Chapter III: Part 3

“There is more in this than I care to think about,” she said. “I hope you’re not going to have a sleepless night, Miss Reddle. I cannot tell you how distressed I am. How were you saved?”

Lois told her and Lady Moron nodded.

“Braime?” she said. “But what was he doing on the third floor at that time?”

She looked searchingly at the girl and then, without another word, went to her own room.

It was two o’clock in the morning before sleep came to Lois; and by that time her nerves were on edge, so that she started at every sound. Something was keeping her awake--something she was trying to remember. Some thought was working insistently at the back of her mind, demanding revelation. As she tossed from side to side, consciousness of this inhibited memory made her grow wider and wider awake. And then, as she came back to bed, after the second tramp to the washstand for a glass of water, it flashed upon her.

“Keep your door locked--even in the palatial home of the Countess of Moron!”

Michael Dorn’s warning! It was that. She went to the door and felt for the key. But there was none, nor was there any bolt. Turning on the light, she lifted one of the smaller arm-chairs, carried it to the door, and pushed the back beneath the handle. Then she went back to bed and was asleep in a few seconds.

She awoke the next morning to find the sun streaming past the edge of the blind. There was a gentle tap-tapping at the door. She jumped out of bed and pulled away the chair to admit the maid.

“Good morning, miss,” said the maid cheerfully, and was inclined to discuss the accident of the night before, but that Lois was most anxious to forget.

“Her ladyship’s very much upset. She hasn’t had any sleep all night, miss,” said Jean. “She asked me if I’d warned you about the balcony. Of course I told her I did, but only in the daytime--I didn’t know it was unsafe. I’ve only been here a fortnight. Her ladyship was in the country until then.”

She drew the blinds, and, crossing to the window, Lois looked out. The jagged edge of the broken balcony was there to remind her of her narrow escape and she shuddered as she recalled that dreadful moment when she had hung in space.

“It was the butler’s fault,” said Jean maliciously. “I shouldn’t be surprised if he got the sack.”

“If it hadn’t been for the butler I should have been killed.”

“If it hadn’t been for the butler, miss, you wouldn’t have been in danger,” said the girl, and there seemed some truth in her remark. “Her ladyship told me to move you to-day to his lordship’s room on the floor below.”

“But surely she’s not turning out Lord Moron?” asked Lois, aghast.

Apparently the household staff entertained towards his lordship something of the contempt which his mother displayed, in public and private.

“Oh, him!” said the girl with a shrug. “He doesn’t mind where he sleeps. He’d be just as happy in the garret. All he wants to do is to go on the stage and play with his silly old electricity! I wonder her ladyship allows him to go on in that childish way.”

So the Earl of Moron’s queer desire was public property, thought Lois. Apart from the shock of the news that he was being turned out of his apartment to make room for a secretary, Lois was not sorry that new accommodation was to be offered to her, and her pleasure was intensified after her interview with the countess.

Her ladyship, who had a predilection for strong colours, wore a gown of petunia that morning. Lois thought it made her look old. She made no reference to the accident, and for the first hour after breakfast they were engaged in letter-writing. Lady Moron had many correspondents, and there was the usual sprinkling of begging letters which had to be dealt with in the usual way. When Lois had finished her work and brought the last letter for her employer’s signature, the countess looked up.

“You are not suffering any ill effects from last night’s terrible experience?” she asked.

“No,” smiled Lois.

“I have told the maid to move you into Selwyn’s room. As a matter of fact, it is never used by him; he prefers his little study at the top of the house and sleeps there nine nights out of ten. You are not worried about what happened?”

Lois shook her head.

“Or nervous?”

The girl hesitated.

“I was a little nervous last night.”

“I thought you would be, and I have been considering what would be my best course to induce you to stay. I like you. And there is another reason; I want a woman in the house to whom I can talk confidentially.” She turned in her swivelled chair and looked up into Lois’ face. “I don’t want to be alone,” she said. “I am rather frightened of being alone.”

“Frightened, Lady Moron?”

Her ladyship nodded. There was certainly nothing in her voice to indicate her fear. She picked and chose her words with characteristic care. “I can’t explain why, but I am frightened--of certain people. If you care to remain with me, I will raise your salary, and I am quite willing that your friend should sleep in the house.”

“My friend?” asked the surprised Lois. “Do you mean Miss Smith?”

Again the countess nodded, her dark eyes never leaving the girl’s face.

Lois hesitated.

“That might be very--very awkward for you,” she said.

The countess waved a flashing hand.

“I have considered the matter in all its aspects, and if it is agreeable to you and your friend, I will have another bed put into your room. Perhaps you would like to see Miss Smith and discover her opinions on the subject? I will have the car ready for you in a quarter of an hour.”

Looking over the edge of the wire blinds, Lizzy Smith saw the glistening limousine pull up at the door, and Lois alight, and, defiant of all the rules of the establishment, she ran out of the office and came half-way down the stairs to meet the visitor.

In a few words Lois told her of Lady Moron’s proposal.

“Gee whiz!” said Lizzy, flabbergasted. “You don’t mean that?”

She gripped Lois by the arm and pulled her upstairs. “Come right along to the ’phone!” she hissed, “and tell her royal highness that I’ll be on the mat at six!”

Chapter Twelve

Lois did not go into the office; she left her friend on the threshold and went on to the appointment she sought. Leaving the car in Parliament Street, she walked down Whitehall to the Home Office building, and, filling in a blank, took her place in the waiting-room.

There was very little possibility, she told herself that the august Under-Secretary, with whom she craved an interview, would grant her that privilege, in spite of the pressing nature of the note which she had sent with the official form. She began to despair and was looking round at the waiting-room clock for the tenth time, when a messenger came for her.

“Miss Reddle?” he asked. “Will you follow me?”

Her heart beat a little faster as he knocked on an imposing door, and, opening it, announced her name. An elderly man, who was sitting at the far end of a big room, his back to an empty fireplace, an immense desk before him, half rose from his chair.

“Sit down, Miss Reddle,” he said, with official brusqueness. “I read your note, and I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I had an important conference here.” And then, without further preliminary: “You say that Mrs. Pinder is your mother?”

“Yes, sir, I am certain of that.”

There was a big folder before him, and this he opened.

“The case is familiar to me,” said the Under-Secretary. “As a matter of fact, I was a junior engaged in the courts when she was tried, though not in the case. I don’t know what I can do for you. Her sentence has nearly expired, and if I were you I should wait until she comes out before you take any further steps. There are certain other people interested in the case, as you probably know, and that is the advice I have given to them.”

“But my mother was innocent,” said Lois, and he replied with an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders.

“Innocence has this much in common with guilt,” he said, “that after twenty years it is very difficult to prove or disprove. I followed the case very closely and it seemed to me that there were two essential pieces of evidence, one of which might have proved her guilt beyond doubt, and one her innocence. And these were not produced at the trial.”

“What were they?” asked Lois quickly.

“The first was the key to the box in which the jewellery and the cyanide were discovered. If that had been found in your mother’s possession any doubt in my mind would have been removed. That was the judge’s view also. The other is the letter the murdered woman--or rather,” he said hastily, “the woman who was found dead--would have written had it been a case of suicide. You know, of course, there was a pen and ink on the table and a pad of paper, but no letter was found. It was a new pad, purchased by the dead lady that morning, and one sheet had been torn away. The view of the defence was that, preparatory to committing suicide, she had written a letter, as people do in such circumstances. However, it was not found, although a very careful search was made.”

And then, abruptly, he began to question her about herself, her life. When she had told him the means by which she had identified herself with Lois Margeritta, Mrs. Pinder’s daughter, he agreed.

“I should think you were right there,” he said.

“Even Mr. Dorn thinks I am right,” she said with a half-smile.

“Dorn?” he said sharply. “You mean the Indian man, the police officer? Do you know him?”

“Not very well,” she said.

Could he be amongst the “other people interested in the case”? She dismissed the possibility as absurd.

He looked at her keenly.

“In what circumstances did you meet Dorn?” he asked, and Lois was very frank.

“Humph!” said the Under-Secretary. “Dorn isn’t that kind of man. I mean, he wouldn’t go chasing round after a girl if there wasn’t something else to it. He is a man of the highest integrity and honour,” he said emphatically; and for some extraordinary reason she was pleased to hear this tribute to the man who had so often annoyed her.

There was nothing more to be done, and when he rose to signify the end of the interview and shook her hand, he put into words her own thought.

“When your mother comes out of prison she will be able to give you a great deal more information than any of us possess. There is the question of your father, for example, who disappeared for a week or two before the crime and was never seen again. What happened to him? I remember there was a half-hearted attempt on the part of the prosecution to hold your mother responsible for his disappearance.”

“How horrible!” said Lois indignantly.

“Yes, I suppose it was horrible.”

From the Under-Secretary’s tone it seemed to Lois that he did not regard the matter quite in that light.

“In criminal cases, my dear young lady, the prosecution have to presume the most horrible things, and they’re usually right!”

There was very little profit for the girl from this interview, but at least she had the satisfaction of knowing that she had made a start. Somehow she had never thought very much about her father and his disappearance. That seemed so unimportant by the side of her mother’s suffering.

The letter and the key; these were two new points which she had never considered or known about before. She went back to Chester Square with a sense of accomplishment, and arrived in time to witness perhaps the strangest incident that mortal eye had seen.

As she opened the door of the drawing-room, she heard a shrill voice raised in anger, recognised it as Lord Moron’s, and would have drawn back, only her ladyship, who had seen her, called her into the room.

Moron was beside himself with rage. His sallow cheeks were pale, and, as he spluttered his annoyance, he stamped his foot in childish anger.

“I refuse, I absolutely refuse!” he almost screamed. “I appeal to Miss What’s-er-name. I appeal to you, miss. Is it right that a man in my position should do what any wretched boozing doctor tells him to do? Don’t think that I’m afraid of this horrible creature, because I’m not! I know the law, by gad!”

“Braime simply carried out his instructions,” said the countess in her deep, booming voice.

She was standing near her writing-table, slowly sharpening a pencil with a little knife, and did not look up from her task.

“I don’t mind giving up my room for a young lady,” said the Earl rapidly, “any gentleman would do the same. Besides, my study’s awfully jolly. But if I want to go out alone, I’ll go out alone, and I won’t have any beastly criminal butlers going with me--not if all the beastly doctors in the world order it. I’ve stood enough, my dear mother.”

He shook a trembling finger at the woman, who, seemingly oblivious to the scene, continued her pencil-sharpening.

“I’ve stood enough. You may marry this wretched Chesney Praye, the infernal blackguard! Ah, yes. I know all about that! I know a lot of things you don’t imagine I know! You may use my money as you jolly well please, you may----”

Lois saw Lady Moron’s hand go up and touch her son’s face with a caressing gesture.

“You’re a naughty boy,” she said, her thin lips curled in a smile.

And then, with a scream of pain, the man stepped backwards and put up his hand to his bleeding face.

Lois could not believe the evidence of her eyes. Yet there it was--a long, straight cut, and the little knife with which the woman was sharpening her pencil showed a tiny red stain.

Chapter Thirteen

“You’re a very naughty boy,” said the countess, intent again upon her pencil-sharpening, “go back and play with your batteries!” and, with a gasp of fear, the man turned and ran blindly from the room, his face dabbled red.

There was a dead silence, and then the countess looked up.

“I suppose you think I’m very horrid? But Selwyn is difficult at times--shockingly difficult, and shockingly sulky. I must impose my will on him for his own good. And really, he isn’t hurt any more than he would have been if his razor had slipped.”

The cold-bloodedness of the thing left Lois breathless and shaken. She could hardly believe that she was not dreaming horribly.

“It was rather--drastic, wasn’t it?” she said, speaking with difficulty.

Again the dark eyes met hers.

“Drastic? Yes. Dr. Tappatt wishes me to be even more drastic. Did you speak to your friend?”

“Yes,” said Lois, almost grateful to be lifted out of the scene.

“And she will come? How dear of her! I told you I was afraid this morning, Miss Reddle. I don’t suppose you guessed why, even after Moron’s amazing exhibition of childish temper?”

Lois did not guess and was wisely silent. Her ladyship made no further reference to the scene. When Lord Moron came to lunch with his face conspicuously plastered, his mother did no more at the end of the meal than say:

“Please don’t come to dinner like that, Selwyn. One would imagine you had been in an earthquake.”

To which he answered, with a meek:

“Yes, madam.”

The change of rooms had been effected, and Lois was now in what might very well have been a small state apartment in one of the royal palaces. The new bed had been erected, and as the hour approached for Lizzy’s arrival, the uneasy qualms which Lois had been feeling all day began to dissipate. Though she had given strict injunctions as to the appearance her son should present at dinner, the countess herself dined out. She sent for Lois before she left the house.

“If you could amuse Selwyn, please do so. He is quite a good companion if you can reduce your mentality to the level of his. Possibly your friend will find him easier than you,” she added, and Lois would have been amused if she were not a little shocked.

Lizzy came promptly at six, bringing with her a battered black bag containing what she described as her “court dress and coronation robes” and the girl prepared her for a shock.

“You’re dining to-night with the Earl of Moron,” she said, and Lizzy collapsed into a chair.

“I can’t and I won’t,” she said energetically. “I knew there was going to be a catch in this!”

Lois soothed her fears, and, though she did not wish to follow the example of the servants and speak of his lordship in terms of disparagement, she sufficiently reassured her friend that Lizzy neither fainted nor flew when she was introduced to the vacuous, young-old man.

He was standing with his back to the empty fireplace in the drawing-room, a cigarette drooping from his lips, when Lois ushered her friend into his presence. He gave Lizzy a feeble handshake.

“Awfully glad to meet you. Nice weather we’re having,” he said, and to Lois: “Her ladyship’s gone, I suppose? That beastly bounder Praye called for her.”

Lois remembered the scene, of which she had been an unwilling witness, and Mr. Chesney Praye’s attitude towards the countess, which seemed inexplicable, was within her understanding. Chesney Praye was something more than a financial adviser. Apparently he had advised the lady in affairs of the heart only too well, though Lois found it rather difficult to imagine the masterful countess in a tender mood.

“Perfectly beastly bounder,” said his lordship with such energy that she realised that the spirit of revolt was not wholly crushed. “That wretched boozing doctor is bad, but Chesney Praye is worse! I call him a bird of prey--that’s not bad, what? Chesney, the bird of prey!”

He chuckled at his mild jest and visibly brightened under the influence of his own humour. This was the second reference that had been made to the mysterious doctor. Lois wondered if she would be called upon to meet him.

“Well, I’m glad she’s gone with her bird of prey. Let’s go along and have some grub.”

Lizzy’s jaw dropped at the sound of this familiar vulgarism; and that moment probably marked the beginning of an interest in the aristocracy which was fated to grow in intensity.

It was one of the most cheerful dinners that Lois remembered, and certainly for his lordship it was an hilarious feast, for he trotted out his joke about “bird of prey” some half a dozen times, and on each occasion with an increasing measure of amusement.

“I didn’t see the joke at first,” said Lizzy, wiping her eyes.

“His name’s Praye,” explained his lordship eagerly. “I call him the bird of prey--rather good, what? Let’s play draughts. I’m rather a dab at draughts.”

It was an opportunity to learn to know him better and Lois very skilfully drew him out. He had been to a public school--he thought it was Harrow; in fact, he was pretty sure it was Harrow--for two years, and then his mother had taken him away. He hated school life; it was rough. Since then he had practically not left his mother. He thought he was a member of one of the clubs, but he wasn’t quite sure which one; at any rate, he had never been there.

“You aren’t married?” asked Lois boldly.

The question afforded him a tremendous amount of enjoyment.

“Married--me? Good gracious, no! Who wants to marry a silly old johnny like me? Oh dear, no! There was a girl who wanted to marry me, I understand, when I was rather young, but her ladyship wouldn’t have her at any price.”

He had never occupied any responsible position. His mother managed his estate with the aid of bailiffs and lawyers; from time to time documents came to him for his signature; and he had been to the House of Lords once to take his seat.

“Never again--too silly,” he said. “They dress you up in red velvet and put crowns and things on your head!”

She discovered, to her surprise, that he had a hobby, and incidentally, his mother’s sneering remarks about his “batteries” were cleared up. He had a passion for electrical apparatus. His study, into which the girl had not been invited, was a litter of model dynamos, electric trains, and batteries.

“I’ve done one of the neatest little jobs for her ladyship in the library--ask her to show it to you.” His face went serious, “Perhaps you’d better not,” he said hastily.

Electrical work was not wholly an amusement to him. He claimed with pride to have fixed all the bells in the house, and later the girl learnt that this was true.

Whatever terrors the peerage had for Lizzy were quickly dissipated; towards the end of the evening she was hotly disputing the bona fides of a piece which had mysteriously appeared on his side of the chequer-board.

“Never had such a perfectly jolly evening in all my young life,” said his lordship. He had been glancing nervously at the clock for some time. “Now I think I’ll toddle, before the madam comes.”

He made one of his rapid exits, and the two girls came out into the hall. Braime was standing by the front door, staring through the glass panels into the street.

“Good-night, miss,” he said respectfully, and then continued his vigil.

“I don’t like that man,” said Lizzy, when they got to their room.

“Braime? I didn’t, but I owe him so much. If he had not been there last night----”

“How did he get there--that’s the question?” said Lizzy. “He must have been in the room when the balcony fell, for almost at once I felt somebody pulling me aside.”

“What do you think of Lord Moron?” asked Lois, anxious to turn the conversation to pleasanter channels.

“He’s wonderful,” said Lizzy dreamily. “From what I heard about him I thought he was dippy; but that boy’s got brains!”

Lois was in bed, and Lizzy, who was too intensely interested in her own views to be a quick-change artist, was in that condition of deshabille which made her least presentable, when there came a frantic tapping at the door.

“Who is that?” asked Lois.

“It’s me, young lady. Can I come in?”

It was Lord Moron’s voice.

Chapter Fourteen

“I’m afraid you can’t come in now. Is there anything you want?”

“Yes, I forgot something,” said the agitated voice.

“Can I get it for you?” asked Lois, now at the door.

“No, I’m afraid you can’t, it’s--er----”

His voice died down into a rumble of sound. Then!

“Never mind. I don’t suppose--I say, don’t be alarmed or anything of that sort--I mean, don’t mention to the madam anything that seems remarkable, will you?”

The girl shook her head in bewilderment.

“I don’t know what you mean. Is there something I can get for you?”

But he had evidently gone. Lizzy, who had a practical mind, suggested that the articles he required were false teeth.

“He’s got that kind of delicate mind that wouldn’t mention them to a lady,” she said.

But her companion did not accept that explanation.

Lizzy, who was not affected by the stateliness of the surroundings, was asleep almost as soon as she had finished talking. But Lois Reddle had never been more wide awake in her life. She heard the clock strike the quarter and the half and the hour. She turned from side to side and counted sheep and furnished houses and followed all the prescriptions for sleeplessness which had ever been offered. But at half-past one she was alert and wakeful. She heard the whine of a car as it stopped in front of the house. That was Lady Moron returning, she guessed.

The bed she occupied was a small four-poster. Perhaps it was this unusual factor which kept her awake. She stared up in the dark at the silken canopy above her head, wondering whether she would sleep more comfortably upon the big settee at the foot of the bed.

The deep breathing which came from Lizzy’s bed irritated her unreasonably. She rose, touched the pillow, and turned over again, and then----

“_Did she know the photograph?_”

She sat up with a jerk. It was the voice of Chesney Praye and had come from the canopy above her!

It was as though somebody was lying on the top and speaking, for the words were clear and distinct. It was the voice of the countess who answered him.

“No,” came the deep tones. “I put it in the drawer just before she arrived.”

A pause, and then presently he spoke again.

“You took a risk.”

She heard the deep laughter of Lady Moron.

“I’ve taken a greater one to-night, I think, Chesney.”

“My dear Leonora,” Chesney’s voice was pained, “surely you can trust me?”

“I have to,” the deliberate tone of her ladyship came down from the canopy, “and I think you will be wise not to play the fool. Selwyn is worrying me.”

“Selwyn!” contemptuously.

“Selwyn. He knows more than I gave him credit for. How did he know that we were to be married? He came out with it in his rage to-day. And how did he know that I’d been lending you money----”

“Come into the dining-room.”

There came the sound of a knock and then the voice of Braime spoke very faintly.

“I’ve set the table, my lady.”

After that Lois heard no more.

“Who was that? Was it somebody talking?” It was Lizzy who spoke. “Was it you, Lois? I heard somebody say they’d lent money.”

Lois was out of bed now, and had switched on the little lamp that stood on the table by the bedside. She looked up fearfully at the canopy. It had the heavy, respectable appearance which all such articles of furnishing have. Lois had a wild idea that a door had been left open, but the only door in the room was that which led to the corridor and it was locked, as she knew.

“What was it, Lois?” Lizzy was struggling into her dressing-gown.

“I don’t know. I heard somebody speaking. It seemed to be in the room.”

“It came from the direction of your bed,” said Lizzy. “Lord! This is a queer house. I don’t like it, Lois. I’d sooner have old Mackenzie and his fiddle any day or any night.”

Lois Reddle jumped on to the bed, lifted the table lamp and began an examination of the valance above. Presently she uttered an exclamation. In one corner, suspended by two wires, was a black, bell-shaped piece of ebonite, which at first she thought was a telephone receiver. Behind was a flat and circular box, and this was wired to the canopy.

“That is where the voice came from; it’s a loud-speaking telephone!”

She found the wire; it was cunningly hidden along the valance, descending one of the bed-posts, where it ran in a red flex to a wall-plug. The mystery was a mystery no longer, and now she understood the agitation of Lord Moron. She appreciated, too, his skill as an electrical engineer. He had been spying on his mother, if such a term applied to one who heard rather than saw. Somewhere in the house, probably in the drawing-room, was a concealed microphone, and too late that night he had remembered that he had not disconnected the instrument. Lady Moron was puzzled as to how her son knew so much. Lois could have told her.

“What a bird!” said Lizzy admiringly. “Fixed it all up himself! The boy’s got brains! What did you hear, Lois?”

But the girl was not inclined to be communicative. She pulled out the plug from the wall, sent her companion to bed, and followed her example.

Whose photograph was it that had been placed for her inspection? And what risk had Lady Moron taken? She remembered the picture of the handsome young officer who was “a boy I once knew” to her ladyship. And what risk had the woman run in leaving that under her secretary’s eyes. She got out of bed again and re-fixed the plug, feeling that she was being guilty of a despicable act. But something was happening which was so vital to her, that she could not afford to allow niceties of conduct to weigh against her need. No sound came from the microphone. But perhaps after supper they would return here. And, in any event, the weariness and monotony of waiting might induce the sleep which refused to come to her eyes.

Three o’clock struck, half-past three, four and half-past, and the chill of dawn began to show on the white blinds. Lois was not as far from sleep as she had been, and she was beginning to doze when a faint sound brought up her head from the pillow.

Click, click!

It was as though somebody was turning on the lights in the drawing-room. She waited tensely for the next sound. Presently there was an indistinguishable whisper, and then a voice spoke. Clearly the words came to her.

“Lois Reddle is very near to death!”

She knew the voice, in her imagination could almost see the speaker.

It was Michael Dorn.

Chapter Fifteen

In a second she had recovered, and had leapt out of bed. Better the known than the unknown. All fear had vanished; she would face Dorn and have the truth. Snatching up her dressing-gown, she went to the door, turned the key noiselessly and ran down the dark stairs.

The drawing-room faced her as she came on to the landing, and she did not hesitate, but flung open the door. The place was in darkness, and reaching out, she felt for the light switches and turned them. The room was empty; there was no sound save the musical ticking of a French clock on the mantelpiece, no sign of Michael Dorn or of his unknown companion. She gazed bewildered. Then she heard a noise behind her and spun round.

“What is it?”

It was the countess, who slept on the same floor as the girl.

“Turn on the landing lights,” said the woman calmly, and when she did so, Lois saw the older woman standing on the landing above, wrapped in a white ermine coat, as calm and imperturbable as ever.

“I thought I heard voices and came down.”

“In the drawing-room? Of course, it is under your bedroom!”

Lady Moron descended the stairs without haste and walked into the salon.

“You must have been mistaken, there’s nobody here,” she said. “I’m afraid your nerves are on edge. The opening of your door woke me. What did the noise sound like? The windows are fastened. None of the furniture has been moved.”

“I heard somebody speaking,” said Lois.

“Go to bed, my child.”

Her large hand patted the girl gently on the shoulder, and Lois went meekly up the stairs and into her room.

She came down to breakfast the next morning feeling a wreck, and Lizzy, warned by her friend, made no reference at the table to the voices of the night. She saw the girl off and came back to the dining-room. A footman was clearing the table under Braime’s watchful eye. When the man had gone:

“Her ladyship says you heard somebody speaking in the night, Miss Reddle?”

“I thought I did. Perhaps I was dreaming, or only imagined that I heard her ladyship in my sleep.”

“Lady Moron did not go into the drawing-room last night,” was the surprising reply.

Lois stared at the man, who went on:

“Her ladyship went into the library, but you would not hear her from your apartment.”

The library! That was where the microphone was fixed, and all the time she had been talking to Lady Moron on the landing Michael Dorn and his assistant had been on the floor below. The library was situated on the ground floor at the back of the house. She was thankful that she had not found him whilst that watchful woman was hovering in the background.

“I thought I heard you come out of your room, miss,” Braime continued; “in fact, I was on the point of coming downstairs when her ladyship came up. By the way, her ladyship will not be down until one o’clock, miss, she has two friends coming to lunch. She asked me if you would deal with any letters which are not marked personal.”

Lois was in the midst of this occupation when Lord Moron came into the drawing-room, a nervous and apprehensive man.

“’Morning, Miss Reddle,” he said, eyeing her keenly. “Well?”

“Not very well, thank you!” smiled Lois.

“Queer house this,” he mumbled. “All sorts of odd noises. These old places are like that, you know. Nothing disturbed you, I suppose? Nobody--er--talking in the street?”

“No, nothing disturbed me,” she said untruthfully, and he heaved a sigh of relief.

“Awfully glad. You don’t mind my going into your room to get the things I left behind, do you? I say, don’t mention this to her ladyship, will you, because she thinks I’m a careless devil and she’ll rag me most fearfully!”

Lois promised, and he hurried from the room. When she went up to prepare for luncheon, she examined the canopy and found, as she had expected, that the microphone and its attachments had been removed.

In other circumstances she might have been amused, but she was conscious that a terrible danger was hovering over her, and in some way that the menace was associated with the countess and her friend.

“Lois Reddle is near to death!” She shivered at the recollection.

Twice in a week she had escaped destruction by a hair’s breadth. Those were not accidents; she was sure now. But who could desire her harm? And what had the photograph of the young man in uniform to do with her?

On one point she was determined, and she had confided her intention to Lizzy that morning whilst they were dressing, before they came down to breakfast. She must leave this house and take the risk of unemployment for a while.

Lady Moron came into the drawing-room just before lunch, looked over the letters and signed such as required her signature, and then Lois broke the news. To her surprise the big woman was neither indignant nor entreating.

“When I saw you early this morning I was afraid this would happen,” she said. “And really I cannot blame you, Miss Reddle. You have had a most terrifying experience, though I believe that last night’s trouble was purely imaginary.”

Lois said nothing.

“When do you wish to go? As soon as possible, I gather from your hesitation. Very well, I am not blaming you. I feel partly to blame, and I will pay you a month’s salary and arrange for you to leave to-morrow.”

The two visitors were Chesney Praye and a man whom Lois had not seen before, though she had heard his lordship’s views on him. Later she felt she had no particular desire to meet him again. He was a bald man of fifty, with a face even redder than Mr. Praye’s, a big, bulbous nose, a loose mouth. She might, had she met him in the street and not in this chaste atmosphere, have analysed him as a typical drunkard. Nor would that description have been uncharitable. His frock coat was old and shone at the seams, and she observed that he had made only a half-hearted attempt to make his nails presentable.

“I want you to meet Dr. Tappatt.”

So this was the famous doctor. She was not impressed.

“Glad to meet you, young lady, very glad to meet you,” said the doctor with spurious heartiness. And with his words came the faint aroma of something that was not entirely whisky and not entirely cloves. “This is the young person your ladyship was speaking about? Hears voices, eh? Dear, dear, that’s a bad symptom,” he chuckled, “a very bad symptom. Eh, Chesney? We’ve had ’em for that! We’ve had ’em for that!”

Lois saw the butler fill this strange creature’s glass with wine, and when she looked again the glass was empty. Apparently Braime, if he did not already know the peculiarities of the guest, had been carefully coached, for, without asking, he had refilled the glass.

Lord Moron appeared at the lunch table, a sulky and silent young man, his face less extensively plastered.

“Had an accident, eh? Been in a railway smash?” demanded the doctor. “Your lordship should be more careful.”

“I haven’t been in a railway accident,” said Selwyn sulkily.

He evidently knew the doctor, and the girl had a feeling that he was afraid of him, for once or twice she saw him glancing furtively and a little fearfully in the direction of the untidy man.

“There’s another one who hears voices, eh? Your lordship hasn’t been followed by a dog--a nice black dog with a waggly tail, eh?”

“No, I haven’t,” almost shouted Lord Moron, going red and white. “I never said I had, did I? I’m perfectly--I know what I’m doing and all that sort of thing. You leave me alone, sir.”

It was in every way an uncomfortable meal for Lois Reddle. The glowering resentment of Moron, the calm indifference of his mother, the crude jocularity of Chesney Praye, and the presence of the doctor, who, when he was not drinking, was boasting of the wonderful cures he had effected in India, brought a sense of nightmare to the girl. Only once more did Dr. Tappatt turn his attention to Lois.

“What’s this I hear about your trying to throw yourself over the balcony? Come, come, young lady, that will never do!” He wagged his animal face at her, and the bloodshot eyes gleamed unpleasantly.

“Don’t be stupid.” It was Lady Moron who spoke. “The balcony gave way under Miss Reddle; there was no suggestion that she attempted to throw herself into the street.”

“A joke, a mere jest,” said the doctor unabashed, and pushed his glass towards the watchful Braime. “That’s a good wine of yours, your ladyship, a fine, full-bodied wine with a generous bouquet. Romanee-Conti, I think?”

“Clos de Vougeot,” corrected the countess.

“There is very little difference between the wines of Vougeot and Vosne,” said the connoisseur. “As a rule, I prefer the Conti, but your ladyship has converted me.”

The lunch did not end soon enough for Lois. When the countess had risen, she strolled to where her son was standing.

“When you come down to dinner to-night, be so good as to have the last of that ridiculous plaster taken from your face. I wish, at any rate, that you should look like a gentleman and not like a prize-fighter.” She mouthed the words deliberately. “Otherwise, perhaps I shall have to consult Dr. Tappatt.”

Lord Moron shrunk at the ominous words, and his muttered rejoinder did not reach Lois’ ears.

The suggestion that she should work in the library was one which Lois was glad to accept; for beyond a glimpse, she had never seen the room wherein the Countess of Moron spent so many hours with her jigsaw puzzles. And there was another reason; she must find the artfully concealed microphone which Lord Moron had installed.

It was a pleasant room, low-roofed and long, and ran from the wall of the reception-room at the front of the house to a small conservatory which hid the ugliness of the tiny courtyard at the back. Every wall was covered with bookshelves, and there were, in addition, more than a dozen big filing cabinets in which the countess had accumulated, and carefully docketed, the little souvenirs which had come to her in the course of her life; theatre programmes, newspaper cuttings, correspondence which most people would not have thought worth preserving. But Lady Moron was a methodical woman and had a horror of waste. This she told the girl when she introduced her to the room.

Left alone, Lois made a careful inspection of the library, without, however, discovering the hidden receiver or its wiring. She noticed that one section of the bookcase was covered by a strong door, covered with fine wire mesh, through which the titles could be seen; and studying these in the ample leisure she had, she was more than a little surprised at the precautions taken to prevent casual reading of this forbidden library. The books were of the most innocuous type, and she surmised that there had been a time when this section held literature less innocent.

She had finished her work and was browsing about the books, taking down one after the other and glancing at their contents, when Braime came in. One glance at the man told her that something unusual had happened. His face was twitching, and he was evidently labouring under the stress of great excitement which he had not succeeded wholly in suppressing.

“Will you go to the dining-room, miss? There’s a gentleman wishes to see you.”

“A gentleman? Who is it?”

“I don’t know his name,” said the man, “but if he’s not there, will you wait for him?”

“But who is it, Braime? Didn’t he give his name?”

“No, miss.” The hands clasped before him were trembling, his eyes held a strange light.

“In the dining-room?” she said as she went out.

“Yes, miss.”

To her surprise, when she looked round, she found he had not accompanied her. The dining-room was empty, except for Jean, her maid. The girl was engaged in dusting, and seemed surprised at the arrival of Lois.

“Braime told me a gentleman was waiting to see me?”

Jean shook her head.

“I don’t know anything about a gentleman, miss, but I do know one thing,” she said viciously. “_He’s_ no gentleman. I caught him coming out of the countess’ room just now and I’m going to tell her ladyship. A sneaking, prying----”

“Please find out who it is wishes to see me,” said the puzzled girl. “Perhaps he is in the hall.”

Jean went out, but returned in a few minutes, shaking her head.

“Nobody is there, miss. Thomas, the footman, says that there have been no callers since Dr. Tappatt left. Mr. Praye is with her ladyship in the drawing-room.”

What did this mean? Lois frowned. Braime’s story was obviously an excuse to get her out of the room. She hurried back to the library. The door was closed and she threw it open.

“Braime----” she began, and then stopped and said no more.

The butler lay on his back in the middle of the floor, a silent, motionless figure, a look of agony on his white face, his lips distorted in a grimace of agony.

Chapter Sixteen

Her first impulse was to fly, her second, more merciful, was to run to his side, and, kneeling down, loosen his collar. Was he dead? There was no sign of life or sound of breath. The hands, upraised, as though to clutch an invisible enemy, were stiff and rigid.

She flew out of the door and called the maid.

“Telephone for a doctor, please. Braime is ill,” she said breathlessly, and rushed up the stairs.

Lady Moron was deep in conversation with her visitor, but at the sight of the girl she came hurriedly across the room.

“What is it?” she asked in a low voice.

“It’s Braime,” said Lois breathlessly. “I think he’s dead!”

The countess followed her down the stairs at a pace which Lois did not think was possible for so heavy a woman. For a moment she stood in the doorway, surveying the silent man.

“This is not for you to see,” she said gently, and, pushing the girl back into the passage, closed the door.

Presently she came out.

“I’m afraid he’s dead. Tell me what happened. Or first ring through to the Limbo Club for Dr. Tappatt.”

Lois told her that she had already given an order for a doctor to be called, and her instructions were fulfilled more efficiently than she had supposed. For Jean had rung the Virginia Hospital, which is within a hundred yards of Chester Square, and even while they were talking in the passage there came the clang of an ambulance bell, and the footman hurried to open the door.

The youthful house surgeon who had accompanied the ambulance made a brief examination of the prostrate figure and was obviously puzzled.

“Was this man subject to fits?” he asked.

“I am not aware that he was. He has been quite well since he has been in my employ,” said Lady Moron.

Lois, who had been attracted to the room, was looking down fearfully at the still figure.

“There is no wound of any kind that I can see,” said the doctor, peering through his spectacles. “I will have the attendants in and we’ll rush him to the hospital.”

He went back to the hall and signalled for his assistants, and a stretcher, withdrawn from the ambulance, was brought into the library.

And then, as they were about to lift the man on to the canvas, there came the sound of running footsteps in the hall and a man burst violently into the room. He was hot and hatless and stood breathing heavily in the doorway, looking from one to another. Presently his gaze fell upon Lois.

“Thank God!” he said shakily.

Then, with two strides, he was by the side of the prostrate figure.

“Are you a doctor?” began Lady Moron.

“My name is Michael Dorn--a name probably unknown to your ladyship,” said Dorn brusquely.

His keen eyes searched the room. Rising, he lifted a china bowl filled with roses, swept the flowers on to the floor, and dashed the water into the man’s face. Ripping off the collar of the man he knelt over Braime’s head and drew up the stiff arms, pressing them back again to the body. Lois watched him in bewilderment. He was applying the restorative methods which are used for people who are partially drowned.

“Are you a doctor?” asked the young surgeon, a little irritably.

“No,” said Michael, without ceasing his work.

“May I ask what you think you’re doing with this man?”

“Saving his life,” was the brief reply.

Lady Moron turned at that moment. She had heard the voice of her son in the hall, and, sweeping out of the room, she intercepted him.

“What do you want, Selwyn?” she asked coldly.

“Something’s happened in the library. They say old Braime’s got a fit or something--thought I might be useful.”

“Go back to your study, please, Selwyn,” said her ladyship. “I will not have you excited over these matters.”

“But dash it all----” began his lordship, but the look in his mother’s eyes silenced him, and he grumbled his way back to his den.

The countess waited until he was out of sight, and then came back to the little party that was watching Michael Dorn and his seemingly futile efforts. A few minutes passed, and then:

“I really think this man should be taken to the hospital, Mr.--er--Dorn.”

Lady Moron’s visitor had by now joined the group. Chesney Praye had witnessed the arrival of the detective and had thought it wise not to offer his advice. But now, morally strengthened by the presence of the countess, he added his voice to the argument.

“You’re probably killing that man, Dorn. Let him go to the hospital, where he’ll be properly attended to.”

Michael made no reply. The perspiration was pouring down his face; he stopped only to strip off his coat before he resumed his work.

“I hope you’re a better doctor than you are a detective,” said Chesney, nettled by Dorn’s attitude.

“In the present case, I am as good a doctor as you are an embezzler,” said Dorn, without turning his head. “And, in any circumstances, I am a better detective than you are a crook. He’s reviving.”

To Lois’ amazement, Braime’s eyelids were flickering. She saw the slow, unaided movement of his chest.

“I think he’ll do now,” said Dorn, getting up and wiping his forehead.

“Are you a detective?” It was the doctor who asked the question.

“Sort of a one,” said Michael with a smile. “I think you’d better get him into hospital as soon as you can, doctor. Please forgive me for butting in, but I have had a case like this before.”

“What is it?” demanded the puzzled medico, as the butler was lifted on to the stretcher and carried from the room. “I thought it was a stroke of some kind.”

“It was a stroke of a pretty bad kind,” said Michael grimly.

He did not attempt to follow the ambulance party, but, putting on his coat, he strolled round the room on what appeared to be a tour of inspection. He examined the ceiling, the floor, and ran his eye over the library table.

“He fell six feet from the table, didn’t he?” he mused. He pointed to the patch of water that had discoloured the carpet. “Do you mind telling me where his feet were? He had been moved when I came in.”

“Lady Moron would prefer to discuss that matter with the police when they arrive,” snapped Chesney Praye. “You’ve no right whatever to be here, you know that, Dorn.”

“Will somebody tell me where his feet were?”

It was Lois who pointed.

“He was lying across the room.”

“Of course--yes.” The puzzled Dorn stroked his chin. “You weren’t here when it happened, I suppose, Miss Reddle?”

“I forbid you to answer any questions,” said the countess in her most ponderous manner. “And I completely agree with Mr. Praye that this is not a matter for outsiders. Do you suggest the man was assaulted?”

“I suggest nothing,” said Dorn, and again his eyes sought Lois Reddle’s. “You have quite a lot of accidents in this house, don’t you, Miss Reddle?” he asked pleasantly. “If I were you, I think I’d go back to Charlotte Street; you’ll be safer. When I saw the ambulance at the door I must confess that I nearly died of heart failure. I thought you were the interesting subject.”

Her ladyship walked to the door and opened it a little wider.

“Will you please go, Mr. Dorn? Your presence is unwelcome, and your suggestion that any person in this house is in the slightest danger is most offensive to me”--she looked at Praye--“and to my friend.”

“Then your ladyship should change your friend,” said Dorn good-naturedly, “and, lest you should think that the fine feelings of Mr. Chesney Praye are lacerated by my suggestion, I will relieve your mind. There are only two things that annoy Chesney, and they are to lose money he has and to be thwarted in any attempt to get money which doesn’t belong to him. Can I speak with you alone, Miss Reddle?”

“I forbid----” began the countess.

“May I?”

Lois hesitated, nodded, and preceded him from the room.

It was in the hall, deserted even by the footman, that he spoke his mind.

“I confess I didn’t expect the succession of accidents which have followed one another at such close intervals since you have been in this house,” he said. “I only consented to your coming here at all because I thought that----”

“_You_ consented?” Her eyes opened wide. She flushed with sudden anger. “Does it occur to you, Mr. Dorn, that I do not require your consent?”

“I’m sorry.” He was humility itself. “I am on the wrong track, but my nerves are a little jangled. What I wanted to say was that I ought to have known, after you received those poisoned chocolates----”

She went pale.

“Poisoned?” she whispered.

He nodded.

“Of course they were poisoned. Hydrocyanic acid. Why did you think I came into your room that night to get them away? I came with my heart in my mouth as I did a few minutes ago, expecting to find you dead.”

“Why are you so--so interested in me?” she asked, but he evaded the question.

“Will you leave this house to-day and go back to Charlotte Street?”

She shook her head.

“I can’t until to-morrow. I’ve promised Lady Moron that I would stay with her until then, and I’m sure, Mr. Dorn, that you’re mistaken. Who would send me poisoned chocolates?”

“Who would try to run you down with a car?” he countered. “Look at this.” He put his hand in his waistcoat pocket and took out a little roll of cloth. “Do you recognise this stuff?”

Her mouth opened in astonishment.

“Why, that is a piece of my skirt that was cut out when the car----”

“Exactly, and I found it hanging on the car. The people who garaged it were in such a hurry that they didn’t attempt to examine or to clean the machine.”

“But who--who is this enemy of mine?” she asked in a low voice.

He shook his head.