When she rose to go, Davies accompanied her to the door, then out into the hall to the elevator.  As he bent over to shake hands, she noted that he held her hand just a little longer than was necessary.

“He’s a swindler of the first water,” she concluded as she was whisked down in the elevator.  “I’m sure Mildred is in badly with this crowd, one urging her on in her trouble, the other making it worse and fleecing her into the bargain.”

At the entrance she paused, undecided which was the quickest route home.  As by chance she turned just for a moment she thought she caught a fleeting glimpse of Drummond dodging behind a pillar.  It was only for an instant but even that apparition was enough.

“I will get her out of this safely,” resolved Constance.  “I will keep one more fly from his web.”

Constance felt as if, even now, she must see Mildred and, although she knew nothing, at least put her on her guard.  She did not have long to wait for her chance.  It was late in the afternoon when her door buzzer sounded.

“Constance, I’ve been looking for you all day,” sighed Mildred, dropping sobbing into a chair.  “I am—­distracted.”

“Why, my dear, what’s the matter?” asked Constance.  “Let me make you a cup of coffee.”

Over the steaming little cups Mildred grew more calm.

“Forest has found out in some way that I am speculating in Wall Street,” she confided at length.  “I suppose some of his friends—­he has lots down there—­told him.”

Momentarily the picture of Drummond back of the post in Davies’ building flashed over Constance.

“And he is awfully angry.  Oh, I never knew him to be so angry—­and sarcastic, too.”

“Was it wholly over your money?” asked Constance.  “Was there nothing else?”

Mrs. Caswell started.  “You grow more weird, every day, Constance.  Yes—­there was something else.”

“Mr. Davies?”

Mildred had risen.  “Don’t—­don’t—­” she cried.

“Then you do really—­care for him!” asked Constance mercilessly.

“No—­no, a thousand times—­no.  How can I?  I have put all such thoughts out of my mind—­long ago.”  She paused, then went on more calmly, “Constance, believe me or not—­I am just as good a woman to-day as I was the day I married Forest.  No—­I would not even let the thought enter my head—­never!”

For perhaps an hour after her friend had gone, Constance sat thinking.  What should she do?  Something must be done and soon.  As she thought, suddenly the truth flashed over her.

Caswell had employed Drummond to shadow his wife in the hope that he might unearth something that might lead to a divorce.  Drummond, like so many divorce detectives, was not averse to guiding events, to put it mildly.  He had ingratiated himself, perhaps, with the clairvoyant and Davies.  Constance had often heard before of clairvoyants and brokers who worked in conjunction to fleece the credulous.