And the more she thought of it the more imperative became the idea.
So it came about that the following forenoon Constance sought out the Melcombe Apartments, a huge stone and brick affair on a street which the uptown trend of population was transforming.
Anita Douglas, she had already found out by an inquiry or two, was the wife of a well-known business man.

Yet, as she entered the little apartment, she noticed that there was no evidence about it of a man's presence.
Mrs.Douglas greeted her unexpected visitor with an inquiring look.
"I was passing through the corridor of the Vanderveer yesterday afternoon," began Constance, leaping into the middle of her errand, "and I happened to see this envelope lying on the carpet.

I thought first of destroying it; then that perhaps you would rather destroy it yourself." Mrs.Douglas almost pounced on the letter as Constance handed it to her.

"Thank you," she exclaimed.

"It was very thoughtful of you." For a moment or two they chatted of inconsequential things.
"Who was your friend ?" asked Constance at length.
The woman caught her breath and flushed a bit, evidently wondering just how much Constance really knew.
"The young lady," added Constance, who had put the question in this form purposely.
"Why do you ask ?" Mrs.Douglas inquired in a tone that betrayed considerable relief.
"Because I can tell you something of her, I think." "A friend of mine--a Mrs.Murray.