s cynical inconsequentialities masked.

"I think it adds to the interest," she observed, watching him
furtively, "this evasion of the laws."

Drummond was casting about for something to do and, naturally, to a
mind like his, a drink was the solution. Evidently, however, there were
degrees of brazenness, even in tea rooms. The Betsy Ross not only would
not produce a labeled bottle and an obvious glass but stoutly denied
their ability to fill such an order, even whispered.

"Russian tea?" suggested Drummond cryptically.

"How will you have it--with Scotch or rye?" asked the waitress.

"Bourbon," hazarded Drummond.

When the "Russian tea" arrived it was in a neat little pot with two
others, the first containing real tea and the second hot water. It was
served virtuously in tea cups, so opaquely concealed that no one but
the clandestine drinker could know what sort of poison was being served.

Mrs. Palmer was evidently later than expected. Drummond fidgeted after
the manner of a man out of his accustomed habitat. And yet he did not
seem to be interested really in Constance, or even in Mrs. Palmer. For
after a few moments, he rose and excused himself.

"How did HE come here?" Constance asked herself over and over.

As far as she could reason it out, there could be only one reason.
Drummond was clearly up with Florence. Did he also know that Constance
was shielding her?

The more she thought of it, the more she shuddered at the tactless way
in which the detective would perform the act of "charity" by
discovering the lost girl--and pocketing the reward.

If her family only knew, how eagerly they might let her come back in
her own way. She looked up the address of Everett Gibbons while she was
waiting, a half-formed plan taking definite shape in her mind.

What--she did must be done quickly. Here at the tea room at least
Florence, or rather Viola, was known. Perhaps the best way, after all,
was to let her be discovered here. They could not deny that she had
been working for them acceptably for some time.

Half an hour later, Mrs. Palmer, a bustling business woman, came in and
the waitress pointed her out to Constance.

"Did you have a waitress here named Viola Cole?" began Constance,
watching keenly the effect of her inquiry.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Palmer in a tone of interest that reassured
Constance that, if there were any connection between Drummond's
presence and Mrs. Palmer, it was wholly on his seeking. "Bu