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Page 74
Constance had seized Mrs. Palmer by the arm, and, acting in concert,
they threw both their weights against the thin wooden door.
It yielded with a crash.
Inside the room was dark.
Indistinctly Constance could make out two figures, one standing, the
other seated in a deep rocker.
A suppressed exclamation of surprise was followed by a hasty lunge
of the standing figure toward her.
Constance reached quickly into her handbag and drew out the little
ivory-handled pistol.
"Bang!" it spat almost into the man's face.
Choking, sputtering, the man groped a minute blindly, then fell on
the floor and frantically tried to rise again and call out.
The words seemed to stick in his throat.
"You--you shot him?" gasped a woman's voice which Constance now knew
was Florence's.
"With the new German Secret Service gun," answered Constance
quietly, keeping it leveled to cow any assistance that might be
brought. "It blinds and stupefies without killing--a bulletless
revolver intended to check and render harmless the criminal instead
of maiming him. The cartridges contain several chemicals that
combine when they are exploded and form a vapor which blinds a man
and puts him out. No one wants to kill such a person as this."
She reached over and switched on the lights.
The man on the floor was Drummond himself.
"You will tell your real employer, Mr. Preston," she added
contemptuously, "that unless he agrees to our story of his elopement
with Florence, marries her, and allows her to start an undefended
action for divorce, we intend to make use of the new federal Mann
Act--with a jail sentence--for both of you."
Drummond looked up sullenly, still blinking and choking.
"And not a word of this until the suit is filed. Then WE will see
the reporters--not he. Understand?"
"Yes," he muttered, still clutching his throat.
An hour later Constance was at the telephone in her own apartment.
"Mr. Gibbons? I must apologize for troubling you at this late, or
rather early, hour. But I promised you something which I could not
fulfill until now. This is the Mrs. Dunlap who called on you the
other day with a clue to your daughter Florence. I have found her--
yes--working as a waitress in the Betsy Ross Tea Boom. No--not a
word to anyone--not even to her mother. No--not a word. You can see
her to-morrow--at my apartment. She is going to live with me for a
few days until--well--until we get a few little matters straightened
out."
Constance had jammed the receiver back on the hook hastily.
Florence Gibbons, wild-eyed, trembling, imploring, had flung her
arms about her neck.
"No--no--no," she cried. "I can't. I won't."
With a force that was almost masculine, Constance took the girl by
both shoulders.
"The one thousand dollar reward which comes to me," said Constance
decisively, "will help us--straighten out those few little matters
with Preston. Mrs. Palmer can stretch the time which you have worked
for her."
Something of Constance's will seemed to be infused into Florence
Gibbons by force of suggestion.
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