Good-night."
In her own room she paced the floor nervously, now that the strain was off. Should she desert Santos and save herself? He had more need of her help now than ever before. She did not stop to a.n.a.lyze her own feelings. She knew he had been making love to her during the past week as only a Spaniard could. It fascinated her without blinding her. Yes, she would match her wits against this detective, clever though she knew he was. But Santos must be warned.
Santos and Gordon were alone when she burst in on them, breathlessly, an hour later at the Junta.
"What is the matter?" inquired Ramon quickly, placing a chair for her.
Gordon looked his admiration for the little woman, though he did not speak it. She saw him cast a sidewise glance at Santos and herself.
Though the three were friends, it was evident to her that Gordon did not trust Santos any further than the suspicious Anglo-Saxon trusts a foreigner usually when there is a woman in the case.
"The Secret Service!" exclaimed Constance. "I have just had a visit from a private detective employed by one of the consulates. They know too much. He has threatened to tell all to the Secret Service, has even had the effrontery to ask me to betray you."
"The scoundrel," burst out Santos impulsively.
"You are not frightened?" Gordon asked quickly.
"On the contrary, I expected something of the sort soon, but not from this man. I can meet him!"
"Good," exclaimed the Captain.
There was that in his voice that caused her to look at him quickly.
Santos had noticed it, too, and a sullen scowl spread over his face.
Intuitively Constance read the two men before her. She had fled from one problem to a greater. Both Santos and Gordon were in love with her.
In the whirl of this new discovery, two things alone crowded all else from her mind. She must contrive to hold off Drummond until that part of the expedition which was ready could be got off. And she must play the jealous rivals against each other with such finesse as to keep them separated.
Far into the night after she had left the Junta she debated the question with herself. She could not turn back now. The attentions of Gordon were offensive. Yet she could have given no other reason than that she liked Santos the better. Yet what was Santos to her, after all? Once she had let herself go too far. She must be careful in this case. She must not allow this to be other than a business proposition.
The crisis for her came sooner than she had antic.i.p.ated. It was the day after the visit of Drummond. She was waiting at the Junta alone for Santos when Gordon entered. She had dreaded just that. There was no mistaking the man.
"Mrs. Dunlap," began Gordon bending down close over her.
She was almost trembling with emotion, and he saw it.
"You can read me like a book," he hurried on, mistaking her feelings.
"I can see that you know how much I think of you--how much I--"
"No, no," she implored. "Don"t talk to me that way. Remember--there is work to do. After it is over--then--"
"Work!" he scorned. "What is the whole of Central America to me compared to you?"
"Captain Gordon!" she stood facing him. "You must not. Listen to me.
You do not know--I--please, please leave me. Let me think."
She did not dare accept him; she could not reject him. It seemed that with an almost superhuman effort Gordon gripped himself. But he did not go.
Constance was distracted, what if Santos with his fiery nature should find Gordon talking to her alone? She must temporize.
"One week," she murmured. "When the _Arroyo_ sails--that night--I shall give you my answer."
Gordon shot a peculiar glance at her--half doubt, half surprise. But she was gone. As she hurried unexpectedly out of the Junta she fancied she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure. It must have been Drummond.
Every move at the Junta was being watched.
At the boarding house all night she waited. She must see Santos. Plan after plan whirled through her brain as the hours dragged.
It was not until almost morning that, seeing a light, he tapped cautiously at her door.
"You were not at the Junta to-night," he remarked.
There was something of jealousy in the tone.
"No. There is something I wanted to say to you where we should not be interrupted," she answered as he sat down.
A fold of her filmy house dress fluttered near him. Involuntarily he moved closer. His eyes met hers. She could feel the pa.s.sions surging in the man beside her.
"I saw Drummond again, to-day," she began. "Captain Gordon--"
The intense look of hatred that blazed in the eyes of Santos frightened her. What might have happened if he instead of Gordon had met her at the Junta she could not have said. But now she must guard against it.
It flashed over her that there was only one thing to be done.
She rose and laid her hand on his arm. As quickly the look changed.
There was only one way to do it; she must make this man think they understood each other without saying so.
"You must get the counterfeiting plant down on the island--immediately--alone. Don"t tell any of the others until it is there safely. You were going to send it down on the _Arroyo_ next week.
It must not go from New York at all. It must be shipped by rail, and then from New Orleans. You must--"
"But--Gordon?" His voice was hoa.r.s.e.
She looked at Santos long and earnestly. "I will take care of him," she said in a tone that Santos could not mistake. "No--Ramon, no. After the revolution--perhaps--who shall say? But now--to work!"
It was with a sigh of relief that she sank to rest at last when he had gone. For the moment she had won.
Piece by piece, Santos and she secretly carried out the goods that had already been collected at the Junta, during the next few days. Without a word to a soul they were shipped south. The boxes and barrels remained in the musty shop, apparently undisturbed.
Next the order for the arms and ammunition was quietly diverted so that they, too, were on their way to New Orleans. Instead, cases resembling them were sent to the Junta headquarters. Drummond, least of all, must be allowed to think that there was any change in their plans.
While Santos was at work gathering the parts, the stamping machine, the press, the dies, the plates, and the rest of the counterfeiting plant which had not yet been delivered, Constance, during the hours that she was not collecting money from the concession-grabbers, haunted the Junta. There was every evidence of activity there as the week advanced.
She was between two fires, yet never had she enjoyed the tang of adventure more than now. It was a keen pleasure to feel that she was outwitting Drummond when, as some apparently insurmountable difficulty arose, she would overcome it. More delicate was it, however, to preserve the balance between Santos and Gordon. In fact it seemed that the more she sought to avoid Gordon, the more jealously did he pursue her. It was a tangled skein of romance and intrigue that Constance was weaving.
At last all was ready. It was the night before the departure of Santos for the south. Constance had decided on the last interview in her own rooms where the first had been.
"I shall go ahead preparing as if to ship the things on the _Arroyo_,"
she said. "Let me know by the code the moment you are ready."
Santos was looking at her, oblivious of everything else.