Part 9 (1/2)

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.”