“Lower your voice. I am not deaf. And, anyway, there’s no call for you to talk at all. Understand that. I’ve been to the India Office this morning, and sounded the Secretary. There will be no difficulty in getting a warrant for you in connection with that Delhi business if I take a little trouble. Let fact Number One sink into your mind. The second is this; if any harm comes to this girl Reddle--and I can trace your strong right hand in the matter--I’ll follow you through nine kinds of hell and catch you. Absorb that.” And with a nod, he turned and walked away, leaving the man speechless with rage and fear. Chapter Seventeen Lois thought it was kind of Lady Moron to give her the afternoon and evening to herself. “My dear, I’ll be glad to get rid of you,” said her ladyship frankly. “That wretched man Dorn has quite upset me, and I’m not going to visit my resentment on you. Go away for a few hours and begin to forget that there is such a place as 307 Chester Square. And if you feel you’d like to go to a theatre later, please do so. I will leave instructions for the night footman to wait up for you. I have just heard from the hospital that Braime is quite conscious and perhaps he will give us an account of the mysterious happening. I’ve had the library searched, and I’ve not found anything to account for his extraordinary seizure. I doubt even whether the clever Mr. Dorn will be any more successful,” she added, without evidence of malice. Lois was glad to get away, and her first thought was to acquaint her friend with what had happened. She made her way to Bedford Row, and as she reached that familiar thoroughfare, she saw the ancient Ford at the door and Mr. Shaddles pulling on his gloves preparatory to departure. He lived in Hampstead, and was invariably the first and last user of the old machine. His glare was distinctly unfriendly as she mounted the steps. “Well?” he asked. “You’ve come back, have you? Tired of your job, eh? I never thought you’d be much good as a private secretary.” “I’m not tired of it, but I’m leaving,” she smiled. “Young people must have change,” deplored Mr. Shaddles. “It is the cursed unrest of the age. How long were you with me?” “Some years, Mr. Shaddles.” “Two years, nine months, and seven days,” he said rapidly. “That seems like eternity, I suppose, young woman? To me it is”--he snapped his fingers--“yesterday! I brought you down from Leith, didn’t I? One of my clients mentioned you, and I gave you your chance, eh?” “Yes,” she said, wondering why he had grown so unexpectedly reminiscent. “Ah!” He looked up at the sky as though for inspiration, or applause--she wasn’t quite sure which. “You’ll want to come back to your old job, I suppose?” And without waiting for her reply, “Well, you can start to-morrow. I’ll give you three pounds a week, and you can start to-morrow morning at half-past eight.” He laid special emphasis on the last words.