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“Good,” exclaimed the Captain.

There was that in his voice that caused her to look at him quickly. Santos had noticed it, too, and a sullen scowl spread over his face.

Intuitively Constance read the two men before her. She had fled from one problem to a greater. Both Santos and Gordon were in love with her.

In the whirl of this new discovery, two things alone crowded all else from her mind. She must contrive to hold off Drummond until that part of the expedition which was ready could be got off. And she must play the jealous rivals against each other with such finesse as to keep them separated.

Far into the night after she had left the Junta she debated the question with herself. She could not turn back now. The attentions of Gordon were offensive. Yet she could have given no other reason than that she liked Santos the better. Yet what was Santos to her, after all? Once she had let herself go too far. She must be careful in this case. She must not allow this to be other than a business proposition.

The crisis for her came sooner than she had anticipated. It was the day after the visit of Drummond. She was waiting at the Junta alone for Santos when Gordon entered. She had dreaded just that. There was no mistaking the man.

“Mrs. Dunlap,” began Gordon bending down close over her.

She was almost trembling with emotion, and he saw it.

“You can read me like a book,” he hurried on, mistaking her feelings. “I can see that you know how much I think of you–how much I–“

“No, no,” she implored. “Don’t talk to me that way. Remember–there is work to do. After it is over–then–“

“Work!” he scorned. “What is the whole of Central America to me compared to you?”

“Captain Gordon!” she stood facing him. “You must not. Listen to me. You do not know–I–please, please leave me. Let me think.”

She did not dare accept him; she could not reject him. It seemed that with an almost superhuman effort Gordon gripped himself. But he did not go.

Constance was distracted, what if Santos with his fiery nature should find Gordon talking to her alone? She must temporize.

“One week,” she murmured. “When the Arroyo sails–that night–I shall give you my answer.”

Gordon shot a peculiar glance at her–half doubt, half surprise. But she was gone. As she hurried unexpectedly out of the Junta she fancied she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure. It must have been Drummond. Every move at the Junta was being watched.

At the boarding house all night she waited. She must see Santos. Plan after plan whirled through her brain as the hours dragged.

It was not until almost morning that, seeing a light, he tapped cautiously at her door.

“You were not at the Junta to-night,” he remarked.

There was something of jealousy in the tone.

“No. There is something I wanted to say to you where we should not be interrupted,” she answered as he sat down.

A fold of her filmy house dress fluttered near him. Involuntarily he moved closer. His eyes met hers. She could feel the passions surging in the man beside her.

“I saw Drummond again, to-day,” she began. “Captain Gordon–“

The intense look of hatred that blazed in the eyes of Santos frightened her. What might have happened if he instead of Gordon had met her at the Junta she could not have said. But now she must guard against it. If flashed over her that there was only one thing to be done.

She rose and laid her hand on his arm. As quickly the look changed. There was only one way to do it; she must make this man think they understood each other without saying so.

“You must get the counterfeiting plant down on the island– immediately–alone. Don’t tell any of the others until it is there safely. You were going to send it down on the Arroyo next week. It must not go from New York at all. It must be shipped by rail, and then from New Orleans. You must–“