that machine in
the board room which you interrupted the other night."

"Was it necessary that Mr. Brainard should put his arm around you for
that?" inquired Mrs. Brainard with biting sarcasm.

"I had just jumped down from the table and had almost lost my
balance--that was all," pursued Constance imperturbably.

"Another of these microphone eavesdroppers told me of a conversation
last night in your own apartment, Mrs. Brainard."

Her face blanched. "You--have one--there?"

"Yes. Mr. Brainard heard the first conversation, when Drummond and Mr.
Worthington were there. After they left he had to attend a conference
himself. I alone heard what passed when Mr. Worthington returned."

"You are at liberty to--"

"Mrs. Brainard. You do not understand. I have no reason to want to make
you--"

An office boy tapped on the door and entered. "Mr. Brainard wants you,
Miss Dunlap."

"I cannot explain now," resumed Constance. "Won't you sit here at my
desk and listen over the microphone to what happens!"

She was gone before Mrs. Brainard could reply. What did it all mean?
Sybil put the black disc receiver to her ear as she had seen Constance
do. Her hand trembled. "Why did she tell me that?" she murmured.

"You can't prove it," shouted a voice through the black disc at her
ear. She was startled. It was the voice of Worthington.

"Miss Dunlap--have you that notebook?" came the deep tones of her
husband.

Constance read from her first notes that part relating to the
conspiracy to control Motors, carefully omitting the part about the
Leblanc letters.

"It's a lie--a lie."

"No, it is not a lie. It is all good legal evidence, the record taken
over the new microphone detective. Look up there over the chandelier,
Worthington. The other end is in the top drawer of Miss Dunlap's desk."

"I'll fight that to a finish, Brainard. You are clever but there are
other things besides Motors that you have to answer for."

"No. Those letters--that is what you mean--are in my possession now.
You didn't know that? All the eavesdropping, if you choose to call it
that, was not done here, either, by a long shot, Worthington. I had one
of these machines in my wife's reception room. I have all sorts of
little scraps of conversation," he boasted. "I also have an account of
a visit there from two--er--scoundrels--"

"Mrs. Brainard to see you, sir," announced a boy at the door.

Constance had risen. Her face was flushed and her breast rose