have
against us. We may even learn the hiding place of those letters Why,
there is no limit. This is one of those new microphone detectives."

"A microphone?" he repeated as he opened the box, looked sharply at the
two black little storage batteries inside, the coil of silk-covered
wire, a little black rubber receiver and a curious black disc whose
face was pierced by a circular row of holes.

"Yes. You must have heard of them. You hide that transmitter behind a
picture or under a table or desk. Then you run the wire out of the room
and by listening in the receiver you can hear everything!"

"But that is what detectives use--"

"Well?" she interrupted coolly, "what of it? If it is good for them, is
it not just as good for us?"

"Better!" he exclaimed. "By George, you ARE the goods."

It was late before Constance had a chance to do anything with the
microphone. It seemed as if Worthington were staying, perversely, later
than usual. At last, however, he left with a curt nod to her.

The moment the door was closed she stopped the desultory clicking of
her typewriter with which she had been toying in the appearance of
being busy. With Brainard she entered the board room where she had
noticed Worthington and Sheppard often during the day.

It was, without exaggeration, one of the most plainly furnished rooms
she had ever seen. A long mahogany table with eight large mahogany
chairs, a half inch pile of velvety rug on the floor and a huge
chandelier in the middle of the ceiling constituted the furniture. Not
a picture, not a cabinet or filing case broke the blankness of the
brown painted walls.

For a moment she stopped to consider. Brainard waited and watched her
narrowly.

"There isn't a place to put this transmitter except up above that
chandelier," she said at length.

He gave her his hand as she stepped on a chair and then on the table.
There was a glimpse of a trim ankle. The warmth and softness of her
touch caused him to hold her hand just a moment longer than was
absolutely necessary. A moment later he was standing on the table
beside her.

"This is the place, all right," she said, looking at the thick scum of
dust on the top of the reflector.

Quickly she placed the little black disc close to the center on the top
of the reflector. "Can you see that from the floor?" she asked.

"No," he answered, walking about the room, "not a sign of it."

"I'll sit here," she said in just a tremor of excitement ov