Arthur B. Reeve

“ 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." ”

“ For a moment he hesitated, then bowed, and came over to her table.
"Peculiar places, these tea rooms," observed Drummond.
Constance was doing some quick thinking. Could this be the detective Florence Gibbons had mentioned?
"The only thing lacking to make them complete," he rattled on, "is a license. Now, take those places that have a ladies' bar—that do openly what tea rooms do covertly. They don't reckon with the attitude of women. This is New York—not Paris. Such things are years off. I don't say they'll not come or that women won't use them—but not by that name—not yet." ”

“ No hermit could find better and more complete solitude than in the heart of this great city."
Constance looked pityingly at the girl before her.
"Why can't you tell them," she suggested, "that you wanted to be independent, that you went away to make your own living?"
"But—they—my father—is well off. And they have this detective who follows me. He will find me some day—for the reward—and will tell the truth."
"The reward?"
"Yes—a thousand dollars. Don't you remember reading—"
The girl stopped short as if to check herself.
"You—you are Florence Gibbons!" ”

“ 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. "But she disappeared last night. A most peculiar girl—but a splendid worker."
"She has been ill," Constance hastened to explain. "I am a friend of hers. ”

“ Suddenly it flashed over Constance that Drummond might not be seeking the reward primarily, after all. His first object might be shielding Preston. She recollected that Mr. Gibbons had said nothing about Drummond, either one way or the other. And if he were both shielding Preston and working for the reward, he would care little how much Florence suffered. He might be playing both ends to serve himself.
She rang the elevator bell.
"Has anybody called at my apartment while I was out?" she asked.
"Yes'm. A man came here." ”

“ Constance did not reply. She ostentatiously slipped a little ivory-handled revolver into her handbag.
"It's a new one," she explained finally, "like nothing you ever heard of before, I guess. I bought it only the other day after a friend of mine told me about it."
Mrs. Palmer was watching her closely.
"You—you are a wonderful woman," she burst out finally. "It isn't good business, it isn't good sense."
Constance stopped short in her preparations for the search. "What are business and sense compared to the—the life of—"
She checked herself on the very point of revealing the girl's real name. ”

“ But he left me—left me in a place—across in Brooklyn. They said I was a fool, that some other fellow, perhaps better, with more money, would take care of me. But I left. I got a place in a factory. Then some one in the factory became suspicious. ”