"Depend on me," answered Mrs. Grayson, "and I want to add my thanks to Kitty's for what you have done. I'll try to help you."
As she groped her way down the as yet unlighted stairs, Constance became aware of two men talking in the hall. As she passed them she thought she recognized one of the voices. She lowered her head, and fortunately her thin veil in the half-light did the rest. She passed unnoticed and reached the door of the apartment.
As she opened it she heard the men turn and mount the stairs. Instinctively she realized that something was wrong. One of the men was her old enemy, Drummond, the detective.
They had not recognized her, and as she stood for a moment with her hand on the knob, she tried to reason it out. Then she crept back, and climbed the stairs noiselessly. Voices inside the apartment told her that she had not been mistaken. It was the apartment of the Graysons and Kitty that they sought.
The hall door was of thin, light wood, and as she stood there she could easily hear what passed inside.
"What—is Kitty ill?" she heard the strange man's voice inquire.
"Yes," replied Mrs. Grayson, then her voice trailed off into an indistinguishable whisper.
"How are you, Kitty?" asked the man.
"Oh, I have a splitting headache, Jim. I've had it all day. I could just get up and—screech!"
"I'm sorry. I hope it gets better soon."