When the door had closed behind his servitor Michael Dorn took several sheets of paper from the stationery rack and for half an hour was writing rapidly. When he had finished, he addressed an envelope, stamped the letter, and, going out to the landing, rang for the liftman and handed him the letter to post. Then he returned to his flat, and, taking off his collar and his tie, lay down on the bed for the sleep he so badly needed; for Michael Dorn had not closed his eyes for more than thirty-six hours. Chapter Eight All her life, Lois Reddle could never recall what happened that morning. She went about her work mechanically, like one in a dream; and that she did not commit the most appalling blunders was due to the natural orderliness of her mind. She went out with Lizzy to lunch at a neighbouring restaurant, and this was usually the meal of the day. But she could eat nothing, and her room-mate was genuinely alarmed. “Was it fierce, dear?” asked Lizzy anxiously. Lois roused herself from her thoughts with an effort. “Was what fierce?” she asked. “The fight you had with his nibs?” At first Lois did not comprehend what the girl was talking about. “Oh, you mean Mr. Dorn? No, it wasn’t fierce at all. It was a very--mild encounter.” “Did you tell him about his nerve?” asked Lizzy. “He seemed to know all about that!” said Lois with a smile. “I’ll bet he was upset and asked for mercy. Did he go on his knees?” She was anxious for details, but Lois shook her head. “Nothing sensational happened. He was a little bit penitent, but only a little bit. I am scared.” “Scared?” said Lizzy indignantly. “What have you got to be scared about? I’ll go and see him.” “No, you’ll do nothing of the kind. He’s not likely to worry us again,” said Lois Reddle hastily. “But what happened? Didn’t you ask him what he meant by it?” said her disappointed friend. “Yes, I asked him something of the sort.” Lois was anxious to get off the subject, but Lizzy was insistent. “Of course, if you were properly engaged and you were ill, and you’d had a tiff, it would have been all right his coming,” she began. “We aren’t engaged, properly or improperly, and I am in disgustingly good health, and we haven’t had a tiff, so it _wasn’t_ all right. He’ll not trouble us again, Lizzy.” “I’ve been trying all morning to get a word with you,” said the disgruntled typist, “but you’ve been going about all blah and woozy, and naturally I thought you’d been raising hell--if you’ll excuse the unladylike expression--and that there had been an awful scene, but I did think you’d tell me when we came out to grub.” But Lois was adamantine, and the meal passed in what was to Lizzy a wholly unsatisfactory discussion of her friend’s plans.