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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.

“And remember,” Constance added in a tense voice, “for anything after your elopement–it’s aphasia, aphasia, APHASIA!”