An hour later Constance was at the telephone in her own apartment.
"Mr. Gibbons? I must apologize for troubling you at this late, or rather early, hour. But I promised you something which I could not fulfill until now. This is the Mrs. Dunlap who called on you the other day with a clue to your daughter Florence. I have found her—yes—working as a waitress in the Betsy Ross Tea Boom. No—not a word to anyone—not even to her mother. No—not a word. You can see her to-morrow—at my apartment. She is going to live with me for a few days until—well—until we get a few little matters straightened out."
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!"