Constance had quietly laid one of the erased checks on the library table.  Again she dipped the sponge into the brownish liquid.  Again the magic touch revealed the telltale name.  With her finger she was pointing to the faintly legible “Helen Brett” on the check as the sulphide had brought it out.

Douglas stared-dazed.

He rubbed his eyes and stared again as the last of the flickering fire died away.  In an instant he realized that it was not a dream, that it was all a fact.

He looked from one to the other of the women.

He was checkmated.

Constance ostentatiously folded up the erased vouchers.

“I—­I shall not—­make any—­contest,” Douglas managed to gasp huskily.

CHAPTER XI

THE DOPE FIENDS

“I have a terrible headache,” remarked Constance Dunlap to her friend, Adele Gordon, the petite cabaret singer and dancer of the Mayfair, who had dropped in to see her one afternoon.

“You poor, dear creature,” soothed Adele.  “Why don’t you go to see Dr. Price?  He has cured me.  He’s splendid—­splendid.”

Constance hesitated.  Dr. Moreland Price was a well-known physician.  All day and even at night, she knew, automobiles and cabs rolled up to his door and their occupants were, for the most part, stylishly gowned women.

“Oh, come on,” urged Adele.  “He doesn’t charge as highly as people seem to think.  Besides, I’ll go with you and introduce you, and he’ll charge only as he does the rest of us in the profession.”

Constance’s head throbbed frantically.  She felt that she must have some relief soon.  “All right,” she agreed, “I’ll go with you, and thank you, Adele.”

Dr. Price’s office was on the first floor of the fashionable Recherche Apartments, and, as she expected, Constance noted a line of motor cars before it.

They entered and were admitted to a richly furnished room, in mahogany and expensive Persian rugs, where a number of patients waited.  One after another an attendant summoned them noiselessly and politely to see the doctor, until at last the turn of Constance and Adele came.

Dr. Price was a youngish, middle-aged man, tall, with a sallow countenance and a self-confident, polished manner which went a long way in reassuring the patients, most of whom were ladies.

As they entered the doctor’s sanctum behind the folding doors, Adele seemed to be on very good terms indeed with him.

They seated themselves in the deep leather chairs beside Dr. Price’s desk, and he inclined his head to listen to the story of their ailments.

“Doctor,” began Constance’s introducer, “I’ve brought my friend, Mrs. Dunlap, who is suffering from one of those awful headaches.  I thought perhaps you could give her some of that medicine that has done me so much good.”

The doctor bowed without saying anything and shifted his eyes from Adele to Constance.  “Just what seems to be the difficulty?” he inquired.