Constance was on her feet in a moment.

“You are a lot of cheats and swindlers,” she cried, seizing the cards before any one could interfere.

Deftly she laid out the four aces beside the four deuces, the four kings beside the four queens.  It was done so quickly that even Halsey, in his amazement, could find nothing to say.  Mrs. Noble paled and was speechless.  As for Bella and Watson, nothing could have aroused them more than the open charge that they were using false devices.

Yet never for a moment did Watson lose his iron cynicism.

“Prove it,” he demanded.  “As for Mr. Halsey, he may pay or I’ll show the stock I already hold to the proper people.”

Constance was facing Watson, as calm as he.

“Show it,” she said quietly.

There was a knock at the door.

“Don’t let any one in,” ordered Bella of the maid, who had already opened the door.

A man’s foot had been inserted into the opening.  “What’s the matter, Chloe?”

“Good Lawd, Mis’ Bella—­we done been raided!” burst out the maid as the door flew wholly open.

Halsey staggered back.  “A detective!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, what shall I do!” wailed Mrs. Noble.  “My husband will never forgive me if this becomes known.”

Bella was as calm as a good player with a royal straight flush.

“I’ve caught you at last,” fairly hissed Drummond.  “And you, too, Mrs. Dunlap.  Watson, I overheard something about some stock.  Let me see it.  I think it will interest International Surety as well as Exporters and Manufacturers.”

Through the still open door Constance had darted across the hall to her apartment.

“Not so fast,” cried Drummond.  “You can’t escape.  The front door is guarded.  You can’t get out.”

She was gone, but a moment later emerged from the darkness of her rooms, carrying the oak box.

As she set it down on the card table, no one said a word.  Deliberately she opened the box, disclosing two spools of wire inside.  To the machine she attached several head pieces such as a telephone operator wears.  She turned a switch and the wire began to unroll from one spool and wind up on the other again.

A voice, or rather voices, seemed to come from the box itself.  It was uncanny.

“Hello, is this Mrs. LeMar?” came from it.

“What is it?” whispered Halsey, as if fearful of being overheard.

“A telegraphone,” replied Constance, shutting it off for a moment.

“A telegraphone?  What is that?”

“A machine for registering telephone conversations, dictation, anything of the sort you wish.  It was invented by Valdemar Poulsen, the Danish Edison.  This is one of his new wire machines.  The record is made by a new process, localized charges of magnetism on this wire.  It is as permanent as the wire itself.  There is only one thing that can destroy them—­rubbing over the wire with this magnet.  Listen.”