The Betsy Ross not only would not produce a labeled bottle and an obvious glass but stoutly denied their ability to fill such an order, even whispered.
"Russian tea ?" suggested Drummond cryptically.
"How will you have it--with Scotch or rye ?" asked the waitress.
"Bourbon," hazarded Drummond.
When the "Russian tea" arrived it was in a neat little pot with two others, the first containing real tea and the second hot water.

It was served virtuously in tea cups, so opaquely concealed that no one but the clandestine drinker could know what sort of poison was being served.
Mrs.Palmer was evidently later than expected.

Drummond fidgeted after the manner of a man out of his accustomed habitat.

And yet he did not seem to be interested really in Constance, or even in Mrs.Palmer.

For after a few moments, he rose and excused himself.
"How did HE come here ?" Constance asked herself over and over.
As far as she could reason it out, there could be only one reason.
Drummond was clearly up with Florence.