A moment later the man was in the room with them.  It was Drummond, the same sneer, the same assurance in his manner.

“So,” he snarled at Constance.  “You here?”

“I seem to be here,” she answered calmly.  “Why?”

“Never mind why,” he blustered.  “I knew you saw me the other night.  I heard you tell ’em to hit it up so as to shake me.  But I found out all right.”

“Found out what?” asked Constance coldly.

“Say, that’s about your style, isn’t it?  You always get in when it comes to trimming the good spenders, don’t you?”

“Mr. Drummond,” she replied, “I don’t care to talk to you.”

“You don’t, hey?  Well, perhaps, when the time comes you’ll have to talk.  How about that?”

She was thinking rapidly.  Was Mrs. Warrington preparing to strike a blow that would be the last impulse necessary to send the plunger down for the last time?  She decided to take a chance, to temporize until some one else made a move.

“I’d thank you to place your fingers on this pad,” said Constance quietly.  “I’m making a collection of these things.”

“You are, are you?”

“Yes,” she cut short.  “And if my collection isn’t large enough I shall call up Mrs. Warrington and ask her to come over, too,” she added significantly.

Floretta entered again.  “Please wipe the ink off Mr. Drummond’s fingers,” ordered Constance quietly, still holding out the pad.

“Confound your impudence,” he ground out, seizing the pad.  “There!  What do you mean by Mrs. Warrington?  What has she to do with this?  Have a care, Mrs. Dunlap—­you’re on the wrong track here, and going the wrong way.”

“Mr. Warrington is—­” began Floretta.

“Show him in—­quick,” demanded Constance, determined to bring the affair to a show-down on the spot.

As the door swung open, Warrington looked at the group in unfeigned surprise.

“Mr. Warrington,” greeted Constance without giving any of the others a chance, “this morning, I heard a little conversation up here.  Floretta, will you go into the little room, and on the top shelf you will find a bottle.  Bring it here carefully.  I have a sheet of paper, also, which I am going to show you.  I had already seen the little woman, Mr. Warrington, whom you have treated so unjustly.  She was here trying vainly to win you back by those arts which she thinks must appeal to you.”

Floretta returned with the bottle and placed it on the secretary beside Constance.

“Some one took some tablets from this bottle and gave them to some one else who wrote on this paper,” she resumed, bending first over the paper she had torn from the pad.  “Ah, a loop with twelve ridges, another loop, a whorl, a whorl, a loop.  The marks on this paper correspond precisely with those made here just now by—­Vera Charmant herself!”

“You get out of here—­quick,” snarled Drummond, placing himself between the now furious Vera and Constance.