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Page 40
He watched her face intently. Something in her expression seemed to
please him. "By George," he thought to himself, "this is a man's
woman. You can talk to her."
Brainard, accustomed to quick decisions, added aloud, "Just now they
are using Mrs. Brainard as a catspaw. They are spreading that
scandal about my acquaintance with Blanche Leblanc, the actress. You
have seen her? A stunning woman--wonderful. But I long ago saw that
such a friendship could lead to nothing but ruin." He met
Constance's eye squarely. There was nothing of the adventuress in it
as there had been in Blanche Leblanc. "And," he finished, almost
biting off the words, "I decided to cut it out."
"How does Blanche Leblanc figure in the Motor Trust trouble?" asked
Constance keenly.
"They had been shadowing me a long time before I knew it, ferreting
back into my past. Yesterday I learned that some one had broken into
Miss Leblanc's apartments and had stolen a package of letters which
I wrote to her. It can't hurt her. People expect that sort of thing
of an actress. But it can hurt the president of the Motor Trust--
just at present."
"Who has been doing the shadowing?"
"Worthington, the treasurer, is the guiding spirit of the
'insurgents' as they call themselves--it sounds popular, like
reform. I understand they have had a detective named Drummond
working for them."
Constance raised her eyes quickly at the name. "Was Drummond always
to cross her trail?
"This story of the letters," he went on, "puts on the finishing
touch. They have me all right on that. I can tell by the way that
Sybil--er, Mrs. Brainard--acts, that she has read and reread those
letters. But, by God," he concluded, bringing down his fist on the
desk, "I shall fight to the end, and when I go down,"--he emphasized
each word with an additional blow,--"the crash will bring down the
whole damned structure on their own heads, too."
He was too earnest even to apologize to her. Constance studied the
grim determination in the man's face. He was not one of those
destined to fail.
"All is not lost that is in peril, Mr. Brainard," she remarked
quietly. "That's one of the maxims of your own Wall Street."
"What would you do?" he asked. It was not an appeal; rather it was
an invitation.
"I can't say, yet. Let me come into the office of the Trust. Can't I
be your private secretary?"
"Consider yourself engaged. Name your figure--after it is over. My
record on the Streets speaks for how I stand by those who stand by
me. But I hate a quitter."
"So do I," exclaimed Constance, rising and giving him her hand in a
straight-arm shake that made Brainard straighten himself and look
down into her face with unconcealed admiration.
The next morning Constance became private secretary to the president
of the Motor Trust.
"You will be 'Miss' Dunlap," remarked Brainard. "It sounds more
plausible."
Quietly he arranged her duties so that she would seem to be very
busy without having anything which really interfered with the
purpose of her presence.
She had been thinking rapidly. Late in the forenoon she reached a
decision. A little errand uptown kept her longer than she expected,
but by the late afternoon she was back again at her desk, on which
rested a small package which had been delivered by messenger for
her.
"I beg you won't think as badly of me as it seems on the surface,
Miss Dunlap," remarked Brainard, stopping beside her desk.
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