"I think you are a material witness in the Stacy case, anyhow." Constance felt bitterly her defeat.

Still she went with them.

There was always a chance that something might turn up.
As they entered the door of the kitchenette loud voices told them that some one was disputing inside.
Drummond strode in.
The sight of a huge pile of stuff that two strange men had drawn out of drawers and closets and stacked on the table riveted Constance's eyes.
Only dimly she could hear that Annie Grayson was violently threatening Drummond, who stood coolly surveying the scene.
The stuff on the table was, in fact, quite enough to dazzle the eyes.
There were articles of every sort and description there--silks, laces, jewelry and trinkets, little antiques, even rare books--everything small and portable, some of the richest and most exquisite, others of the cheapest and most tawdry.

It was a truly remarkable collection, which the raiding detectives had brought to light.
As Constance took in the scene--the raiding detectives holding the stormy Annie Grayson at bay, Drummond, cool, supercilious, Kitty almost on the edge of collapse--she wondered how Jim Grayson had managed to slip through the meshes of the net.
She had read of such things.

Annie Grayson was to all appearances a "fence" for stolen goods.