But she must not offend him--yet.
"And my answer!" he asked.
There was something about him that made Constance almost draw away involuntarily.
"To-night--at the pier," she murmured forcing a smile.
Shortly after dark the teams started their lumbering way across the city and the bridge.

Messengers, stationed on the way, were to report the safe progress of the trucks to Brooklyn.
Constance slipped away from the boardinghouse, down through the deserted streets to the waterfront, leaving word at home that any message was to be sent by a trusty boy to the pier.
It was a foggy and misty night on the water, an ideal night for the gun-runner.

She was relieved to learn that there had been not a hitch so far.

Still, she reasoned, that was natural.

Drummond, even if he had not been outwitted, would scarcely have spoiled the game until the last moment.
On the _Arroyo_ every one was chafing.