om."

The voices trailed off.

"Good night, Mrs. Brainard."

"Good night, Mr. Drummond. That was what I wanted to know." A pause.

"Lee, how can I ever thank you?"

A sound suspiciously like a kiss came over the wire. Brainard clenched
his fist.

"Good night, Sybil. I must go now--" Again the voices trailed off.

It was several minutes before Brainard spoke. Then it was that he
showed his wonderful power of concentration.

"I have a conference in half an hour, Constance," he remarked, looking
at his watch. "It is very important. It means getting money to support
Motors on the opening to-morrow after I have gathered in again what I
need. I think I can come pretty near doubling my holdings if I play it
right. That's important. But so is this."

"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