“I will listen,” put in Constance.  “Trust me.  If anything else occurs I will tell you.”

She was at the office early the next day, but not before Brainard who, bright and fresh, even though he had been up all night, was primed for the battle of his life at the opening of the market.

Brainard had swung in at the turn and had quietly accumulated the stock control which he needed.  He was now bulling the market by matching orders, pyramiding stock which he owned, using every device that was known to his astute brain.

On up went Motors, recovering the forty points, gradually, and even going beyond in the reaction.  Worthington and Sheppard had been squeezed out.  Not for a moment did he let up.

As the clock on Trinity church struck three, the closing hour, Brainard wheeled suddenly in his chair.

“Miss Dunlap,” he said quietly.  “I wish that you would tell Worthington and Sheppard that I should like to see them in the board room at four.”

Constance looked at her watch.  There was time also to execute a little scheme of her own.

Four o’clock came.  Brainard lounged casually across to the board room.  Instantly Constance had the receiver of the microphone at her ear, straining to catch every word, and to make notes of the stormy scene, if necessary.

Her door opened.  It was Sybil Brainard.

The two women looked at each other coldly.

Constance was the first to speak.

“Mrs. Brainard,” she began, “I asked you to come down here—­not Mr. Worthington.  More than that, I asked the office boy to direct you here instead of to his office.  Do you see that machine?”

Sybil looked at it without a sign of recognition.

“It is a microphone detective.  It was the installing of 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.