The door buzzer sounded and he stepped in, perhaps to bolster up his client in case he should be weakening.
As he met Constance's eye he smiled superciliously and was about to speak.

But she did not give him time even to say good evening.
"Ask him," she cried, her eyes flashing, for she realized that it had been part of the plan to confront her, perhaps worm out of her just enough to confirm Drummond's own story to Caswell, "ask him to tell the truth--if he is capable of it--not the truth that will make a good daily report of a hired shadow who colors his report the way he thinks his client desires it, but the real truth." "Mr.Caswell," interrupted Drummond, "this woman----" "Mr.Drummond," cried Constance, rising and shaking the burnt stub of the little gold-banded cigarette at him to impress it on his mind, "Mr.
Drummond, I don't care whether I am a--a she-devil"-- she almost hissed the words at him--"but I have evidence enough to go before the district attorney of this city and the grand jury and get indictments for conspiracy against a certain clairvoyant and a bucket shop operator.

To save themselves, they will probably tell all they know about a certain crook who has been using them." Caswell looked at her, amazed at her denunciation of the detective.

As for Drummond, he turned his back on her as if to ignore her utterly.
"Mr.Caswell," he said bitterly, "in those reports--" "Forest Caswell," insisted Constance, rising and facing him, "if you have in that heart of yours one shred of manhood it should move you.
You--this man--the others--have placed in the path of a woman every provocation, every temptation for financial, physical, and moral ruin.
She has consulted a clairvoyant--yes.

She has speculated--yes.