One day she had been working later than usual.  The accountant had shown signs of approaching the end of his task sooner than they had expected.  Murray was waiting, as was his custom, for her to finish before he left.

There was no sound in the almost deserted office building save the banging of a door echoing now and then, or an insistent ring of the elevator bell as an anxious office boy or stenographer sought to escape after an extra period of work.

Murray stood looking at her admiringly as she deftly shoved the pins into her hat.  Then he held her coat, which brought them close together.

“It will soon be time for the final scene,” he remarked.  His manner was different as he looked down at her.  “We must succeed, Constance,” he went on slowly.  “Of course, after it is over, it will be impossible for me to remain here with this company.  I have been looking around.  I must—­we must clear ourselves.  I already have an offer to go with another company, much better than this position in every way—­honest, square, with no dirty work, such as I have had here.”

It was a moment that Constance had foreseen, without planning what she would do.  She moved to the door as if to go.

“Take dinner with me to-night at the Riverside,” he went on, mentioning the name of a beautifully situated inn uptown overlooking the lights of the Hudson and thronged by gay parties of pleasure seekers.

Before she could say no, even though she would have said it, he had linked his arm in hers, banged shut the door and they were being whisked to the street in the elevator.

This time, as they were about to go out of the building, she noticed Drummond standing in the shadow of a corner back of the cigar counter on the first floor.  She told Murray of the times she had seen Drummond following her.  Murray ground his teeth.

“He’ll have to hustle this time,” he muttered, handing her quickly into a cab that was waiting for a fare.

Before he could give the order where to drive she had leaned out of the window, “To the ferry,” she cried.

Murray looked at her inquiringly.  Then he understood.  “Not to the Riverside—­yet,” she whispered.  “That man has just summoned a cab that was passing.”

In her eyes Murray saw the same fire that had blazed when she had told him he was running away from a fight that had not yet begun.  As the cab whirled through the now nearly deserted downtown streets, he reached over in sheer admiration and caressed her hand.  She did not withdraw it, but her averted eyes and quick breath told that a thousand thoughts were hurrying through her mind, divided between the man in the cab beside her and the man in the cab following perhaps half a block behind.

At the ferry they halted and pretended to be examining a time table, though they bought only ferry tickets.  Drummond did the same, and sauntered leisurely within easy distance of the gate.  Nothing seemed to escape him, and yet never did he seem to be watching them.