you detectives scorn--a woman's
intuition."




CHAPTER IV

THE GAMBLERS


"Won't you come over to see me to-night? Just a friendly little
game, my dear--our own crowd, you know."