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Page 71
Or was it suicide, as she had threatened? She could not believe it.
Nothing could have happened in such a short time to change her
resolution about revenge.
The recollection of all the stories she had read recently crossed
her mind. Could it be a case of drugs? The girl had given no
evidence of being a "dope" fiend.
Perhaps some one had entered, after all.
She thought of the so-called "poisoned needle" cases. Might she not
have been spirited off in that way? Constance had doubted the
stories. She knew that almost any doctor would say that it was
impossible to inject a narcotic by a sudden jab of a hypodermic
syringe. That was rather a slow, careful and deliberate operation,
to be submitted to with patience.
Yet Florence was gone!
Suddenly it flashed over Constance that Drummond might not be
seeking the reward primarily, after all. His first object might be
shielding Preston. She recollected that Mr. Gibbons had said nothing
about Drummond, either one way or the other. And if he were both
shielding Preston and working for the reward, he would care little
how much Florence suffered. He might be playing both ends to serve
himself.
She rang the elevator bell.
"Has anybody called at my apartment while I was out?" she asked.
"Yes'm. A man came here."
"And you let him up?"
"I didn't know you were out. You see I had just come on. He said he
was to meet some one at your apartment. And when he pressed the
buzzer, the door opened, and I ran the elevator down again. I
thought it was all right, ma'am."
"And then what?" inquired Constance breathlessly.
"Well, in about five minutes my bell rang. I ran the elevator up
again, and, waiting, was this man with a girl I had never seen
before. You understand--I thought it was all right--he told me he
was going to meet some one."
"Yes--yes. I understand. Oh, my God, if I had only thought to leave
word not to let her go. How did she look?"
"Her clothes, you mean, Ma'am?"
"No--her face, her eyes!"
"Beggin' your pardon, I thought she was--well, er,--acted queer--
scared--dazed-like."
"You didn't notice which way they went, I suppose!"
"No ma'am, I didn't."
Constance turned back again into her empty apartment, heart-sick. In
spite of all she had planned and done, she was defeated--worse than
defeated. Where was Florence! What might not happen to her! She
could have sat down and cried. Instead she passed a feverishly
restless night.
All the next day passed, and still not a word. She felt her own
helplessness. She could not appeal to the police. That might defeat
the very end she sought. She was single-handed. For all she knew,
she was fighting the almost limitless power of brains and money of
Preston. Inquiry developed the fact that Preston himself was
reported to be in Chicago with his fiancee. Time and again she was
on the point of making the journey to let him know that some one at
least was watching him. But, she reflected, if she did that she
might miss the one call from Florence for help.
Then she thought bitterly of the false hopes she had raised in the
despairing father of Florence Gibbons. It was maddening.
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