The detective waited until the man was out of sight, then strolled along the side-street, passed up the mews at the back of Chester Gardens, and made a careful examination of the back premises of No. 307. The stables and garages on the other side of the mews interested him considerably, and it was some time before he was clear of the mews, and met the silent little man whom he had sent out on an errand the morning Lois Reddle had visited his flat. “Wills, there’s a garage to let in this mews. I have an idea that it belongs to her ladyship--her own cars are at the Belgrave Garage. Go along and see the agents, tell them you wish to rent the place and get the keys--to-night if possible--to-morrow certain.” He handed a note he had made of the agent’s address to the other, and without a word the silent Wills strolled away. He never asked questions--which, to Michael Dorn, was his chief charm. Michael came into Chester Square from the opposite end. He saw Lady Moron’s big Rolls standing at the doorway, and presently had the felicity of seeing her ladyship, accompanied by her son, enter the car and drive away. She was going shopping and would come back to lunch, he thought, and loafed along the side-walk, slackening his pace as he came opposite the house. There was no sign of the girl, but Michael Dorn was a very patient man. It was not Lois whom he expected or wished to see. The man for whom he was waiting came out ten minutes after Lady Moron’s car had turned from Chester Square. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a somewhat unpleasant face, whom Michael knew to be Lady Moron’s butler. Him he followed at a distance, and this time Michael made a very profitable trail. Chapter Ten The Countess of Moron, Lois discovered, had one amiable weakness; it was for jigsaw puzzles, which were made especially for her--pictures in greys and blues and elusive shades which would have driven an ordinary puzzle expert to despair. They were cut in tiny pieces, and her ladyship would spend hours before the big table in the library, putting them together. This she confessed at luncheon, and it was the first time that Lois had seen the human side of her employer. In the main the conversation was confined to the two women, Lord Moron being in the party, but not of it. When he spoke, as occasionally he did, his mother either ignored him or answered him in monosyllables. And apparently he was used to such treatment, which he did not seem to resent. The only servant present throughout the meal was the butler, Braime, for whom Lois conceived an instant dislike. He was a man with a forbidding face, sparing of speech, and though he was polite enough, there was something about his height and bulk which produced in the girl a sensation of uneasiness. “You don’t like Braime, Miss Reddle?” asked the countess, when the man was momentarily absent from the room. Lois marvelled at the intuition of her employer, and answered laughingly: