Constance Dunlap

by Arthur B. Reeve

  CHAPTER III

  THE GUN RUNNERS

  "We'll land here, Mrs. Dunlap."

  Ramon Santos, terror of the Washington State Department and of a halfdozen consulates in New York, stuck a pin in a map of Central Americaspread out on a table before Constance.

  "Insurrectos will meet us," he pursued, then added, "but we must havemoney, first, my dear Senora, plenty of money."

  Dark of eye and skin, with black imperial and mustache, tall, straightas an arrow, Santos had risen and was now gazing down with raptattention, not at the map, but at Constance herself.

  Every curve of her face and wave of her hair, every line of her trimfigure which her filmy gown seemed to accentuate rather than concealadded fire to his ardent glances.

  He touched lightly another pin sticking in a little, almost microscopicisland of the Caribbean.

  "Our plan, it is simple," he continued with animation in spite of hisforeign accent. "On this island a plant to print paper money, to coinsilver. With that we shall land, pay our men as they flock to us,collect forces, seize cities, appropriate the customs. Once we start,it is easy."

  Constance looked up quickly. "But that is counterfeiting," sheexclaimed.

  "No," rejoined Santos, "it is a war measure. We--the provisionalgovernment--merely coin our own money. Besides, it will not be done inthis country. It will not come under your laws."

  There was a magnetism about the man that fascinated her, as he stoodwatching the effect of his words. Instinctively she knew that it wasnot alone enthusiasm over his scheme that inspired his confidences.

  "Though we are not counterfeiters," he went on, "we do not know whatmoment our opponents may set your Secret Service to destroy all ourhopes. Besides, we must have money--now--to buy machinery, arms,ammunition. We must find some one," he lowered his voice, "who canpersuade American bankers and merchants to take risks to gain valuableconcessions in the new state."

  Santos was talking rapidly and earnestly, urging his case on her.

  "We are prepared," he hurried on confidentially, "to give you, Senora,half the money that you can raise for these purposes."

  He paused and stood before her. He was certainly a handsome figure,this soldier of fortune, and he was at his best now.

  Constance looked out of the window of her sitting room. This was abusiness proposition, not to be influenced by any sentiment.

  She watched the lights moving up and down the river and bay. There werecraft from the ends of the earth. She speculated on the romanticsecrets hidden in liner and tramp. Surely they could scarcely be moreromantic than the appeal Santos was making.

  "Will you help us?" urged Santos, leaning further over the map to readher averted face.

  In her loneliness after she had given up Murray Dodge, life in New Yorkhad seemed even more bitter to Constance than before. Yet the greatcity cast a spell over her, with its countless opportunities foradventure. She could not leave it, but had taken a suite in a quietboarding 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 orluncheon. But at dinner he often, ordered much as if it were seveno'clock in the morning instead of the evening. He was a mystery andmysteries interested her. Did he work all night and sleep all day? Whatwas he doing?

  She was astonished a few nights after her arrival to receive a callfrom the mysterious evening breakfaster.

  "Pardon--I intrude," he began gracefully, presenting his card. "But Ihave heard how clever you are, Senora Dunlap. A friend, in an importingfirm, has told me of you, a Mr. Dodge."

  Constance was startled at the name. Murray had indeed written a littlenote expressing his entire confidence in Mr. Santos. Formal as it was,Constance thought she could read between the lines the same feelingtoward her that he had expressed at their parting.

  Santos gave her no time to live over the past.

  "You see, Mrs. Dunlap," he explained, as he led up to the object of hisvisit, "the time has come to overthrow the regime in CentralAmerica--for a revolution which will bring together all the countriesin a union like the old United States of Central America."

  He had spread out the map on the table.

  "Only," he added, "we would call the new state, Vespuccia."

  "We?" queried Constance.

  "Yes--my--colleagues-you call it in English! We have already a Juntawith headquarters in an old loft on South Street, in New York."

  Santos indicated the plan of campaign on the map.

  "We shall strike a blow," he cried, bringing his fist down on the tableas if the blow had already fallen, "that will paralyze the enemy at thevery start!"

  He paused.

  "Will you help us raise the money?" he repeated earnestly.

  Constance had been inactive long enough. The appeal was romantic,almost irresistible. Besides--no, at the outset she put out ofconsideration any thought of the fascinating young soldier of fortunehimself.

  The spirit of defiance of law and custom was strong upon her. That wasall.

  "Yes," she replied, "I will help you."

  Santos leaned over, and with a graceful gesture that she could notresent, raised her finger tips gallantly to his lips.

  "Thank you," he said with, a courtly smile. "We have already won!"

  The next day Ramon introduced her to the other members of the Junta. Itwas evident that he was in fact as well as name their leader, but theywere not like the usual oily plotters of revolution who congregateabout the round tables in dingy back rooms of South Street cafes,apportioning the gold lace, the offices, and the revenues amongthemselves. There was an "air" about them that was different.

  "Let me present Captain Lee Gordon of the _Arroyo_," remarked Santos,coming to a stockily-built, sun-burned man with the unmistakable lookof the Anglo-Saxon who has spent much time in the neighborhood of thetropical sun. "The _Arroyo_ is the ship that is to carry the arms andthe plant to the island--from Brooklyn. We choose Brooklyn because itis quieter over there--fewer people late at night on the streets."

  Captain Gordon bowed, without taking his eyes off Constance.

  "I am, like yourself, Mrs. Dunlap, a recent recruit," he explained. "Itis a wonderful plan," he added enthusiastically. "We shall sweep thecountry with it."

  He flicked off the ash of his inevitable cigarette, much as if it werethe opposition of the governments they were to encounter.

  It was evident that the Captain was much impressed by Constance. Yetshe instinctively disliked the man. His cameraderie had somethingoffensive about it, as contrasted with the deferential friendship ofSantos.

  With all her energy, however, Constance plunged directly into her work.Indeed, even at the start she was amazed to find that money for arevolution could be raised at all. She soon, found that it could bedone more easily in New York than anywhere else in the world.

  There seemed to be something about her that apparently appealed tothose whom she went to see. She began to realize what a tremendousadvantage a woman of the world had in presenting the case andconvincing a speculator of the rich returns if the revolution shouldprove successful. More than that, she quickly learned that it was bestto go alone, that it was she, quite as much as the promised concessionsfor tobacco, salt, telegraph, telephone monopolies, that loosed thepurse strings.

  Her first week's report of pledges ran into the thousands with asubstantial immediate payment of real dollars.

  "How did you do it?" asked Santos in undisguised admiration, as she wastelling him one night of her success, in the dusty, cobwebbed littleship chandlery on South Street where the Junta headquarters had beenestablished.

  "Dollar diplomacy," she laughed, not displeased at his admiration. "Weshall soon convert American dollars into Vespuccian bullets."

  They were alone, and a week had made much difference in the fascinatingfriendship to Constance.

  "Let me show you what I have done," Ramon confided. "Already, I havesta
rted together the 'counterfeiting plant,' as you call it."

  Piece by piece, as he had been able to afford them, he had beenordering the presses, the stamping machine, and a little "reeding" ormilling machine for the edges of the coins.

  "The paper, the ink, and the bullion, we shall order now as we can," heexplained, resting his head on his elbow at the table beside her."Everything will be secured from firms which make mint supplies forforeign governments. A photo-engraver is now engaged on the work ofcopying the notes. He is making the plates by the photo-etchingprocess--the same as that by which the real money plates are made.Then, too, there will be dies for the coins. Coined silver will beworth, twice the cost of the bullion to us. Why," he added eagerly, "afew more successful days, Senora, and we shall have even arms andammunition."

  A key turned in the door. Santos sprang to his feet. It was Gordon.

  "Ah, good evening," the Captain greeted them. The fact that they hadbeen talking so earnestly alone was not lost on him. "May I join theconspiracy?" he smiled. "What luck to-day? By the way, I have justheard of a consignment of a thousand rifles as good as new that can bebought for a song."

  Santos, elated at the progress so far, told hastily of Constance'ssuccess. "Let us get an option on them for a few days," he cried.

  "Good," agreed Gordon, "only," he added, shaking his finger playfullyat Constance, as the three left the headquarters, "don't let thecommander-in-chief monopolize ALL your time, Remember, we all need younow. Santos, that was an inspiration to get Mrs. Dunlap on our side."

  Somehow she felt uncomfortable. She half imagined that a frown hadflitted over Santos' face.

  "Are you going to Brooklyn?" she asked him.

  "No, we shall be working at the Junta late to-night," he replied, asthey parted at the subway, he and Gordon to secure the option on theguns, she to plan for the morrow.

  "I have made a good beginning," she congratulated herself, when, laterin her rooms, she was going over the list of names of commissionmerchants who handled produce of South American countries.

  There was a tap on the door.

  Quickly, she shoved the list into the drawer of the table.

  "A gentleman to see you, downstairs, ma'am," announced the maid.

  As she pushed aside the portieres, her heart gave a leap--it wasDrummond.

  "Mrs. Dunlap," began the wily detective, seeming to observe everythingwith eyes that seldom had the appearance of looking at anything, "Ithink you will recall that we have met before."

  Constance bit her lip. "And why again?" she queried curtly.

  "I am informed," he went on coolly ignoring her curtness, "that thereis a guest in this house named Santos--Ramon Santos."

  He said it in a half insinuating, half questioning tone.

  "You might inquire of the landlady," replied Constance, now perfectlycomposed.

  "Mrs. Dunlap," he burst forth, exasperated, "what is the use of beatingabout? Do you know the real character of this Santos!"

  "It is a matter of perfect indifference," she returned.

  "Then you do not think a warning from me worth troubling about?"demanded the detective.

  Constance continued to stand as if to terminate the interview.

  "I came here," continued the detective showing no evidence of takingthe hint, "to make a proposition to you. Mrs. Dunlap, you are in badagain. But this time there is a chance for you to get out without risk.I--I think I may talk plainly? We understand each other!"

  His manner had changed. Constance could not have described to herselfthe loathing she felt for the man as it suddenly flashed over her whathe was after. If she had resented his familiarity before, it broughtthe stinging blood to her cheeks now to realize that he was actuallyseeking to persuade her to betray her friends.

  "Do you want to know what I think?" she scorned, then without waitingadded, "I think you are a crook--a blackmailer,--that's what I think ofa private detective like you."

  The defiance of the little woman amazed even Drummond. Instead of fearas of the pursued, Constance Dunlap showed all the boldness of thepursuer.

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

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

  "You know well enough what I mean--this revolution that is beingplanned to bring about the new state of Vespuccia, as your friendsSantos 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 mannerwhen he dealt with a woman. All the malevolence of the human bloodhoundseemed concentrated in his look.

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

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

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

  Constance shrugged her pretty shoulders.

  "I want to tell you that I am employed by the Central Americanconsulates in this city," blustered Drummond. "And I am waiting onlyfor one thing. The moment an order is given for the withdrawal of thatstuff from the little shop in South Street--you know what I mean--I amready. I shall not be alone, then. You will have the power of theUnited 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 thisSantos. He--you--can make no move that we do not know."

  Why had Drummond come to see her? Constance was asking herself. Thevery insolence of the man seemed to arouse all the combativeness of hernature. The detective had thought to "throw a scare into" her. Sheturned 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 wasoff. Should she desert Santos and save herself? He had more need of herhelp now than ever before. She did not stop to analyze her ownfeelings. She knew he had been making love to her during the past weekas only a Spaniard could. It fascinated her without blinding her. Yes,she would match her wits against this detective, clever though she knewhe was. But Santos must be warned.

  Santos and Gordon were alone when she burst in on them, breathlessly,an hour later at the Junta.

  "What is the matter?" inquired Ramon quickly, placing a chair for her.

  Gordon looked his admiration for the little woman, though he did notspeak it. She saw him cast a sidewise glance at Santos and herself.

  Though the three were friends, it was evident to her that Gordon didnot trust Santos any further than the suspicious Anglo-Saxon trusts aforeigner usually when there is a woman in the case.

  "The Secret Service!" exclaimed Constance. "I have just had a visitfrom a private detective employed by one of the consulates. They knowtoo much. He has threatened to tell all to the Secret Service, has evenhad the effrontery to ask me to betray you."

  "The scoundrel," burst out Santos impulsively.

  "You are not frightened?" Gordon asked quickly.

  "On the contrary, I expected something of the sort soon, but not fromthis man. I can meet him!"

  "Good," exclaimed the Captain.

  There was that in his voice that caused her to look at him quickly.Santos had noticed it, too, and a sullen scowl spread over his face.

  Intuitively Constance read the two men before her. She had fled fromone problem to a greater. Both Santos and Gordon were in love with her.

  In the whirl of this new discovery, two things alone crowded all else
from her mind. She must contrive to hold off Drummond until that partof the expedition which was ready could be got off. And she must playthe jealous rivals against each other with such finesse as to keep themseparated.

  Far into the night after she had left the Junta she debated thequestion with herself. She could not turn back now. The attentions ofGordon were offensive. Yet she could have given no other reason thanthat she liked Santos the better. Yet what was Santos to her, afterall? Once she had let herself go too far. She must be careful in thiscase. She must not allow this to be other than a business proposition.

  The crisis for her came sooner than she had anticipated. It was the dayafter the visit of Drummond. She was waiting at the Junta alone forSantos when Gordon entered. She had dreaded just that. There was nomistaking the man.

  "Mrs. Dunlap," began Gordon bending down close over her.

  She was almost trembling with emotion, and he saw it.

  "You can read me like a book," he hurried on, mistaking her feelings."I can see that you know how much I think of you--how much I--"

  "No, no," she implored. "Don't talk to me that way. Remember--there iswork to do. After it is over--then--"

  "Work!" he scorned. "What is the whole of Central America to mecompared to you?"

  "Captain Gordon!" she stood facing him. "You must not. Listen to me.You do not know--I--please, please leave me. Let me think."

  She did not dare accept him; she could not reject him. It seemed thatwith an almost superhuman effort Gordon gripped himself. But he did notgo.

  Constance was distracted, what if Santos with his fiery nature shouldfind Gordon talking to her alone? She must temporize.

  "One week," she murmured. "When the _Arroyo_ sails--that night--I shallgive you my answer."

  Gordon shot a peculiar glance at her--half doubt, half surprise. Butshe was gone. As she hurried unexpectedly out of the Junta she fanciedshe caught a glimpse of a familiar figure. It must have been Drummond.Every move at the Junta was being watched.

  At the boarding house all night she waited. She must see Santos. Planafter plan whirled through her brain as the hours dragged.

  It was not until almost morning that, seeing a light, he tappedcautiously at her door.

  "You were not at the Junta to-night," he remarked.

  There was something of jealousy in the tone.

  "No. There is something I wanted to say to you where we should not beinterrupted," she answered as he sat down.

  A fold of her filmy house dress fluttered near him. Involuntarily hemoved closer. His eyes met hers. She could feel the passions surging inthe man beside her.

  "I saw Drummond again, to-day," she began. "Captain Gordon--"

  The intense look of hatred that blazed in the eyes of Santos frightenedher. What might have happened if he instead of Gordon had met her atthe Junta she could not have said. But now she must guard against it.It flashed over her that there was only one thing to be done.

  She rose and laid her hand on his arm. As quickly the look changed.There was only one way to do it; she must make this man think theyunderstood each other without saying so.

  "You must get the counterfeiting plant down on theisland--immediately--alone. Don't tell any of the others until it isthere safely. You were going to send it down on the _Arroyo_ next week.It must not go from New York at all. It must be shipped by rail, andthen from New Orleans. You must--"

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

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

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

  Piece by piece, Santos and she secretly carried out the goods that hadalready been collected at the Junta, during the next few days. Withouta word to a soul they were shipped south. The boxes and barrelsremained in the musty shop, apparently undisturbed.

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

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

  She was between two fires, yet never had she enjoyed the tang ofadventure more than now. It was a keen pleasure to feel that she wasoutwitting Drummond when, as some apparently insurmountable difficultyarose, she would overcome it. More delicate was it, however, topreserve the balance between Santos and Gordon. In fact it seemed thatthe more she sought to avoid Gordon, the more jealously did he pursueher. It was a tangled skein of romance and intrigue that Constance wasweaving.

  At last all was ready. It was the night before the departure of Santosfor the south. Constance had decided on the last interview in her ownrooms where the first had been.

  "I shall go ahead preparing as if to ship the things on the _Arroyo_,"she said. "Let me know by the code the moment you are ready."

  Santos was looking at her, oblivious of everything else.

  He reached over and took her hand. She knew this was the moment againstwhich she had steeled herself.

  "Come with me," he asked suddenly.

  She could feel his breath, hotly, on her cheek.

  It was the final struggle. If she let go of herself, all would be lost.

  "No, Ramon," she said softly, but without withdrawing her hand. "It cannever be--listen."

  It was terrific, to hold in check a nature such as his.

  "I went into this scheme for--for money. I have it. We have raisednearly forty thousand dollars. Twenty thousand you have given me as myshare."

  She paused. He was paying no attention to her words. His whole self wascentered on her face.

  "With me," she continued, half wearily withdrawing her hand as sheassumed the part she had decided on for herself, "with me, Ramon, loveis dead--dead. I have seen too much of the world. Nothing has anyfascination for me now except excitement, money--"

  He gently leaned over and recovered the hand that she had withdrawn.Quickly he raised it to his lips as he had done that first night.

  "You are mine," he whispered, "not his."

  She did not withdraw the hand this time.

  "No--not his--nobody's."

  For a moment the adventurers understood each other.

  "Not his," he muttered fiercely as he threw his arms about her wildly,passionately.

  "Nobody's," she panted as she gave one answering caress, then struggledfrom him.

  She had conquered not only Ramon Santos but Constance Dunlap.

  Early the next morning he was speeding southward over the clickingrails.

  Every energy must be bent toward keeping the new scheme secret until itwas carried out successfully. Not a hint must get to Drummond thatthere was any change in the activities of the Junta. As for the Juntaitself, there was no one of those who believed implicitly in Santoswhom Constance need fear, except Gordon. Gordon was the bete noire.

  Two days passed and she was able to guard the secret, as well as to actas though nothing had happened. Santos had left a short note for theJunta telling them that he would be away for a short time putting thefinishing touches on the purchase of the arms. The arrival of acartload of cases at the Junta, which Constance arranged for herself,bore out the letter. Still, she waited anxiously for word from him.

  The day set for the sailing of the _Arroyo_ arrived and with it at lasta telegram: "Buy corn, oats, wheat. Sell cotton."

  It was the code, telling of the safe arrival of the rifles, cartridgesand the counterfeiting plant in New Orleans, a little late, but safe."Sell cotton," meant
"I sail to-night."

  On the way over to the Junta, she had noticed one of Drummond's shadowsdogging her. She must do anything to keep the secret until that night.

  She hurried into the dusty ship chandlery. There was Gordon.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Dunlap," he cried. "You are just the person I amlooking for. Where is Santos? Has the plan been changed?"

  Constance thought she detected a shade of jealousy in the tone. At anyrate, Gordon was more attentive than ever.

  "I think he is in Bridgeport," she replied as casually as she could."Your ship, you know, sails to-night. He has sent word to me to giveorders that all the goods here at the Junta be ready to cart over bytruck to Brooklyn. There has been no change. The papers are to besigned during the day and she is to be scheduled to sail late in theafternoon with the tide. Only, as you know, some pretext must delayyou. You will hold her at the pier for us. He trusts all that to you asa master hand at framing such excuses that seem plausible."

  Gordon leaned over closer to her. He was positively revolting to her inthe role of admirer. But she must not offend him--yet.

  "And my answer!" he asked.

  There was something about him that made Constance almost draw awayinvoluntarily.

  "To-night--at the pier," she murmured forcing a smile.

  Shortly after dark the teams started their lumbering way across thecity and the bridge. Messengers, stationed on the way, were to reportthe safe progress of the trucks to Brooklyn.

  Constance slipped away from the boardinghouse, down through thedeserted streets to the waterfront, leaving word at home that anymessage was to be sent by a trusty boy to the pier.

  It was a foggy and misty night on the water, an ideal night for thegun-runner. She was relieved to learn that there had been not a hitchso far. Still, she reasoned, that was natural. Drummond, even if he hadnot been outwitted, would scarcely have spoiled the game until the lastmoment.

  On the _Arroyo_ every one was chafing. Below decks, the engineer andhis assistants were seeing that the machinery was in perfect order. Menin the streets were posted to give Gordon warning of any danger.

  In the river a tug was watching for a possible police boat. On thewharf the only footfalls were those of Gordon himself and an assistantfrom the Junta. It was dreary waiting, and Constance drew her coat moreclosely around her, as she shivered in the night wind and tried tobrace herself against the unexpected.

  At last the welcome muffled rumble of heavily laden carts disturbed themidnight silence of the street leading to the river.

  At once a score of men sprang from the hold of the ship, as if bymagic. One by one the cases were loaded. The men were workingfeverishly by the light of battle lanterns--big lamps with reflectorsso placed as to throw the light exactly where it was needed and nowhereelse. They were taking aboard the _Arroyo_ dozens of coffin-like woodencases, and bags and boxes, smaller and even heavier. Silently andswiftly they toiled.

  It was risky work, too, at night and in the tense haste. There was amuttered exclamation--a heavy case had dropped! a man had gone downwith a broken leg.

  It was a common thing with the gun-runners. The crew of the _Arroyo_had expected it. The victim of such an accident could not be sent to ahospital ashore. He was carried, as gently as the rough hands couldcarry anything, to one side, where he lay silently waiting for theship's surgeon who had been engaged for just such an emergency.Constance bent over and made the poor fellow as comfortable as shecould. There was never a whimper from him, but he looked his gratitude.

  Scarcely a fraction of a minute had been lost. The last cases were nowbeing loaded. The tug crawled up and made fast. Already the emptytrucks were vanishing in the misty darkness, one by one, as muffled asthey came.

  Suddenly lights flashed through the fog on the river.

  There was a hurried tread of feet on the land from around the corner ofa bleak, forbidding black warehouse.

  They were surrounded. On one side was the police boat Patrol. On theother was Drummond. With both was the Secret Service. The surprise wascomplete.

  Constance turned to Gordon. He was gone.

  Before she could move, some one seized her.

  "Where's Santos?" demanded a hoarse voice in her ear. She looked up tosee Drummond.

  She shut her lips tightly, secure in the secret that Ramon was at themoment or soon would be on the Gulf, out of reach.

  Across in the fog she strained her eyes. Was that the familiar figureof Gordon moving in the dim light?

  There he was, now,--with Drummond, the police, and the Secret Service.It was exactly as she had suspected to herself, and a smile played overher face.

  All was excitement, shouts, muttered imprecations. Constance was thecalmest in the crowd--deaf to even Drummond's "third degree."

  They had begun to break open the boxes marked "salt" and "corn."

  A loud exclamation above the sharp crunching of the axes escapedGordon. "Damn them! They've put one across on us!"

  The boxes of "salt" and "corn" contained--salt and corn.

  Not a stock of a rifle, not a barrel, not a cartridge was in any ofthem as the axes crashed in one case after another.

  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 toherself, of the money, her share, which she had hidden. There was not ascrap of tangible evidence against her, except what Santos had carriedwith him in the filibustering expedition already off from New Orleans.Her word would stand against that of all of the victims combined beforeany jury that could be empaneled.

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