“I’ve come for Lois Reddle,” said Dorn shortly. “She is not here. I have put her beyond your vindictive reach.” “Where is she?” “I refuse to make any statement, after your disgraceful conduct last night in arresting this poor innocent child----” “You can leave that out, Lady Moron,” said Michael savagely. “Nobody knows better than you why she was arrested. Where is she?” “I’ve sent her away to friends of mine.” “The address?” The Countess of Moron smiled slowly. “A very persistent young man,” she said, almost pleasantly. “Will you come into the library? I cannot speak in this draughty hall. Is that Miss Smith you have with you? She may come in too.” “She’ll be safer outside,” said Michael coolly and passed into the hall. All this time Selwyn had said nothing, but now he turned to his mother. “Where is Miss Reddle? Perhaps your ladyship will tell me?” “I shall tell you nothing,” was the cold reply. “You may go back to your room.” “I’ll be blowed if I’ll go back to my room,” protested Lord Moron. “There’s something remarkably fishy here, and I want to know just what the deuce it is all about.” It was a most heroic speech for him, and Michael, who knew all the courage that was required to oppose this woman, felt a little glow of admiration for the bullied man. Even the countess was taken aback. “Why, Selwyn,” she said in a milder voice, “that is not the tone to adopt towards your mother!” “I don’t care what it is or what it isn’t,” said Selwyn doggedly. “There’s something fishy--I’ve always said there was something fishy about--things. Now, where the deuce is Miss Reddle?” “She is with some friends of ours in the country,” said her ladyship. The reply seemed to exhaust his power of resistance. “Very well,” he said meekly. He looked through the open door at Lizzy, smiled and waved his hand at her, looked back at his mother, and then, visibly bracing himself for the effort, walked boldly down the steps in his pyjamas and attenuated dressing-gown to talk to the girl. “Are you satisfied, Mr. Dorn?” “No, I am far from satisfied, your ladyship,” said Michael, as he followed the woman into the library. He noticed the dull patch on the carpet where the water had been thrown upon Braime, and saw her eyes also fixed upon the spot. “And now, Mr. Dorn,” she said, almost amiably, “there is no reason why we should quarrel. What is this mystery that you are making about Miss Reddle? The poor girl was beside herself last night. It was an act of mercy to send her off into the country.” “Who drove her?” “My chauffeur.” His keen eyes were fixed upon her, but she did not falter. “Not Mr. Chesney Praye by any chance?” he asked softly.