“A joke, a mere jest,” said the doctor unabashed, and pushed his glass towards the watchful Braime. “That’s a good wine of yours, your ladyship, a fine, full-bodied wine with a generous bouquet. Romanee-Conti, I think?” “Clos de Vougeot,” corrected the countess. “There is very little difference between the wines of Vougeot and Vosne,” said the connoisseur. “As a rule, I prefer the Conti, but your ladyship has converted me.” The lunch did not end soon enough for Lois. When the countess had risen, she strolled to where her son was standing. “When you come down to dinner to-night, be so good as to have the last of that ridiculous plaster taken from your face. I wish, at any rate, that you should look like a gentleman and not like a prize-fighter.” She mouthed the words deliberately. “Otherwise, perhaps I shall have to consult Dr. Tappatt.” Lord Moron shrunk at the ominous words, and his muttered rejoinder did not reach Lois’ ears. The suggestion that she should work in the library was one which Lois was glad to accept; for beyond a glimpse, she had never seen the room wherein the Countess of Moron spent so many hours with her jigsaw puzzles. And there was another reason; she must find the artfully concealed microphone which Lord Moron had installed. It was a pleasant room, low-roofed and long, and ran from the wall of the reception-room at the front of the house to a small conservatory which hid the ugliness of the tiny courtyard at the back. Every wall was covered with bookshelves, and there were, in addition, more than a dozen big filing cabinets in which the countess had accumulated, and carefully docketed, the little souvenirs which had come to her in the course of her life; theatre programmes, newspaper cuttings, correspondence which most people would not have thought worth preserving. But Lady Moron was a methodical woman and had a horror of waste. This she told the girl when she introduced her to the room. Left alone, Lois made a careful inspection of the library, without, however, discovering the hidden receiver or its wiring. She noticed that one section of the bookcase was covered by a strong door, covered with fine wire mesh, through which the titles could be seen; and studying these in the ample leisure she had, she was more than a little surprised at the precautions taken to prevent casual reading of this forbidden library. The books were of the most innocuous type, and she surmised that there had been a time when this section held literature less innocent. She had finished her work and was browsing about the books, taking down one after the other and glancing at their contents, when Braime came in. One glance at the man told her that something unusual had happened. His face was twitching, and he was evidently labouring under the stress of great excitement which he had not succeeded wholly in suppressing. “Will you go to the dining-room, miss? There’s a gentleman wishes to see you.” “A gentleman? Who is it?”