They were alone, and a week had made much difference in the fascinating friendship to Constance.

“Let me show you what I have done,” Ramon confided.  “Already, I have started together the ‘counterfeiting plant,’ as you call it.”

Piece by piece, as he had been able to afford them, he had been ordering the presses, the stamping machine, and a little “reeding” or milling machine for the edges of the coins.

“The paper, the ink, and the bullion, we shall order now as we can,” he explained, resting his head on his elbow at the table beside her.  “Everything will be secured from firms which make mint supplies for foreign governments.  A photo-engraver is now engaged on the work of copying the notes.  He is making the plates by the photo-etching process—­the same as that by which the real money plates are made.  Then, too, there will be dies for the coins.  Coined silver will be worth, twice the cost of the bullion to us.  Why,” he added eagerly, “a few more successful days, Senora, and we shall have even arms and ammunition.”

A key turned in the door.  Santos sprang to his feet.  It was Gordon.

“Ah, good evening,” the Captain greeted them.  The fact that they had been talking so earnestly alone was not lost on him.  “May I join the conspiracy?” he smiled.  “What luck to-day?  By the way, I have just heard of a consignment of a thousand rifles as good as new that can be bought for a song.”

Santos, elated at the progress so far, told hastily of Constance’s success.  “Let us get an option on them for a few days,” he cried.

“Good,” agreed Gordon, “only,” he added, shaking his finger playfully at Constance, as the three left the headquarters, “don’t let the commander-in-chief monopolize all your time, Remember, we all need you now.  Santos, that was an inspiration to get Mrs. Dunlap on our side.”

Somehow she felt uncomfortable.  She half imagined that a frown had flitted over Santos’ face.

“Are you going to Brooklyn?” she asked him.

“No, we shall be working at the Junta late to-night,” he replied, as they parted at the subway, he and Gordon to secure the option on the guns, she to plan for the morrow.

“I have made a good beginning,” she congratulated herself, when, later in her rooms, she was going over the list of names of commission merchants who handled produce of South American countries.

There was a tap on the door.

Quickly, she shoved the list into the drawer of the table.

“A gentleman to see you, downstairs, ma’am,” announced the maid.

As she pushed aside the portieres, her heart gave a leap—­it was Drummond.

“Mrs. Dunlap,” began the wily detective, seeming to observe everything with eyes that seldom had the appearance of looking at anything, “I think you will recall that we have met before.”

Constance bit her lip.  “And why again?” she queried curtly.