it had been the reason why he had wanted to see her
before he went.

He had, in fact, spent the evening in her company, after the other
couple had excused themselves on one pretext or another.

She called up Alice Murray at the number she had given. She was not
there. In fact, no one seemed to know when she would be there. It was
strange, because always before it had seemed possible to get her at any
moment, almost instantly. That, too, worried her.

She tried to get the thing out of her mind, but she could not. She had
a sort of foreboding that her new friend had not spoken without reason,
a feeling of insecurity as though something were impending over her.

The crisis came sooner than even Constance had anticipated when she
called on Anita Douglas. It was early in the afternoon, while Anita was
still brooding, that a strange man called on her. Instinctively she
seemed to divine that he was a detective. He, at least, had the look.

"My name," he introduced himself, "is Drummond."

Drummond paused and glanced about as if to make sure that he could by
no possibility be overheard.

"I have called," he continued, "on a rather delicate matter."

He paused for effect, then went on:

"Some time ago I was employed by Mr. Douglas to--er--to watch his wife."

He was watching her narrowly to see what effect his sudden remark would
have on her. She was speechless.

"Since then," he added quietly, "I have watched, I have seen--what I
have seen."

Drummond had faced her. Somehow the effect of his words was more potent
on her than if he had not accused her by indirection. Still she said
nothing.

"I can suppress it," he insinuated.

Her heart was going like a trip-hammer.

"But it will cost something to do that."

Here was a straw--she caught at it eagerly.

"Cost something?" she repeated, facing him. "How much?"

Drummond never took his eyes from her anxious face.

"I was to get a fee of one thousand dollars if I obtained some letters
that had passed from her to a man named Lynn Munro. He has gone out of
town--has left his rooms unguarded. I have the letters."

She felt a sinking sensation. One thousand dollars!

Suddenly the truth of the situation flashed over her. He had come with
an offer that set her bidding against her husband for the letters. And
in a case of dollars her husband would win. One thousand dollars! It
was blackmail.

"I--I can't afford it," she pleaded weakly. "Can't you make it--less?"