A light had flashed on her face--somebody was in the room. She could hear their soft movements, and then came to her ears the rustle of paper. It was Lizzy, of course. Lizzy frequently came in the middle of the night, when her cough was troublesome, for the voice lozenges which Lois kept in the drawer of her dressing-table. Without a word she stretched out her hand and switched on the little hand-lamp which was one of her luxuries. As she turned the switch, she remembered drowsily that the battery had nearly run out. There was a flicker of white light, that died down to yellow, and then to darkness. But in that second of time she had seen the figure of a man standing by the dressing-table, and recognised him before she saw the startled face of Michael Dorn! Chapter Seven For a second she remained, paralyzed, and then, as the sound of his feet crossing the floor came to her, she screamed. “What is it?” She heard the creak and rumble of Lizzy’s bed, the scratch of a match, and saw the white gleam of the gas as it was lit. In another second Lizzy was in her room. Lois was out of bed now and with trembling fingers was lighting her own lamp. Otherwise the room was empty. “Somebody was here--a man,” she said shakily. “You’ve been dreaming.” “I was not dreaming. Listen!” There was the thud of a closing door. Running to the window, Lois threw up the sash and leant out. She had time to see a man’s figure walking swiftly down Charlotte Street. “There he is! Don’t you recognise him? It is Dorn!” Lizzy craned farther out of the window and after a time came in with a scared face. “I shouldn’t like to say it wasn’t,” she said cautiously. “Do you mean to say Dorn’s been here?” Lois nodded. This shock, coming on top of the other, had almost unnerved her. “But was he here--in this room?” Still Lizzy was not convinced, but one glance at the girl’s face told her that Lois had not been mistaken. She hurried out into the kitchen, drew a glass of water. Lois drank the refreshingly cold liquid eagerly. “Well, he’s got a nerve!” said Lizzy, sitting down on a chair and staring blankly at her companion. “What was he doing?” “I don’t know. He was standing in front of the dressing-table. I only saw him for a second, and then this wretched light went out.” “He’s got a nerve,” said Lizzy again. “There’s a limit to everything. Going into a young lady’s bedroom in the middle of the night to get an introduction seems to me to be ungentlemanly.” Lois laughed weakly. “He didn’t speak to you?” She shook her head. “Jack scuttled off like a rabbit, I suppose.” Lizzy walked to the door and opened it, gazing reflectively at the stairs, as though she wished to visualise the undignified character of the visitor’s exit. “He sends you chocolates overnight----” Lois’ eyes strayed to the dressing-table, and she sprang to her feet with a cry. “They’re gone!” she said, and the stenographer’s jaw dropped. “Gone? Were they there?” She pointed.