“The officer wishes to see the balcony,” said Braime, and opened the door for the policeman’s inspection. With the aid of his lamp the officer made a cursory examination and brought his head back into the room. He looked strangely at Lois. “You’ll never get nearer to trouble than that, miss,” he said. “There’s an old crack in the slab that you trod on, and the balustrade doesn’t support the flooring at all. I’d like to see some of the other balconies,” he said, and disappeared with the butler. This was the second accident in a few days; her spine crept at the thought. What malign influence was following her? For the first time she wished she was returning to her humble little room in Charlotte Street, and she said good-bye to Lizzy with real reluctance. The countess arrived home soon after the girl had gone, and came immediately up to Lois’ room as she was undressing. “I knew that balcony was unsafe,” she said, “and I told that fool of a butler to keep the gate fixed. Where is the gate?” “It was here this afternoon; I did not notice it before I went down to dinner, Lady Moron,” said Lois. “I thought it had been moved to allow the windows to be closed.” The countess bit her red lip thoughtfully. “There is more in this than I care to think about,” she said. “I hope you’re not going to have a sleepless night, Miss Reddle. I cannot tell you how distressed I am. How were you saved?” Lois told her and Lady Moron nodded. “Braime?” she said. “But what was he doing on the third floor at that time?” She looked searchingly at the girl and then, without another word, went to her own room. It was two o’clock in the morning before sleep came to Lois; and by that time her nerves were on edge, so that she started at every sound. Something was keeping her awake--something she was trying to remember. Some thought was working insistently at the back of her mind, demanding revelation. As she tossed from side to side, consciousness of this inhibited memory made her grow wider and wider awake. And then, as she came back to bed, after the second tramp to the washstand for a glass of water, it flashed upon her. “Keep your door locked--even in the palatial home of the Countess of Moron!” Michael Dorn’s warning! It was that. She went to the door and felt for the key. But there was none, nor was there any bolt. Turning on the light, she lifted one of the smaller arm-chairs, carried it to the door, and pushed the back beneath the handle. Then she went back to bed and was asleep in a few seconds. She awoke the next morning to find the sun streaming past the edge of the blind. There was a gentle tap-tapping at the door. She jumped out of bed and pulled away the chair to admit the maid. “Good morning, miss,” said the maid cheerfully, and was inclined to discuss the accident of the night before, but that Lois was most anxious to forget.