Yet it did not satisfy Constance.  She could not believe that Adele had committed suicide.  Adele must possess some secret.  What was it?

“Is—­is there any change?” she asked anxiously of the young surgeon now engrossed in his work.

For answer he merely nodded to the apparently motionless form on the bed, and for a moment stopped the pulmotor.

The mechanical movement of the body ceased.  But in its place was a slight tremor about the lips and mouth.

Adele moved—­was faintly gasping for breath!

“Adele!” cried Constance softly in her ear.  “Adele!”

Something, perhaps a far-away answer of recognition, seemed to flicker over her face.  The doctor redoubled his efforts.

“Adele—­do you know me?” whispered Constance again.

“Yes,” came back faintly at last.  “There—­there’s something—­wrong with it—­They—­they—­”

“How?  What do you mean?” urged Constance.  “Tell me, Adele.”

The girl moved uneasily.  The doctor administered a stimulant and she vaguely opened her eyes, began to talk hazily, dreamily.  Constance bent over to catch the faint words which would have been lost to the others.

“They—­are going to—­double cross the Health Department,” she murmured as if to herself, then gathering strength she went on, “Muller and Sleighbells will be arrested and take the penalty.  They have been caught with the goods, anyhow.  It has all been arranged so that the detective will get his case.  Money—­will be paid to both of them, to Muller and the detective, to swing the case and protect him.  He made me do it.  I saw the detective, even danced with him and he agreed to do it.  Oh, I would do anything—­I am his willing tool when I have the stuff.  But—­this time—­it was—­” She rambled off incoherently.

“Who made you do it?  Who told you?” prompted Constance.  “For whom would you do anything?”

Adele moaned and clutched Constance’s hand convulsively.  Constance did not pause to consider the ethics of questioning a half-unconscious girl Her only idea was to get at the truth.

“Who was it?” she reiterated.

Adele turned weakly.

“Dr. Price,” she murmured as Constance bent her ear to catch even the faintest sound.  “He told me—­all about it—­last night—­in the car.”

Instantly Constance understood.  Adele was the only one outside who held the secret, who could upset the carefully planned frame-up that was to protect the real head of the dope trust who had paid liberally to save his own wretched skin.

She rose quickly and wheeled about suddenly on Drummond.

“You will convict Dr. Price also,” she said in a low tone.  “This girl must not be dragged down, too.  You will leave her alone, and both you and Mr. Muller will hand over that money to her for her cure of the habit.”

Drummond started forward angrily, but fell back as Constance added in a lower but firmer tone, “Or I’ll have you all up on a charge of attempting murder.”