"And why again ?" she queried curtly.
"I am informed," he went on coolly ignoring her curtness, "that there is a guest in this house named Santos--Ramon Santos." He said it in a half insinuating, half questioning tone.
"You might inquire of the landlady," replied Constance, now perfectly composed.
"Mrs.Dunlap," he burst forth, exasperated, "what is the use of beating about?
Do you know the real character of this Santos!" "It is a matter of perfect indifference," she returned.
"Then you do not think a warning from me worth troubling about ?" demanded the detective.
Constance continued to stand as if to terminate the interview.
"I came here," continued the detective showing no evidence of taking the hint, "to make a proposition to you.

Mrs.Dunlap, you are in bad again.

But this time there is a chance for you to get out without risk.
I--I think I may talk plainly?
We understand each other!" His manner had changed.

Constance could not have described to herself the loathing she felt for the man as it suddenly flashed over her what he was after.

If she had resented his familiarity before, it brought the stinging blood to her cheeks now to realize that he was actually seeking to persuade her to betray her friends.
"Do you want to know what I think ?" she scorned, then without waiting added, "I think you are a crook--a blackmailer,--that's what I think of a private detective like you." The defiance of the little woman amazed even Drummond.