"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—"