She recalled also now having heard somewhere that it was a common characteristic of these poor creatures to have a passion for fast automobiling, to go on long rides, perhaps even without having the money to pay for them.  That, too, confirmed the idea which she had.

As the night advanced she determined to stick to her post.  What could it have been that Drummond was doing?  It was no good, she felt positive.

Suddenly before her eye, glued to its eavesdropping aperture, she saw a strange sight.  There was a violent commotion in the store.  Blue-coated policemen seemed to swarm in from nowhere.  And in the rear, directing them, appeared Drummond, holding by the arm the unfortunate Sleighbells, quaking with fear, evidently having been picked up already elsewhere by the wily detective.

Muller put up a stout resistance, but the officers easily seized him and, after a hasty but thorough search, unearthed his cache of the contraband drug.

As the scene unfolded, Constance was more and more bewildered after having witnessed that which preceded it, the signing of the letter and the passing of the money.  Muller evidently had nothing to say about that.  What did it mean?

The police were still holding Muller, and Constance had not noted that Drummond had disappeared.

“It’s on the first floor—­left, men,” sounded a familiar voice outside her own door.  “I know she’s there.  My shadow saw her buy the dope and take it home.”

Her heart was thumping wildly.  It was Drummond leading his squad of raiders, and they were about to enter the apartment of Adele.  They knocked, but there was no answer.

A few moments before Constance would have felt perfectly safe in saying that Adele was out.  But if Drummond’s man had seen her enter, might she not have been there all the time, be there still, in a stupor?  She dreaded to think of what might happen if the poor girl once fell into their hands.  It would be the final impulse that would complete her ruin.

Constance did not stop to reason it out.  Her woman’s intuition told her that now was the time to act—­that there was no retreat.

She opened her own door just as the raiders had forced in the flimsy affair that guarded the apartment of Adele.

“So!” sneered Drummond, catching sight of her in the dim light of the hallway.  “You are mixed up in these violations of the new drug law, too!”

Constance said nothing.  She had determined first to make Drummond display his hand.

“Well,” he ground out, “I’m going to get these people this time.  I represent the Medical Society and the Board of Health.  These men have been assigned to me by the Commissioner as a dope squad.  We want this girl.  We have others who will give evidence; but we want this one, too.”

He said it with a bluster that even exaggerated the theatrical character of the raid itself.  Constance did not stop to weigh the value of his words, but through the door she brushed quickly.  Adele might need her if she was indeed there.