Constance had jammed the receiver back on the hook hastily.

Florence Gibbons, wild-eyed, trembling, imploring, had flung her arms about her neck.

“No—­no—­no,” she cried.  “I can’t.  I won’t.”

With a force that was almost masculine, Constance took the girl by both shoulders.

“The one thousand dollar reward which comes to me,” said Constance decisively, “will help us—­straighten out those few little matters with Preston.  Mrs. Palmer can stretch the time which you have worked for her.”

Something of Constance’s will seemed to be infused into Florence Gibbons by force of suggestion.

“And remember,” Constance added in a tense voice, “for anything after your elopement—­it’s aphasia, aphasia, aphasia!”

CHAPTER IX

THE SHOPLIFTERS

“Madam, would you mind going with me for a few moments to the office on the third floor?”

Constance Dunlap had been out on a shopping excursion.  She had stopped at the jewelry counter of Stacy’s to have a ring repaired and had gone on to the leather goods department to purchase something else.

The woman who spoke to her was a quietly dressed young person, quite inconspicuous, with a keen eye that seemed to take in everything within a radius of a wide-angled lens at a glance.

She leaned over and before Constance could express even surprise, added in a whisper, “Look in your bag.”

Constance looked hastily, then realized what had happened.  The ring was gone!

It gave her quite a shock, too, for the ring, a fine diamond, was a present from her husband, one of the few pieces of jewelry, treasured not only for its intrinsic value but as a remembrance of Carlton and the supreme sacrifice he had made for her.

She had noticed nothing in the crowd, nothing more than she had noticed scores of times before.  The woman watched her puzzled look.

“I’ve been following you,” she said.  “By this time the other store detectives must have caught the shoplifter and bag-opener who touched you.  You see, we don’t make any arrests in the store if we can help it, because we don’t like to make a scene.  It’s bad for business.  Besides, if she had anything else, we are safer when the case comes to court, if we have caught her actually leaving the store with it.  Of course, when we make an arrest on the sidewalk, we bring the shoplifter back, but in a private, back elevator.”

Constance was following the young woman mechanically.  At least there was a chance of recovering the ring.

“She was standing next to you at the jewelry counter,” she continued, “and if you will help identify her the store management will appreciate it—­and make it worth your while.  Besides,” she urged, “It’s really your duty to do it, madam.”

Constance remembered now the rather simply but richly gowned young woman who had been standing next to her at the counter, seemingly unable to decide which of a number of beautiful rings she really wanted.  She remembered because, with her own love of beauty, she had wanted one herself, in fact had thought at the time that she, too, might have difficulty in choosing.