“I thought I heard you come out of your room, miss,” Braime continued; “in fact, I was on the point of coming downstairs when her ladyship came up. By the way, her ladyship will not be down until one o’clock, miss, she has two friends coming to lunch. She asked me if you would deal with any letters which are not marked personal.” Lois was in the midst of this occupation when Lord Moron came into the drawing-room, a nervous and apprehensive man. “’Morning, Miss Reddle,” he said, eyeing her keenly. “Well?” “Not very well, thank you!” smiled Lois. “Queer house this,” he mumbled. “All sorts of odd noises. These old places are like that, you know. Nothing disturbed you, I suppose? Nobody--er--talking in the street?” “No, nothing disturbed me,” she said untruthfully, and he heaved a sigh of relief. “Awfully glad. You don’t mind my going into your room to get the things I left behind, do you? I say, don’t mention this to her ladyship, will you, because she thinks I’m a careless devil and she’ll rag me most fearfully!” Lois promised, and he hurried from the room. When she went up to prepare for luncheon, she examined the canopy and found, as she had expected, that the microphone and its attachments had been removed. In other circumstances she might have been amused, but she was conscious that a terrible danger was hovering over her, and in some way that the menace was associated with the countess and her friend. “Lois Reddle is near to death!” She shivered at the recollection. Twice in a week she had escaped destruction by a hair’s breadth. Those were not accidents; she was sure now. But who could desire her harm? And what had the photograph of the young man in uniform to do with her? On one point she was determined, and she had confided her intention to Lizzy that morning whilst they were dressing, before they came down to breakfast. She must leave this house and take the risk of unemployment for a while. Lady Moron came into the drawing-room just before lunch, looked over the letters and signed such as required her signature, and then Lois broke the news. To her surprise the big woman was neither indignant nor entreating. “When I saw you early this morning I was afraid this would happen,” she said. “And really I cannot blame you, Miss Reddle. You have had a most terrifying experience, though I believe that last night’s trouble was purely imaginary.” Lois said nothing. “When do you wish to go? As soon as possible, I gather from your hesitation. Very well, I am not blaming you. I feel partly to blame, and I will pay you a month’s salary and arrange for you to leave to-morrow.”