When Thompson arrived some ten minutes later, he stood at the door of Malcolm Sage's room "listening with his mouth," as Gladys Norman had expressed it. When he had regained the power of speech, he uttered two words. "Jumping Je-hosh-o-phat!"; but into them he precipitated all the emotion of his being. "Go away, Tommy, we're busy," cried Gladys Norman over her shoulder. "Do you hear; go away," she repeated, stamping her foot angrily as he made no movement to obey, and Thompson slid away and closed the door, convinced that in the course of the next half-hour there would be the very deuce to pay. He knew the Chief better than Gladys, he told himself, and if there were one thing calculated to bring out all the sternness in his nature it was flippancy, and what could be more flippant than decorating the room of a great detective with huge bowls and vases of red and white roses. Regardless of Thompson's forebodings, Lady Dene smiled to herself as she put the finishing touches to the last vase, whilst Gladys Norman gathered up the litter of leaves and stalks that lay on the floor, throwing them into the fireplace. She then removed the last spots of water from Malcolm Sage's table. Lady Dene took from her bag a small leather-case, which she opened and placed in the centre of the table opposite Malcolm Sage's chair. It was a platinum ring of antique workmanship, with a carbuchon of lapis lazuli. "Oh, how lovely!" cried Gladys Norman, as she gazed at the ring's exquisite workmanship. Presently, the two girls stepped back to gaze at their handiwork. In a few minutes they had transformed an austere, business-man's room into what looked like a miniature rose-show. From every point red and white roses seemed to nod their fragrant heads. "I----" began Gladys Norman, then she stopped suddenly, arrested by a slight sound behind her. She span round on her heel. Malcolm Sage stood in the doorway, with Thompson and William Johnson a few feet behind him. Slowly and deliberately he looked round the room; then his eyes rested on Lady Dene. "How do you do, Lady Dene," he said quietly, extending his hand. For a moment she was conscious of an unaccustomed sensation of fear. "You're not cross?" she interrogated, looking up at him quizzically, her head a little on one side. "You see, it's the Bureau's birthday, and----" She stopped suddenly. Malcolm Sage had dropped her hand and walked over to his table. Picking up the ring he examined it intently, then turned to Lady Dene, interrogation in his eyes. "It's from my husband and me," she said simply. "You have such lovely hands, and--and we should like you to wear it." Without a word he removed the ring from the case and put it on the third finger of his right hand, which he then extended to Lady Dene, who took it with a little laugh of happiness. "You're not really cross," she said, looking up at him a little anxiously.