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Page 39
Mrs. Noble was crying softly to herself. They still had her notes
for thousands.
Halsey saw her. Instantly he forgot his own case. What was to be
done about her? He telegraphed a mute appeal to Constance, forgetful
of himself now. Constance was fingering the switch of the
telegraphone.
"Drummond," remarked Constance significantly, as though other
secrets might still be contained in the marvelous little mechanical
detective, "Drummond, don't you think, for the sake of your own
reputation as a detective, it might be as well to keep this thing
quiet?"
For a moment the detective gripped his wrath and seemed to consider
the damaging record of his conversation with Bella LeMar.
"Perhaps," he agreed sullenly.
Constance reached into her chatelaine. From it she drew an ordinary
magnet, and slowly pulled off the armature.
"If I run this over the wires," she hinted, holding it near the
spools, "the record will be wiped out." She paused impressively.
"Let me have those I O U's of Mrs. Noble's. By the way, you might as
well give me that blank stock, too. There is no use in that, now."
As she laid the papers in a pile on the table before her she added
the old forged certificates from Halsey's pocket. There it lay, the
incriminating, ruining evidence.
Deliberately she passed the magnet over the thin steel wire, wiping
out what it had recorded, as if the recording angel were blotting
out from the book of life.
"Try it, Drummond," she cried, dropping on her knees before the open
fireplace. "You will find the wire a blank."
There was a hot, sudden blaze as the pile of papers from the table
flared up.
"There," she exclaimed. "These gambling debts were not even debts of
honor. If you will call a cab, Haddon, I have reserved a table at
Jade's for you and Mrs. Noble. It is a farewell. Drummond will not
occupy his place in the corner to-night. But--after it--you are to
forget--both of you--forever. You understand?"
CHAPTER V
THE EAVESDROPPERS
"I suppose you have heard something about the troubles of the Motor
Trust? The other directors, you know, are trying to force me out."
Rodman Brainard, president of the big Motor Corporation, searched
the magnetic depths of the big brown eyes of the woman beside his
desk. Talking to Constance Dunlap was not like talking to other
women he had known, either socially or in business.
"A friend of yours, and of mine," he added frankly, "has told me
enough about you to convince me that you are more than an amateur at
getting people out of tight places. I asked you to call because I
think you can help me."
There was a directness about Brainard which Constance liked.
"It's very kind of you to place such confidence in me--on such short
acquaintance," she returned pointedly, searching his face.
Brainard laughed.
"I don't need to tell you, Mrs. Dunlap, that anything I have said so
far is an open secret in Wall Street. They have threatened to drag
in the Sherman law, and in the reorganization that will follow the
investigation, they plan to eliminate Rodman Brainard--perhaps set
in motion the criminal clauses of the law. It's nothing, Mrs.
Dunlap, but a downright hypocritical pose. They reverse the usual
process. It is doing good that evil may result."
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