buzzer
sounded.

"Constance, I've been looking for you all day," sighed Mildred,
dropping sobbing into a chair. "I am--distracted."

"Why, my dear, what's the matter?" asked Constance. "Let me make you a
cup of coffee."

Over the steaming little cups Mildred grew more calm.

"Forest has found out in some way that I am speculating in Wall
Street," she confided at length. "I suppose some of his friends--he has
lots down there--told him."

Momentarily the picture of Drummond back of the post in Davies'
building flashed over Constance.

"And he is awfully angry. Oh, I never knew him to be so angry--and
sarcastic, too."

"Was it wholly over your money?" asked Constance. "Was there nothing
else?"

Mrs. Caswell started. "You grow more weird, every day, Constance.
Yes--there was something else."

"Mr. Davies?"

Mildred had risen. "Don't--don't--" she cried.

"Then you do really--care for him!" asked Constance mercilessly.

"No--no, a thousand times--no. How can I? I have put all such thoughts
out of my mind--long ago." She paused, then went on more calmly,
"Constance, believe me or not--I am just as good a woman to-day as I
was the day I married Forest. No--I would not even let the thought
enter my head--never!"

For perhaps an hour after her friend had gone, Constance sat thinking.
What should she do? Something must be done and soon. As she thought,
suddenly the truth flashed over her.

Caswell had employed Drummond to shadow his wife in the hope that he
might unearth something that might lead to a divorce. Drummond, like so
many divorce detectives, was not averse to guiding events, to put it
mildly. He had ingratiated himself, perhaps, with the clairvoyant and
Davies. Constance had often heard before of clairvoyants and brokers
who worked in conjunction to fleece the credulous. Now another and more
serious element than the loss of money was involved. Added to them was
a divorce detective--and honor itself was at stake. She remembered the
doped cigarettes. She had heard of them before at clairvoyants'. She
saw it all--Madame Cassandra playing on Mildred's wounded affections,
the broker on both that and her desire to be independent--and Drummond
pulling the wires that all might take advantage of her woman's frailty.

That moment Constance determined on action.

First she telephoned to deForest Caswell at his office. It was an
unconventional thing to do to ask him to call, but she made some
plausible prete