“My dear, I can’t tell you now, not--not in this mood,” said Lois. “You poor little matchmaker! Mr. Dorn is probably married, with a large family. We won’t talk about him either.” Then, as a thought struck her: “Would you like to see this wicked city by night, with all its lights? I’ll show you.” She walked to the French windows and opened them. “This little balcony is forbidden territory by day, but it is rather wonderful now, isn’t it?” She stepped out on to the balcony and, walking to the balustrade, rested her hand upon the broad parapet, looking down into the street, which seemed a terribly long way below. And even as she did so, she felt the balcony sag slowly beneath her. She turned in a fright and leapt towards the window; but at that minute there was a loud crack, and the stone floor dropped suddenly beneath her. Chapter Eleven As she fell, Lois clutched wildly, and her fingers caught a projecting ridge of stone an inch wide; the jerk nearly pulled her arms from their sockets, but for the moment she hung. She heard the frightened scream of Lizzy. “Are you there? Oh, for God’s sake hold on, Lois! I’ll get them!” And then, looking up, she saw the girl jerked violently backwards. She was falling; she could not hold on a second longer. There was a terrible, unendurable pain in her shoulders and her head was swimming. And then, just as her fingers were slipping, a big hand grasped her wrist, and she felt herself drawn upwards until another hand caught her under the arm and pulled her into the room. She looked up into the unpleasant face of Braime, the butler. He laid her on the bed, then, going to the window, knelt and peered down. The crash of falling masonry had attracted one of those small crowds which gather from nowhere at any hour of the day or night in London. Braime saw a policeman running across the street, and, rising, dusted his knees carefully, closed the window door and latched it. He said not a word to the girl, but went out of the room. Lois, on the very verge of collapse, lay white of face, as pale as death. But her distress was as nothing to Lizzy Smith’s, who was paralysed by all the tragic happening, until the girl’s moan aroused her to action. Lois came from semi-consciousness to a clearer understanding, with a sense that she had been drowned, then, as out of a haze, loomed the white-faced Lizzy with a water-jug in her hand. “That was a close call!” breathed the girl. Something in the words was reminiscent; Lois had heard them before. Then in a flash she remembered the motor-car which had nearly killed her and Michael Dorn’s words. She struggled up to a sitting position and found that the sensation of drowning was not altogether illusory, for Lizzy had been very lavish in her use of the water-jug. She had hardly got to her feet when there was a tap at the door and the butler came in, followed by a policeman.