I will do anything you say." He was about to take her hand, but she rose.

"No, Graeme.

Not now.
There is work--the crisis.

No, I must go.

Trust me." It was not until noon of the next day that he saw Constance again.
There was an air of suppressed excitement about her as she entered the apartment and placed on a table before him a small oblong box of black enameled metal, beneath which was a roll of paper.