Constance Dunlap

, first, my dear Senora, plenty of money." Dark of eye and skin, with black imperial and mustache, tall, straight as an arrow, Santos had risen and was now gazing down with rapt attention, not at the map, but at Constance herself. Every curve of her face and wave of her hair, every line of her trim figure which her filmy gown seemed to accentuate rather than conceal added fire to his ardent glances. He touched lightly another pin sticking in a little, almost microscopic island of the Caribbean. " Our plan, it is simple," he continued with animation in spite of his foreign accent. " On this island a plant to print paper money, to coin silver. With that we shall land, pay our men as they flock to us, collect forces, seize cities, appropriate the customs. Once we start, it is easy.'' Constance looked up quickly. " But that is counterfeiting," she exclaimed. " No," rejoined Santos, " it is a war measure. We?the provisional government?merely coin our own money. Besides, it will not be done in this country. It will not come under your laws." There was a magnetism about the man that fascinated her, as he stood watching the effect of his words. Instinctively she knew that it was not alone enthusiasm over his scheme that inspired his confidences. " Though we are not counterfeiters," he went on, "we do not know what moment our opponents may set your Secret Service to destroy all our hopes. Besides, we must have money?now?to buy machinery, arms,...