THE ANGEL OF TERROR

The characters in this book are entirely imaginary, and have no relationto any living person. 

 To F. L. S. A MAN OF LAW

First Printed, May, 1922

32nd Edition, September, 1934

Made and Printed in Great Britain for Hodder and Stoughton Limited, by Wyman & Sons Ltd. , London, Reading and Fakenham

The Angel of Terror

Chapter I

The hush of the court, which had been broken when the foreman of thejury returned their verdict, was intensified as the Judge, with a quickglance over his pince-nez at the tall prisoner, marshalled his paperswith the precision and method which old men display in tense momentssuch as these. He gathered them together, white paper and blue and buffand stacked them in a neat heap on a tiny ledge to the left of his desk. Then he took his pen and wrote a few words on a printed paper beforehim. 

Another breathless pause and he groped beneath the desk and brought outa small square of black silk and carefully laid it over his white wig. Then he spoke:

"James Meredith, you have been convicted after a long and patient trialof the awful crime of wilful murder. With the verdict of the jury I amin complete agreement. There is little doubt, after hearing the evidenceof the unfortunate lady to whom you were engaged, and whose evidence youattempted in the most brutal manner to refute, that, instigated by yourjealousy, you shot Ferdinand Bulford. The evidence of Miss Briggerlandthat you had threatened this poor young man, and that you left herpresence in a temper, is unshaken. By a terrible coincidence, Mr. Bulford was in the street outside your fiancée's door when you left, andmaddened by your insane jealousy, you shot him dead. 

"To suggest, as you have through your counsel, that you called at MissBriggerland's that night to break off your engagement and that theinterview was a mild one and unattended by recriminations is to suggestthat this lady has deliberately committed perjury in order to swear awayyour life, and when to that disgraceful charge you produce a motive, namely that by your death or imprisonment Miss Briggerland, who is yourcousin, would benefit to a considerable extent, you merely add to yourinfamy. Nobody who saw the young girl in the box, a pathetic, and if Imay say, a beautiful figure, could accept for one moment your fantasticexplanation. 

"Who killed Ferdinand Bulford? A man without an enemy in the world. Thattragedy cannot be explained away. It now only remains for me to pass thesentence which the law imposes. The jury's recommendation to mercy willbe forwarded to the proper quarter.... "

He then proceeded to pass sentence of death, and the tall man in thedock listened without a muscle of his face moving. 

So ended the great Berkeley Street Murder Trial, and when a few dayslater it was announced that the sentence of death had been commuted toone of penal servitude for life, there were newspapers and people whohinted at mistaken leniency and suggested that James Meredith would havebeen hanged if he were a poor man instead of being, as he was, themaster of vast wealth. 

"That's that, " said Jack Glover between his teeth, as he came out ofcourt with the eminent King's Counsel who had defended his friend andclient, "the little lady wins. "

His companion looked sideways at him and smiled. 

"Honestly, Glover, do you believe that poor girl could do so dastardly athing as lie about the man she loves?"

"She loves!" repeated Jack Glover witheringly. 

"I think you are prejudiced, " said the counsel, shaking his head. "Personally, I believe that Meredith is a lunatic; I am satisfied thatall he told us about the interview he had with the girl was born of adiseased imagination. I was terribly impressed when I saw JeanBriggerland in the box. She--by Jove, there is the lady!"

They had reached the entrance of the Court. A big car was standing bythe kerb and one of the attendants was holding open the door for a girldressed in black. They had a glimpse of a pale, sad face ofextraordinary beauty, and then she disappeared behind the drawn blinds. 

The counsel drew a long sigh. 

"Mad!" he said huskily. "He must be mad! If ever I saw a pure soul in awoman's face, it is in hers!"

"You've been in the sun, Sir John--you're getting sentimental, " saidJack Glover brutally, and the eminent lawyer choked indignantly. 

Jack Glover had a trick of saying rude things to his friends, even whenthose friends were twenty years his senior, and by every rule ofprofessional etiquette entitled to respectful treatment. 

"Really!" said the outraged Sir John. "There are times, Glover, when youare insufferable!"

But by this time Jack Glover was swinging along the Old Bailey, hishands in his pockets, his silk hat on the back of his head. 

He found the grey-haired senior member of the firm of Rennett, Gloverand Simpson (there had been no Simpson in the firm for ten years) on thepoint of going home. 

Mr. Rennett sat down at the sight of his junior. 

"I heard the news by 'phone, " he said. "Ellbery says there is no groundfor appeal, but I think the recommendation to mercy will save hislife--besides it is a _crime passionelle_, and they don't hang forhomicidal jealousy. I suppose it was the girl's evidence that turned thetrick?"

Jack nodded. 

"And she looked like an angel just out of the refrigerator, " he saiddespairingly. "Ellbery did his poor best to shake her, but the old foolis half in love with her--I left him raving about her pure soul and herother celestial etceteras. "

Mr. Rennett stroked his iron grey beard. 

"She's won, " he said, but the other turned on him with a snarl. 

"Not yet!" he said almost harshly. "She hasn't won till Jimmy Meredithis dead or----"

"Or----?" repeated his partner significantly. "That 'or' won't come off, Jack. He'll get a life sentence as sure as 'eggs is eggs. ' I'd go a longway to help Jimmy; I'd risk my practice and my name. "

Jack Glover looked at his partner in astonishment. 

"You old sportsman!" he said admiringly. "I didn't know you were so fondof Jimmy?"

Mr. Rennett got up and began pulling on his gloves. He seemed a littleuncomfortable at the sensation he had created. 

"His father was my first client, " he said apologetically. "One of thebest fellows that ever lived. He married late in life, that was why hewas such a crank over the question of marriage. You might say that oldMeredith founded our firm. Your father and Simpson and I were nearly atour last gasp when Meredith gave us his business. That was our turningpoint. Your father--God rest him--was never tired of talking about it. Iwonder he never told you. "

"I think he did, " said Jack thoughtfully. "And you really would go along way--Rennett--I mean, to help Jim Meredith?"

"All the way, " said old Rennett shortly. 

Jack Glover began whistling a long lugubrious tune. 

"I'm seeing the old boy to-morrow, " he said. "By the way, Rennett, didyou see that a fellow had been released from prison to a nursing homefor a minor operation the other day? There was a question asked inParliament about it. Is it usual?"

"It can be arranged, " said Rennett. "Why?"

"Do you think in a few months' time we could get Jim Meredith into anursing home for--say an appendix operation?"

"Has he appendicitis?" asked the other in surprise. 

"He can fake it, " said Jack calmly. "It's the easiest thing in the worldto fake. "

Rennett looked at the other under his heavy eyebrows. 

"You're thinking of the 'or'?" he challenged, and Jack nodded. 

"It can be done--if he's alive, " said Rennett after a pause. 

"He'll be alive, " prophesied his partner, "now the only thing is--whereshall I find the girl?"

Chapter II

Lydia Beale gathered up the scraps of paper that littered her table, rolled them into a ball and tossed them into the fire. 

There was a knock at the door, and she half turned in her chair to meetwith a smile her stout landlady who came in carrying a tray on whichstood a large cup of tea and two thick and wholesome slices of bread andjam. 

"Finished, Miss Beale?" asked the landlady anxiously. 

"For the day, yes, " said the girl with a nod, and stood up stretchingherself stiffly. 

She was slender, a head taller than the dumpy Mrs. Morgan. The darkviolet eyes and the delicate spiritual face she owed to her Celticancestors, the grace of her movements, no less than the perfect handsthat rested on the drawing board, spoke eloquently of breed. 

"I'd like to see it, miss, if I may, " said Mrs. Morgan, wiping her handson her apron in anticipation. 

Lydia pulled open a drawer of the table and took out a large sheet ofWindsor board. She had completed her pencil sketch and Mrs. Morgangasped appreciatively. It was a picture of a masked man holding avillainous crowd at bay at the point of a pistol. 

"That's wonderful, miss, " she said in awe. "I suppose those sort ofthings happen too?"

The girl laughed as she put the drawing away. 

"They happen in stories which I illustrate, Mrs. Morgan, " she saiddryly. "The real brigands of life come in the shape of lawyers' clerkswith writs and summonses. It's a relief from those mad fashion plates Idraw, anyway. Do you know, Mrs. Morgan, that the sight of a dressmaker'sshop window makes me positively ill!"

Mrs. Morgan shook her head sympathetically and Lydia changed thesubject. 

"Has anybody been this afternoon?" she asked. 

"Only the young man from Spadd & Newton, " replied the stout woman with asigh. "I told 'im you was out, but I'm a bad liar. "

The girl groaned. 

"I wonder if I shall ever get to the end of those debts, " she said indespair. "I've enough writs in the drawer to paper the house, Mrs. Morgan. "

Three years ago Lydia Beale's father had died and she had lost the bestfriend and companion that any girl ever had. She knew he was in debt, but had no idea how extensively he was involved. A creditor had seenher the day after the funeral and had made some uncouth reference to theconvenience of a death which had automatically cancelled George Beale'sobligations. It needed only that to spur the girl to an action which wasas foolish as it was generous. She had written to all the people to whomher father owed money and had assumed full responsibility for debtsamounting to hundreds of pounds. 

It was the Celt in her that drove her to shoulder the burden which shewas ill-equipped to carry, but she had never regretted her impetuousact. 

There were a few creditors who, realising what had happened, did notbother her, and there were others.... 

She earned a fairly good salary on the staff of the _Daily Megaphone_, which made a feature of fashion, but she would have had to have been therecipient of a cabinet minister's emoluments to have met the demandswhich flowed in upon her a month after she had accepted her father'sobligations. 

"Are you going out to-night, miss?" asked the woman. 

Lydia roused herself from her unpleasant thoughts. 

"Yes. I'm making some drawings of the dresses in Curfew's new play. I'llbe home somewhere around twelve. "

Mrs. Morgan was half-way across the room when she turned back. 

"One of these days you'll get out of all your troubles, miss, you see ifyou don't! I'll bet you'll marry a rich young gentleman. "

Lydia, sitting on the edge of the table, laughed. 

"You'd lose your money, Mrs. Morgan, " she said, "rich young gentlemenonly marry poor working girls in the kind of stories I illustrate. If Imarry it will probably be a very poor young gentleman who will become anincurable invalid and want nursing. And I shall hate him so much that Ican't be happy with him, and pity him so much that I can't run away fromhim. "

Mrs. Morgan sniffed her disagreement. 

"There are things that happen----" she began. 

"Not to me--not miracles, anyway, " said Lydia, still smiling, "and Idon't know that I want to get married. I've got to pay all these billsfirst, and by the time they are settled I'll be a grey-haired old ladyin a mob cap. "

Lydia had finished her tea and was standing somewhat scantily attired inthe middle of her bedroom, preparing for her theatre engagement, whenMrs. Morgan returned. 

"I forgot to tell you, miss, " she said, "there was a gentleman and alady called. "

"A gentleman and a lady? Who were they?"

"I don't know, Miss Beale. I was lying down at the time, and the girlanswered the door. I gave her strict orders to say that you were out. "

"Did they leave any name?"

"No, miss. They just asked if Miss Beale lived here, and could they seeher. "

"H'm!" said Lydia with a frown. "I wonder what we owe them!"

She dismissed the matter from her mind, and thought no more of it untilshe stopped on her way to the theatre to learn from the office bytelephone the number of drawings required. 

The chief sub-editor answered her. 

"And, by the way, " he added, "there was an inquiry for you at the officeto-day--I found a note of it on my desk when I came in to-night. Someold friends of yours who want to see you. Brand told them you were goingto do a show at the Erving Theatre to-night, so you'll probably seethem. "

"Who are they?" she asked, puzzled. 

She had few friends, old or new. 

"I haven't the foggiest idea, " was the reply. 

At the theatre she saw nobody she knew, though she looked roundinterestedly, nor was she approached in any of the _entr'actes_. 

In the row ahead of her, and a little to her right, were two people whoregarded her curiously as she entered. The man was about fifty, verydark and bald--the skin of his head was almost copper-coloured, thoughhe was obviously a European, for the eyes which beamed benevolently uponher through powerful spectacles were blue, but so light a blue that bycontrast with the mahogany skin of his clean-shaven face, they seemedalmost white. 

The girl who sat with him was fair, and to Lydia's artistic eye, singularly lovely. Her hair was a mop of fine gold. The colour wasnatural, Lydia was too sophisticated to make any mistake about that. Herfeatures were regular and flawless. The young artist thought she hadnever seen so perfect a "cupid" mouth in her life. There was somethingso freshly, fragrantly innocent about the girl that Lydia's heart wentout to her, and she could hardly keep her eyes on the stage. The unknownseemed to take almost as much interest in her, for twice Lydia surprisedher backward scrutiny. She found herself wondering who she was. The girlwas beautifully dressed, and about her neck was a platinum chain thatmust have hung to her waist--a chain which was broken every few inchesby a big emerald. 

It required something of an effort of concentration to bring her mindback to the stage and her work. With a book on her knee she sketchedthe somewhat bizarre costumes which had aroused a mild public interestin the play, and for the moment forgot her entrancing companion. 

She came through the vestibule at the end of the performance, and drewher worn cloak more closely about her slender shoulders, for the nightwas raw, and a sou'westerly wind blew the big wet snowflakes under theprotecting glass awning into the lobby itself. The favoured playgoersminced daintily through the slush to their waiting cars, then taxis cameinto the procession of waiting vehicles, there was a banging of cabdoors, a babble of orders to the scurrying attendants, until somethinglike order was evolved from the chaos. 

"Cab, miss?"

Lydia shook her head. An omnibus would take her to Fleet Street, but twohad passed, packed with passengers, and she was beginning to despair, when a particularly handsome taxi pulled up at the kerb. 

The driver leant over the shining apron which partially protected himfrom the weather, and shouted:

"Is Miss Beale there?"

The girl started in surprise, taking a step toward the cab. 

"I am Miss Beale, " she said. 

"Your editor has sent me for you, " said the man briskly. 

The editor of the _Megaphone_ had been guilty of many eccentric acts. Hehad expressed views on her drawing which she shivered to recall. He hadaroused her in the middle of the night to sketch dresses at a fancydress ball, but never before had he done anything so human as to send ataxi for her. Nevertheless, she would not look at the gift cab tooclosely, and she stepped into the warm interior. 

The windows were veiled with the snow and the sleet which had beenfalling all the time she had been in the theatre. She saw blurred lightsflash past, and realised that the taxi was going at a good pace. Sherubbed the windows and tried to look out after a while. Then sheendeavoured to lower one, but without success. Suddenly she jumped upand tapped furiously at the window to attract the driver's attention. There was no mistaking the fact that they were crossing a bridge and itwas not necessary to cross a bridge to reach Fleet Street. 

If the driver heard he took no notice. The speed of the car increased. She tapped at the window again furiously. She was not afraid, but shewas angry. Presently fear came. It was when she tried to open the door, and found that it was fastened from the outside, that she struck amatch to discover that the windows had been screwed tight--the edge ofthe hole where the screw had gone in was rawly new, and the screw's headwas bright and shining. 

She had no umbrella--she never carried one to the theatre--and nothingmore substantial in the shape of a weapon than a fountain pen. She couldsmash the windows with her foot. She sat back in the seat, anddiscovered that it was not so easy an operation as she had thought. Shehesitated even to make the attempt; and then the panic sense left her, and she was her own calm self again. She was not being abducted. Thesethings did not happen in the twentieth century, except in sensationalbooks. She frowned. She had said almost the same thing to somebody thatday--to Mrs. Morgan, who had hinted at a romantic marriage. Of course, nothing was wrong. The driver had called her by name. Probably theeditor wanted to see her at his home, he lived somewhere in SouthLondon, she remembered. That would explain everything. And yet herinstinct told her that something unusual was happening, that someunpleasant experience was imminent. 

She tried to put the thought out of her mind, but it was too vivid, tooinsistent. 

Again she tried the door, and then, conscious of a faint reflected glowon the cloth-lined roof of the cab, she looked backward through thepeep-hole. She saw two great motor-car lamps within a few yards of thecab. A car was following, she glimpsed the outline of it as they ranpast a street standard. 

They were in one of the roads of the outer suburbs. Looking through thewindow over the driver's shoulder she saw trees on one side of the road, and a long grey fence. It was while she was so looking that the carbehind shot suddenly past and ahead, and she saw its tail lights movingaway with a pang of hopelessness. Then, before she realised what hadhappened, the big car ahead slowed and swung sideways, blocking theroad, and the cab came to a jerky stop that flung her against thewindow. She saw two figures in the dim light of the taxi's head lamps, heard somebody speak, and the door was jerked open. 

"Will you step out, Miss Beale, " said a pleasant voice, and though herlegs seemed queerly weak, she obliged. The second man was standing bythe side of the driver. He wore a long raincoat, the collar of which wasturned up to the tip of his nose. 

"You may go back to your friends and tell them that Miss Beale is ingood hands, " he was saying. "You may also burn a candle or two beforeyour favourite saint, in thanksgiving that you are alive. "

"I don't know what you're talking about, " said the driver sulkily. "I'mtaking this young lady to her office. "

"Since when has the _Daily Megaphone_ been published in the ghastlysuburbs?" asked the other politely. 

He saw the girl, and raised his hat. 

"Come along, Miss Beale, " he said. "I promise you a more comfortableride--even if I cannot guarantee that the end will be less startling. "

Chapter III

The man who had opened the door was a short, stoutly built person ofmiddle age. He took the girl's arm gently, and without questioning sheaccompanied him to the car ahead, the man in the raincoat following. Noword was spoken, and Lydia was too bewildered to ask questions until thecar was on its way. Then the younger man chuckled. 

"Clever, Rennett!" he said. "I tell you, those people are super-humanlybrilliant!"

"I'm not a great admirer of villainy, " said the other gruffly, and theyounger man, who was sitting opposite the girl, laughed. 

"You must take a detached interest, my dear chap. Personally, I admirethem. I admit they gave me a fright when I realised that Miss Beale hadnot called the cab, but that it had been carefully planted for her, butstill I can admire them. "

"What does it mean?" asked the puzzled girl. "I'm so confused--where arewe going now? To the office?"

"I fear you will not get to the office to-night, " said the young mancalmly, "and it is impossible to explain to you just why you wereabducted. "

"Abducted?" said the girl incredulously. "Do you mean to say thatman----"

"He was carrying you into the country, " said the other calmly. "He wouldprobably have travelled all night and have left you stranded in someun-get-at-able place. I don't think he meant any harm--they never takeunnecessary risks, and all they wanted was to spirit you away for thenight. How they came to know that we had chosen you baffles me, " hesaid. "Can you advance any theory, Rennett?"

"Chosen me?" repeated the startled girl. "Really, I feel I'm entitled tosome explanation, and if you don't mind, I would like you to take meback to my office. I have a job to keep, " she added grimly. 

"Six pounds ten a week, and a few guineas extra for your illustrations, "said the man in the raincoat. "Believe me, Miss Beale, you'll never payoff your debts on that salary, not if you live to be a hundred. "

She could only gasp. 

"You seem to know a great deal about my private affairs, " she said, whenshe had recovered her breath. 

"A great deal more than you can imagine. "

She guessed he was smiling in the darkness, and his voice was so gentleand apologetic that she could not take offence. 

"In the past twelve months you have had thirty-nine judgments recordedagainst you, and in the previous year, twenty-seven. You are living onexactly thirty shillings a week, and all the rest is going to yourfather's creditors. "

"You're very impertinent!" she said hotly and, as she felt, foolishly. 

"I'm very pertinent, really. By the way, my name is Glover--John Glover, of the firm of Rennett, Glover and Simpson. The gentleman at your sideis Mr. Charles Rennett, my senior partner. We are a firm of solicitors, but how long we shall remain a firm, " he added pointedly, "dependsrather upon you. "

"Upon me?" said the girl in genuine astonishment. "Well, I can't saythat I have so much love for lawyers----"

"That I can well understand, " murmured Mr. Glover. 

"But I certainly do not wish to dissolve your partnership, " she went on. 

"It is rather more serious than that, " said Mr. Rennett, who was sittingby her side. "The fact is, Miss Beale, we are acting in a perfectlyillegal manner, and we are going to reveal to you the particulars of anact we contemplate, which, if you pass on the information to the police, will result in our professional ruin. So you see this adventure isinfinitely more important to us than at present it is to you. And herewe are!" he said, interrupting the girl's question. 

The car turned into a narrow drive, and proceeded some distance throughan avenue of trees before it pulled up at the pillared porch of a bighouse. 

Rennett helped her to alight and ushered her through the door, whichopened almost as they stopped, into a large panelled hall. 

"This is the way, let me show you, " said the younger man. 

He opened a door and she found herself in a big drawing-room, exquisitely furnished and lit by two silver electroliers suspended fromthe carved roof. 

To her relief an elderly woman rose to greet her. 

"This is my wife, Miss Beale, " said Rennett. "I need hardly explain thatthis is also my home. "

"So you found the young lady, " said the elderly lady, smiling herwelcome, "and what does Miss Beale think of your proposition?"

The young man Glover came in at that moment, and divested of his longraincoat and hat, he proved to be of a type that the Universities turnout by the hundred. He was good-looking too, Lydia noticed with feminineinconsequence, and there was something in his eyes that inspired trust. He nodded with a smile to Mrs. Rennett, then turned to the girl. 

"Now Miss Beale, I don't know whether I ought to explain or whether mylearned and distinguished friend prefers to save me the trouble. "

"Not me, " said the elder man hastily. "My dear, " he turned to his wife, "I think we'll leave Jack Glover to talk to this young lady. "

"Doesn't she know?" asked Mrs. Rennett in surprise, and Lydia laughed, although she was feeling far from amused. 

The possible loss of her employment, the disquieting adventure of theevening, and now this further mystery all combined to set her nerves onedge. 

Glover waited until the door closed on his partner and his wife andseemed inclined to wait a little longer, for he stood with his back tothe fire, biting his lips and looking down thoughtfully at the carpet. 

"I don't just know how to begin, Miss Beale, " he said. "And having seenyou, my conscience is beginning to work overtime. But I might as wellstart at the beginning. I suppose you have heard of the Bulford murder?"

The girl stared at him. 

"The Bulford murder?" she said incredulously, and he nodded. 

"Why, of course, everybody has heard of that. "

"Then happily it is unnecessary to explain all the circumstances, " saidJack Glover, with a little grimace of distaste. 

"I only know, " interrupted the girl, "that Mr. Bulford was killed by aMr. Meredith, who was jealous of him, and that Mr. Meredith, when hewent into the witness-box, behaved disgracefully to his fiancée. "

"Exactly, " nodded Glover with a twinkle in his eye. "In other words, herepudiated the suggestion that he was jealous, swore that he had alreadytold Miss Briggerland that he could not marry her, and he did not evenknow that Bulford was paying attention to the lady. "

"He did that to save his life, " said Lydia quietly. "Miss Briggerlandswore in the witness-box that no such interview had occurred. "

Glover nodded. 

"What you do not know, Miss Beale, " he said gravely, "is that JeanBriggerland was Meredith's cousin, and unless certain things happen, shewill inherit the greater part of six hundred thousand pounds fromMeredith's estate. Meredith, I might explain, is one of my best friends, and the fact that he is now serving out a life sentence does not makehim any less a friend. I am as sure, as I am sure of your sitting there, that he no more killed Bulford than I did. I believe the whole thingwas a plot to secure his death or imprisonment. My partner thinks thesame. The truth is that Meredith was engaged to this girl; he discoveredcertain things about her and her father which are not greatly to theircredit. He was never really in love with her, beautiful as she is, andhe was trapped into the proposal. When he found out how things wereshaping and heard some of the queer stories which were told aboutBriggerland and his daughter, he broke off the engagement and went thatnight to tell her so. "

The girl had listened in some bewilderment to this recital. 

"I don't exactly see what all this is to do with me, " she said, andagain Jack Glover nodded. 

"I can quite understand, " he said, "but I will tell you yet another partof the story which is not public property. Meredith's father was aneccentric man who believed in early marriages, and it was a condition ofhis will that if Meredith was not married by his thirtieth birthday, themoney should go to his sister, her heirs and successors. His sister wasMrs. Briggerland, who is now dead. Her heirs are her husband and JeanBriggerland. "

There was a silence. The girl stared thoughtfully into the fire. 

"How old is Mr. Meredith?"

"He is thirty next Monday, " said Glover quietly, "and it is necessarythat he should be married before next Monday. "

"In prison?" she asked. 

He shook his head. 

"If such things are allowed that could have been arranged, but for somereason the Home Secretary refuses to exercise his discretion in thismatter, and has resolutely refused to allow such a marriage to takeplace. He objects on the ground of public policy, and I dare say fromhis point of view he is right. Meredith has a twenty-years sentence toserve. "

"Then how----" began Lydia. 

"Let me tell this story more or less understandably, " said Glover withthat little smile of his. "Believe me, Miss Beale, I'm not so keen uponthe scheme as I was. If by chance, " he spoke deliberately, "we could getJames Meredith into this house to-morrow morning, would you marry him?"

"Me?" she gasped. "Marry a man I've not seen--a murderer?"

"Not a murderer, " he said gently. 

"But it is preposterous, impossible!" she protested. "Why me?"

He was silent for a moment. 

"When this scheme was mooted we looked round for some one to whom such amarriage would be of advantage, " he said, speaking slowly. "It wasRennett's idea that we should search the County Court records of Londonto discover if there was a girl who was in urgent need of money. Thereis no surer way of unearthing financial skeletons than by searchingCounty Court records. We found four, only one of whom was eligible andthat was you. Don't interrupt me for a moment, please, " he said, raisinghis hand warningly as she was about to speak. "We have made thoroughinquiries about you, too thorough in fact, because the Briggerlands havesmelt a rat, and have been on our trail for a week. We know that you arenot engaged to be married, we know that you have a fairly heavy burdenof debts, and we know, too, that you are unencumbered by relations orfriends. What we offer you, Miss Beale, and believe me I feel rather acad in being the medium through which the offer is made, is fivethousand pounds a year for the rest of your life, a sum of twentythousand pounds down, and the assurance that you will not be troubled byyour husband from the moment you are married. "

Lydia listened like one in a dream. It did not seem real. She would wakeup presently and find Mrs. Morgan with a cup of tea in her hand and aplate of her indigestible cakes. Such things did not happen, she toldherself, and yet here was a young man, standing with his back to thefire, explaining in the most commonplace conversational tone, an offerwhich belonged strictly to the realm of romance, and not too convincingromance at that. 

"You've rather taken my breath away, " she said after a while. "All thiswants thinking about, and if Mr. Meredith is in prison----"

"Mr. Meredith is not in prison, " said Glover quietly. "He was releasedtwo days ago to go to a nursing home for a slight operation. He escapedfrom the nursing home last night and at this particular moment is inthis house. "

She could only stare at him open-mouthed, and he went on. 

"The Briggerlands know he has escaped; they probably thought he washere, because we have had a police visitation this afternoon, and theinterior of the house and grounds have been searched. They know, ofcourse, that Mr. Rennett and I were his legal advisers, and we expectedthem to come. How he escaped their observation is neither here northere. Now, Miss Beale, what do you say?"

"I don't know what to say, " she said, shaking her head helplessly. "Iknow I'm dreaming, and if I had the moral courage to pinch myself hard, I should wake up. Somehow I don't want to wake, it is so fascinatinglyimpossible. "

He smiled. 

"Can I see Mr. Meredith?"

"Not till to-morrow. I might say that we've made every arrangement foryour wedding, the licence has been secured and at eight o'clockto-morrow morning--marriages before eight or after three are not legalin this country, by the way--a clergyman will attend and the ceremonywill be performed. "

There was a long silence. 

Lydia sat on the edge of her chair, her elbows on her knees, her face inher hands. 

Glover looked down at her seriously, pityingly, cursing himself that hewas the exponent of his own grotesque scheme. Presently she looked up. 

"I think I will, " she said a little wearily. "And you were wrong aboutthe number of judgment summonses, there were seventy-five in twoyears--and I'm so tired of lawyers. "

"Thank you, " said Jack Glover politely. 

Chapter IV

All night long she had sat in the little bedroom to which Mrs. Rennetthad led her, thinking and thinking and thinking. She could not sleep, although she had tried hard, and most of the night she spent pacing upand down from window to door turning over the amazing situation in whichshe found herself. She had never thought of marriage seriously, andreally a marriage such as this presented no terrors and might, had theprelude been a little less exciting, been accepted by her with relief. The prospect of being a wife in name only, even the thought that herhusband would be, for the next twenty years, behind prison walls, neither distressed nor horrified her. Somehow she accepted Glover'sstatement that Meredith was innocent, without reservation. 

She wondered what Mrs. Morgan would say and what explanation she wouldgive at the office. She was not particularly in love with her work, andit would be no wrench for her to drop it and give herself up to theserious study of art. Five thousand pounds a year! She could live inItaly, study under the best masters, have a car of her own--thepossibilities seemed illimitable--and the disadvantages?

She shrugged her shoulders as she answered the question for thetwentieth time. What disadvantages were there? She could not marry, butthen she did not want to marry. She was not the kind to fall in love, she told herself, she was too independent, too sophisticated, andunderstood men and their weaknesses only too well. 

"The Lord designed me for an old maid, " she said to herself. 

At seven o'clock in the morning--a grey, cheerless morning it was, thought Lydia, looking out of the window--Mrs. Rennett came in with sometea. 

"I'm afraid you haven't slept, my dear, " she said with a glance at thebed. "It's very trying for you. "

She laid her hand upon the girl's arm and squeezed it gently. 

"And it's very trying for all of us, " she said with a whimsical smile. "I expect we shall all get into fearful trouble. "

That had occurred to the girl too, remembering the gloomy picture whichGlover had painted in the car. 

"Won't this be very serious for you, if the authorities find that youhave connived at the escape?" she asked. 

"Escape, my dear?" Mrs. Rennett's face became a mask. "I have not heardanything of an escape. All that we know is that poor Mr. Meredith, anticipating that the Home Office would allow him to get married, hadmade arrangements for the marriage at this house. How Mr. Meredith comeshere is quite a matter outside our knowledge, " said the diplomatic lady, and Lydia laughed in spite of herself. 

She spent half an hour making herself presentable for the forthcomingordeal. 

As a church clock struck eight, there came another tap on the door. Itwas Mrs. Rennett again. 

"They are waiting, " she said. Her face was a little pale and her lipstrembled. 

Lydia, however, was calmness itself, as she walked into the drawing-roomahead of her hostess. 

There were four men. Glover and Rennett she knew. A third man wearing aclerical collar she guessed was the officiating priest, and all herattention was concentrated upon the fourth. He was a gaunt, unshavenman, his hair cut short, his face and figure wasted, so that the clotheshe wore hung on him. Her first feeling was one of revulsion. Her secondwas an impulse of pity. James Meredith, for she guessed it was he, appeared wretchedly ill. He swung round as she came in, and looked ather intently, then, walking quickly towards her, he held out his thinhand. 

"Miss Beale, isn't it?" he said. "I'm sorry to meet you under suchunpleasant circumstances. Glover has explained everything, has he not?"

She nodded. 

His deep-set eyes had a magnetic quality that fascinated her. 

"You understand the terms? Glover has told you just why this marriagemust take place?" he said, lowering his voice. "Believe me, I am deeplygrateful to you for falling in with my wishes. "

Without preliminary he walked over to where the parson stood. 

"We will begin now, " he said simply. 

The ceremony seemed so unreal to the girl that she did not realise whatit portended, not even when a ring (a loosely-fitting ring, for JackGlover had made the wildest guess at the size) was slipped over herfinger. She knelt to receive the solemn benediction and then got slowlyto her feet and looked at her husband strangely. 

"I think I'm going to faint, " she said. 

It was Jack Glover who caught her and carried her to the sofa. She wokewith a confused idea that somebody was trying to hypnotise her, and sheopened her eyes to look upon the sombre face of James Meredith. 

"Better?" he asked anxiously. "I'm afraid you've had a trying time, andno sleep you said, Mrs. Rennett?"

Mrs. Rennett shook her head. 

"Well, you'll sleep to-night better than I shall, " he smiled, and thenhe turned to Rennett, a grave and anxious man, who stood nervouslystroking his little beard, watching the bridegroom. "Mr. Rennett, " hesaid, "I must tell you in the presence of witnesses, that I have escapedfrom a nursing home to which I had been sent by the clemency of theSecretary of State. When I informed you that I had received permissionto come to your house this morning to get married, I told you that whichwas not true. "

"I'm sorry to hear that, " said Rennett politely. "And, of course, it ismy duty to hand you over to the police, Mr. Meredith. " It was all partof the game. The girl watched the play, knowing that this scene wascarefully rehearsed, in order to absolve Rennett and his partner fromcomplicity in the escape. 

Rennett had hardly spoken when there was a loud rat-tat at the frontdoor, and Jack Glover hastened into the hall to answer. But it was notthe policeman he had expected. It was a girl in a big sable coat, muffled up to her eyes. She pushed past Jack, crossed the hall, andwalked straight into the drawing-room. 

Lydia, standing shakily by Mrs. Rennett's side, saw the visitor come in, and then, as she unfastened her coat, recognised her with a gasp. Itwas the beautiful girl she had seen in the stalls of the theatre thenight before!

"And what can we do for you?" It was Glover's voice again, bland andbantering. 

"I want Meredith, " said the girl shortly, and Glover chuckled. 

"You have wanted Meredith for a long time, Miss Briggerland, " he said, "and you're likely to want. You have arrived just a little too late. "

The girl's eyes fell upon the parson. 

"Too late, " she said slowly, "then he is married?"

She bit her red lips and nodded, then she looked at Lydia, and the blueeyes were expressionless. 

Meredith had disappeared. Lydia looked round for him in her distress, but he had gone. She wondered if he had gone out to the police, to makehis surrender, and she was still wondering when there came the sound ofa shot. 

It was from the outside of the house, and at the sound Glover ranthrough the doorway, crossed the hall and flew into the open. It wasstill snowing, and there was no sign of any human being. He raced alonga path which ran parallel with the house, turned the corner and divedinto a shrubbery. Here the snow had not laid, and he followed the gardenpath that twisted and turned through the thick laurel bushes and endedat a roughly-built tool house. As he came in sight of the shed hestopped. 

A man lay on the ground, his arm extended, his head in a pool of blood, his grey hand clutching a revolver. 

Jack uttered an exclamation of horror and ran to the side of the fallenman. 

It was James Meredith, and he was dead. 

Chapter V

Jack Glover heard footsteps coming down the path, and turned to meet aman who had "detective" written largely all over him. Jack turned andlooked down again at the body as the man came up. 

"Who is this?" asked the officer sharply. 

"It is James Meredith, " said Jack simply. 

"Dead?" said the officer, startled. "He has committed suicide!"

Jack did not reply, and watched the inspector as he made his brief, quick examination of the body. A bullet had entered just below the lefttemple, and there was a mark of powder near the face. 

"A very bad business, Mr. Glover, " said the police officer seriously. "Can you account for this man being here?"

"He came to get married, " said Jack listlessly. "I dare say thatstartles you, but it is the fact. He was married less than ten minutesago. If you will come up to the house I will explain his presence here. "

The detective hesitated, but just then another of his comrades came onthe scene, and Jack led the way back to the house through a back doorinto Rennett's study. 

The lawyer was waiting for them, and he was alone. 

"If I'm not very much mistaken, you're Inspector Colhead, of ScotlandYard, " said Glover. 

"That is my name, " nodded the officer. "Between ourselves, Mr. Glover, Idon't think I should make any statement which you are not prepared toverify publicly. "

Jack noted the significance of the warning with a little smile, andproceeded to tell the story of the wedding. 

"I can only tell you, " he said in answer to a further inquiry, "that Mr. Meredith came into this house at a quarter to eight this morning, andsurrendered himself to my partner. At eight o'clock exactly, as you arewell aware, Mr. Rennett telephoned to Scotland Yard to say that Mr. Meredith was here. During the period of his waiting he was married. "

"Did a parson happen to be staying here, sir?" asked the police officersarcastically. 

"He happened to be staying here, " said Jack calmly, "because I hadarranged for him to be here. I knew that if it was humanly possible, Mr. Meredith would come to this house, and that his desire was to bemarried, for reasons which my partner will explain. "

"Did you help him to escape? That is asking you a leading question, "smiled the detective. 

Jack shook his head. 

"I can answer you with perfect truth that I did not, any more than theHome Secretary helped him when he gave him permission to go to a nursinghome. "

Soon after the detective returned to the shed, and Jack and his partnerwere left alone. 

"Well?" said Rennett, in a shaking voice, "what happened?"

"He's dead, " said Jack quietly. 

"Suicide?"

Jack looked at him oddly. 

"Did Bulford commit suicide?" he asked. 

"Where is the angel?"

"I left her in the drawing-room with Mrs. Rennett and Miss Beale. "

"Mrs. Meredith, " corrected Jack quietly. 

"This complicates matters, " said Rennett, "but I think we can get out ofour share of the trouble, though it is going to look a little black. "

They found the three women in the drawing-room. Lydia, looking verywhite, came to meet them. 

"What happened?" she asked, and then she guessed from his face. "He'snot dead?" she gasped. 

Jack nodded. All the time his eyes were on the other girl. Herbeautiful lips were drooped a little. There was a look of pain andsorrow in her eyes that caught his breath. 

"Did he shoot himself?" she asked in a low voice. 

Jack regarded her coldly. 

"The only thing that I am certain about, " and Lydia winced at thecruelty in his voice, "is that you did not shoot him, Miss Briggerland. "

"How dare you!" flamed Jean Briggerland. The quick flush that came toher cheek was the only other evidence of emotion she betrayed. 

"I dare say a lot, " said Jack curtly. "You asked me if it is a case ofsuicide, and I tell you that it is not--it is a case of murder. JamesMeredith was found with a revolver clutched in his right hand. He wasshot through the left temple, and if you'll explain to me how any man, holding a pistol in a normal way, can perform that feat, I will acceptyour theory of suicide. "

There was a dead silence. 

"Besides, " Jack went on, with a little shrug, "poor Jimmy had nopistol. "

Jean Briggerland had dropped her eyes, and stood there with downcasthead and compressed lips. Presently she looked up. 

"I know how you feel, Mr. Glover, " she said gently. "I can wellunderstand, believing such dreadful things about me as you do, that youmust hate me. "

Her mouth quivered and her voice grew husky with sorrow. 

"I loved James Meredith, " she said, "and he loved me. "

"He loved you well enough to marry somebody else, " said Jack Glover, andLydia was shocked. 

"Mr. Glover, " she said reproachfully, "do you think it is right to saythese things, with poor Mr. Meredith lying dead?"

He turned slowly toward her, and she saw in his humorous eyes a hardnessthat she had not seen before. 

"Miss Briggerland has told us that I hate her, " he said in an evenvoice, "and she spoke nothing but the truth. I hate her perhaps beyondunderstanding--Mrs. Meredith. " He emphasised the words, and the girlwinced. "And one day, if the Circumstantialists spare me----"

"The Circumstantialists, " said Jean Briggerland slowly. "I don't quiteunderstand you. "

Jack Glover laughed, and it was not a pleasant laugh. 

"Perhaps you will, " he said shortly. "As to your loving poor Jim--well, you know best. I am trying to be polite to you, Miss Briggerland, andnot to gloat over the fact that you arrived too late to stop thiswedding! And shall I tell you why you arrived too late?" His eyes werelaughing again. "It was because I had arranged with the vicar of St. Peter's to be here at nine o'clock this morning, well knowing that youand your little army of spies would discover the hour of the wedding, and would take care to be here before. And then I secretly sent for anold Oxford friend of mine to be here at eight--he was here last night. "

Still she stood regarding him without visible evidence of the angerwhich Lydia thought would have been justified. 

"I had no desire to stop the wedding, " said the girl, in a low, softvoice. "If Jim preferred to be married in this way to somebody who doesnot know him, I can only accept his choice. " She turned to the girl andheld out her hand. "I am very sorry that this tragedy has come to you, Mrs. Meredith, " she said. "May I wish you a greater happiness than anyyou have found?"

Lydia was touched by the sincerity, hurt a little by Glover'suncouthness, and could only warmly grip the little hand that was heldout to her. 

"I'm sorry too, " she said a little unsteadily. "For you more thanfor--anything else. "

The girl lowered her eyes and again her lips quivered, and then withouta word she walked out of the room, pulling her sable wrap about herthroat. 

It was noon before Rennett's car deposited Lydia Meredith at the door ofher lodging. 

She found Mrs. Morgan in a great state of anxiety, and the stout littlewoman almost shed tears of joy at the sight of her. 

"Oh, miss, you've no idea how worried I've been, " she babbled, "andthey've been round here from your newspaper office asking where you are. I thought you had been run over or something, and the _Daily Megaphone_have sent to all the hospitals----"

"I have been run over, " said Lydia wearily. "My poor mind has been underthe wheels of a dozen motor-buses, and my soul has been in a hundredcollisions. "

Mrs. Morgan gaped at her. She had no sense of metaphor. 

"It's all right, Mrs. Morgan, " laughed her lodger over her shoulder asshe went up the stairs. "I haven't really you know, only I've had aworrying time--and by the way, my name is Meredith. "

Mrs. Morgan collapsed on to a hall chair. 

"Meredith, miss?" she said incredulously. "Why I knew your father----"

"I've been married, that's all, " said Lydia grimly. "You told meyesterday that I should be married romantically, but even in the wildestflights of your imagination, Mrs. Morgan, you could never have supposedthat I should be married in such a violent, desperate way. I'm going tobed. " She paused on the landing and looked down at the dumbfoundedwoman. "If anybody calls for me, I am not at home. Oh, yes, you can tellthe _Megaphone_ that I came home very late and that I've gone to bed, and I'll call to-morrow to explain. "

"But, miss, " stammered the woman, "your husband----"

"My husband is dead, " said the girl calmly. She felt a brute, butsomehow she could not raise any note of sorrow. "And if that lawyer mancomes, will you please tell him that I shall have twenty thousand poundsin the morning, " and with that last staggering statement, she went toher room, leaving her landlady speechless. 

Chapter VI

The police search of the house and grounds at Dulwich Grange, Mr. Rennett's residence, occupied the whole of the morning, and neitherRennett's nor Jack's assistance was invited or offered. 

Before luncheon Inspector Colhead came to the study. 

"We've had a good look round your place, Mr. Rennett, " he said, "and Ithink we know where the deceased hid himself. "

"Indeed!" said Mr. Rennett. 

"That hut of yours in the garden is used, I suppose, for a tool house. There are no tools there now, and one of my men discovered that you canpull up the whole of the floor, it works on a hinge and is balanced withcounter-weights. "

Mr. Rennett nodded. 

"I believe it was used as a wine cellar by a former tenant of thehouse, " he said coolly. "We have no cellars at the Grange, you know. Ido not drink wine, and I've never had occasion to use it. "

"That's where he was hidden. We found a blanket, and pillows, downthere, and, as you say, it has obviously been a wine cellar, becausethere is a ventilating shaft leading up into the bushes. We should neverhave found the trap, but one of my men felt one of the corners of thefloor give under his feet. "

The two men said nothing. 

"Another thing, " the detective went on slowly, "is that I'm inclined toagree that Meredith did not commit suicide. We found footmarks, quitefresh, leading round to the back of the hut. "

"A big foot or a little foot?" asked Jack quickly. 

"It is rather a big foot, " said the detective, "and it has rubber heels. We traced it to a gate at the back of your premises, and the gate hasbeen opened recently--probably by Mr. Meredith when he came to thehouse. It's a queer case, Mr. Rennett. "

"What is the pistol?"

"That's new too, " said Colhead. "Belgian make and impossible to trace, Ishould imagine. You can't keep track of these Belgian weapons. You canbuy them in any shop in any town in Ostend or Brussels, and I don'tthink it is the practice for the sellers to keep any record of thenumbers. "

"In fact, " said Jack quietly, "it is the same kind of pistol that killedBulford. "

Colhead raised his eyebrows. 

"So it was, but wasn't it established that that was Mr. Meredith's ownweapon?"

Jack shook his head. 

"The only thing that was established was that he had seen the body andhe picked up the pistol which was lying near the dead man. The shot wasfired as he opened the door of Mr. Briggerland's house. Then he saw thefigure on the pavement and picked up the pistol. He was in that positionwhen Miss Briggerland, who testified against him, came out of the houseand saw him. "

The detective nodded. 

"I had nothing to do with the case, " he said, "but I remember seeing theweapon, and it was identical with this. I'll talk to the chief and letyou know what he says about the whole affair. You'll have to giveevidence at the inquest of course. "

When he had gone the two men looked at one another. 

"Well, Rennett, do you think we're going to get into hot water, or arewe going to perjure our way to safety?"

"There's no need for perjury, not serious perjury, " said the othercarefully. "By the way, Jack, where was Briggerland the night Bulfordwas murdered?"

"When Miss Jean Briggerland had recovered from her horror, she wentupstairs and aroused her father, who, despite the early hour, was inbed and asleep. When the police came, or rather, when the detective incharge of the case arrived, which must have been some time after thepoliceman on point duty put in an appearance, Mr. Briggerland wasdiscovered in a picturesque dressing gown and, I presume, no lesspicturesque pyjamas. "

"Horrified, too, I suppose, " said Rennett dryly. 

Jack was silent for a long time. Then: "Rennett, " he said, "do you knowI am more rattled about this girl than I am about any consequences toourselves. "

"Which girl are you talking about?"

"About Mrs. Meredith. Whilst poor Meredith was alive she was in noparticular danger. But do you realise that what were advantages from ourpoint of view, namely, the fact that she had no relations in the world, are to-day a source of considerable peril to this unfortunate lady?"

"I had forgotten that, " said Rennett thoughtfully. "What makes matters alittle more complicated, is the will which Meredith made this morningbefore he was married. "

Jack whistled. 

"Did he make a will?" he said in surprise. 

His partner nodded. 

"You remember he was here with me for half an hour. Well, he insistedupon writing out a will and my wife and Bolton, the butler, witnessedit. "

"And he has left his money----?"

"To his wife absolutely, " replied the other. "The poor old chap was sofrantically keen on keeping the money out of the Briggerland exchequer, that he was prepared to entrust the whole of his money to a girl he hadnot seen. "

Jack was serious now. 

"And the Briggerlands are her heirs? Do you realise that, Rennett--there's going to be hell!"

Mr. Rennett nodded. 

"I thought that too, " he said quietly. 

Jack sank down in a seat, his face screwed up into a hideous frown, andthe elder man did not interrupt his thoughts. Suddenly Jack's facecleared and he smiled. 

"Jaggs!" he said softly. 

"Jaggs?" repeated his puzzled partner. 

"Jaggs, " said Jack, nodding, "he's the fellow. We've got to meetstrategy with strategy, Rennett, and Jaggs is the boy to do it. "

Mr. Rennett looked at him helplessly. 

"Could Jaggs get us out of our trouble too?" he asked sarcastically. 

"He could even do that, " replied Jack. 

"Then bring him along, for I have an idea he'll have the time of hislife. "

Chapter VII

Miss Jean Briggerland reached her home in Berkeley Street soon afternine o'clock. She did not ring, but let herself in with a key and wentstraight to the dining-room, where her father sat eating his breakfast, with a newspaper propped up before him. 

He was the dark-skinned man whom Lydia had seen at the theatre, and helooked up over his gold-rimmed spectacles as the girl came in. 

"You have been out very early, " he said. 

She did not reply, but slowly divesting herself of her sable coat shethrew it on to a chair, took off the toque that graced her shapely head, and flung it after the coat. Then she drew out a chair, and sat down atthe table, her chin on her palms, her blue eyes fixed upon her parent. 

Nature had so favoured her that her face needed no artificialembellishment--the skin was clear and fine of texture, and the coldmorning had brought only a faint pink to the beautiful face. 

"Well, my dear, " Mr. Briggerland looked up and beamed through hisglasses, "so poor Meredith has committed suicide?"

She did not speak, keeping her eyes fixed on him. 

"Very sad, very sad, " Mr. Briggerland shook his head. 

"How did it happen?" she asked quietly. 

Mr. Briggerland shrugged his shoulders. 

"I suppose at the sight of you he bolted back to his hiding placewhere--er--had been located by--er--interested persons during the night, then seeing me by the shed--he committed the rash and fatal act. SomehowI thought he would run back to his dug-out. "

"And you were prepared for him?" she said. 

He smiled. 

"A clear case of suicide, my dear, " he said. 

"Shot through the left temple, and the pistol was found in his righthand, " said the girl. 

Mr. Briggerland started. 

"Damn it, " he said. "Who noticed that?"

"That good-looking young lawyer, Glover. "

"Did the police notice?"

"I suppose they did when Glover called their attention to the fact, "said the girl. 

Mr. Briggerland took off his glasses and wiped them. 

"It was done in such a hurry--I had to get back through the garden gateto join the police. When I got there, I found they'd been attracted bythe shot and had entered the house. Still, nobody would know I was inthe garden, and anyway my association with the capture of an escapedconvict would not get into the newspapers. "

"But a case of suicide would, " said the girl. "Though I don't supposethe police will give away the person who informed them that JamesMeredith would be at Dulwich Grange. "

Mr. Briggerland sat back in his chair, his thick lips pursed, and he wasnot a beautiful sight. 

"One can't remember everything, " he grumbled. 

He rose from his chair, went to the door, and locked it. Then he crossedto a bureau, pulled open a drawer and took out a small revolver. Hethrew out the cylinder, glanced along the barrel and the chambers tomake sure it was not loaded, then clicked it back in position, andstanding before a glass, he endeavoured, the pistol in his right hand, to bring the muzzle to bear on his left temple. He found thisimpossible, and signified his annoyance with a grunt. Then he tried thepistol with his thumb on the trigger and his hand clasping the back ofthe butt. Here he was more successful. 

"That's it, " he said with satisfaction. "It could have been done thatway. "

She did not shudder at the dreadful sight, but watched him with thekeenest interest, her chin still in the palm of her hand. He might havebeen explaining a new way of serving a tennis ball, for all the emotionhe evoked. 

Mr. Briggerland came back to the table, toyed with a piece of toast andbuttered it leisurely. 

"Everybody is going to Cannes this year, " he said, "but I think I shallstick to Monte Carlo. There is a quiet about Monte Carlo which is veryrestful, especially if one can get a villa on the hill away from therailway. I told Morden yesterday to take the new car across and meet usat Boulogne. He says that the new body is exquisite. There is amicraphonic attachment for telephoning to the driver, the electricalheating apparatus is splendid and----"

"Meredith was married. "

If she had thrown a bomb at him she could not have produced a moretremendous sensation. He gaped at her, and pushed himself back from thetable. 

"Married?" His voice was a squeak. 

She nodded. 

"It's a lie, " he roared. All his suavity dropped away from him, his facewas distorted and puckered with anger and grew a shade darker. "Married, you lying little beast! He couldn't have been married! It was only a fewminutes after eight, and the parson didn't come till nine. I'll breakyour neck if you try to scare me! I've told you about that before.... "

He raved on, and she listened unmoved. 

"He was married at eight o'clock by a man they brought down fromOxford, and who stayed the night in the house, " she repeated with greatcalmness. "There's no sense in lashing yourself into a rage. I've seenthe bride, and spoken to the clergyman. "

From the bullying, raging madman, he became a whimpering, pitiablething. His chin trembled, the big hands he laid on the tablecloth shookwith a fever. 

"What are we going to do?" he wailed. "My God, Jean, what are we goingto do?"

She rose and went to the sideboard, poured out a stiff dose of brandyfrom a decanter and brought it across to him without a word. She wasused to these tantrums, and to their inevitable ending. She was neitherhurt, surprised, nor disgusted. This pale, ethereal being was thedominant partner of the combination. Nerves she did not possess, fearsshe did not know. She had acquired the precise sense of a great surgeonin whom pity was a detached emotion, and one which never intruded itselfinto the operating chamber. She was no more phenomenal than they, savethat she did not feel bound by the conventions and laws which governthem as members of an ordered society. It requires no greater nerve toslay than to cure. She had had that matter out with herself, and hadsettled it to her own satisfaction. 

"You will have to put off your trip to Monte Carlo, " she said, as hedrank the brandy greedily. 

"We've lost everything now, " he stuttered, "everything. "

"This girl has no relations, " said the daughter steadily. "Herheirs-at-law are ourselves. "

He put down the glass, and looked at her, and became almost immediatelyhis old self. 

"My dear, " he said admiringly, "you are really wonderful. Of course, itwas childish of me. Now what do you suggest?"

"Unlock that door, " she said in a low voice, "I want to call the maid. "

As he walked to the door, she pressed the footbell, and soon after thefaded woman who attended her came into the room. 

"Hart, " she said, "I want you to find my emerald ring, the small one, the little pearl necklet, and the diamond scarf pin. Pack them carefullyin a box with cotton wool. "

"Yes, madam, " said the woman, and went out. 

"Now what are you going to do, Jean?" asked her father. 

"I am returning them to Mrs. Meredith, " said the girl coolly. "They werepresents given to me by her husband, and I feel after this tragic endingof my dream that I can no longer bear the sight of them. "

"He didn't give you those things, he gave you the chain. Besides, youare throwing away good money?"

"I know he never gave them to me, and I am not throwing away goodmoney, " she said patiently. "Mrs. Meredith will return them, and shewill give me an opportunity of throwing a little light upon JamesMeredith, an opportunity which I very much desire. "

Later she went up to her pretty little sitting-room on the first floor, and wrote a letter. 

 "_Dear Mrs. Meredith. --I am sending you the few trinkets which James gave to me in happier days. They are all that I have of his, and you, as a woman, will realise that whilst the possession of them brings me many unhappy memories, yet they have been a certain comfort to me. I wish I could dispose of memory as easily as I send these to you (for I feel they are really your property) but more do I wish that I could recall and obliterate the occasion which has made Mr. Glover so bitter an enemy of mine. _

 "_Thinking over the past, I see that I was at fault, but I know that you will sympathise with me when the truth is revealed to you. A young girl, unused to the ways of men, perhaps I attached too much importance to Mr. Glover's attentions, and resented them too crudely. In those days I thought it was unpardonable that a man who professed to be poor James's best friend, should make love to his fiancée, though I suppose that such things happen, and are endured by the modern girl. A man does not readily forgive a woman for making him feel a fool--it is the one unpardonable offence that a girl can commit. Therefore, I do not resent his enmity as much as you might think. Believe me, I feel for you very much in these trying days. Let me say again that I hope your future will be bright. _"

She blotted the letter, put it in an envelope, and addressed it, andtaking down a book from one of the well-stocked shelves, drew her chairto the fire, and began reading. 

Mr. Briggerland came in an hour after, looked over her shoulder at thetitle, and made a sound of disapproval. 

"I can't understand your liking for that kind of book, " he said. 

The book was one of the two volumes of "Chronicles of Crime, " and shelooked up with a smile. 

"Can't you? It's very easily explained. It is the most encouraging workin my collection. Sit down for a minute. "

"A record of vulgar criminals, " he growled. "Their infernal last dyingspeeches, their processions to Tyburn--phaugh!"

She smiled again, and looked down at the book. The wide margins werecovered with pencilled notes in her writing. 

"They're a splendid mental exercise, " she said. "In every case I havewritten down how the criminal might have escaped arrest, but they wereall so vulgar, and so stupid. Really the police of the time deserve nocredit for catching them. It is the same with modern criminals.... "

She went to the shelf, and took down two large scrap-books, carried themacross to the fire, and opened one on her knees. 

"Vulgar and stupid, every one of them, " she repeated, as she turned theleaves rapidly. 

"The clever ones get caught at times, " said Briggerland gloomily. 

"Never, " she said, and closed the book with a snap. "In England, inFrance, in America, and in almost every civilised country, there aremurderers walking about to-day, respected by their fellow citizens. Murderers, of whose crimes the police are ignorant. Look at these. " Sheopened the book again. "Here is the case of Rell, who poisons atroublesome creditor with weed-killer. Everybody in the town knew hebought the weed-killer; everybody knew that he was in debt to this man. What chance had he of escaping? Here's Jewelville--he kills his wife, buries her in the cellar, and then calls attention to himself by runningaway. Here's Morden, who kills his sister-in-law for the sake of herinsurance money, and who also buys the poison in broad daylight, and isfound with a bottle in his pocket. Such people deserve hanging. "

"I wish to heaven you wouldn't talk about hanging, " said Briggerlandtremulously, "you're inhuman, Jean, by God--"

"I'm an angel, " she smiled, "and I have press cuttings to prove it! The_Daily Recorder_ had half a column on my appearance in the box at Jim'strial. "

He looked over toward the writing-table, saw the letter, and picked itup. 

"So you've written to the lady. Are you sending her the jewels?"

She nodded. 

He looked at her quickly. 

"You haven't been up to any funny business with them, have you?" heasked suspiciously, and she smiled. 

"My dear parent, " drawled Jean Briggerland, "after my lecture on thestupidity of the average criminal, do you imagine I should do anythingso _gauche_?"

Chapter VIII

"And now, Mrs. Meredith, " said Jack Glover, "what are you going to do?"

He had spent the greater part of the morning with the new heiress, andLydia had listened, speechless, as he recited a long and meaninglesslist of securities, of estates, of ground rents, balances and the like, which she had inherited. 

"What am I going to do?" she said, shaking her head, hopelessly. "Idon't know. I haven't the slightest idea, Mr. Glover. It is sobewildering. Do I understand that all this property is mine?"

"Not yet, " said Jack with a smile, "but it is so much yours that on thestrength of the will we are willing to advance you money to almost anyextent. The will has to be proved, and probate must be taken, but whenthese legal formalities are settled, and we have paid the very heavydeath duties, you will be entitled to dispose of your fortune as youwish. As a matter of fact, " he added, "you could do that now. At anyrate, you cannot live here in Brinksome Street, and I have taken theliberty of hiring a furnished flat on your behalf. One of our clientshas gone away to the Continent and left the flat for me to dispose of. The rent is very low, about twenty guineas a week. "

"Twenty guineas a week!" gasped the horrified girl, "why, I can't----"

And then she realised that she "could. "

Twenty guineas a week was as nothing to her. This fact more thananything else, brought her to an understanding of her fortune. 

"I suppose I had better move, " she said dubiously. "Mrs. Morgan isgiving up this house, and she asked me whether I had any plans. I thinkshe'd be willing to come as my housekeeper. "

"Excellent, " nodded Jack. "You'll want a maid as well and, of course, you will have to put up Jaggs for the nights. "

"Jaggs?" she said in astonishment. 

"Jaggs, " repeated Jack solemnly. "You see, Miss--I beg your pardon, Mrs. Meredith, I'm rather concerned about you, and I want you to havesomebody on hand I can rely on, sleeping in your flat at night. I daresay you think I am an old woman, " he said as he saw her smile, "and thatmy fears are groundless, but you will agree that your own experience oflast week will support the theory that anything may happen in London. "

"But really, Mr. Glover, you don't mean that I am in any seriousdanger--from whom?"

"From a lot of people, " he said diplomatically. 

"From poor Miss Briggerland?" she challenged, and his eyes narrowed. 

"Poor Miss Briggerland, " he said softly. "She certainly is poorer thanshe expected to be. "

"Nonsense, " scoffed the girl. She was irritated, which was unusual inher. "My dear Mr. Glover, why do you pursue your vendetta against her?Do you think it is playing the game, honestly now? Isn't it a case ofwounded vanity on your part?"

He stared at her in astonishment. 

"Wounded vanity? Do you mean pique?"

She nodded. 

"Why should I be piqued?" he asked slowly. 

"You know best, " replied Lydia, and then a light dawned on him. 

"Have I been making love to Miss Briggerland by any chance?" he asked. 

"You know best, " she repeated. 

"Good Lord!" and then he began to laugh, and she thought he would neverstop. 

"I suppose I made love to her, and she was angry because I dared tocommit such an act of treachery to her fiancé! Yes, that was it. I madelove to her behind poor Jim's back, and she 'ticked me off, ' and that'swhy I'm so annoyed with her?"

"You have a very good memory, " said Lydia, with a scornful little smile. 

"My memory isn't as good as Miss Briggerland's power of invention, " saidJack. "Doesn't it strike you, Mrs. Meredith, that if I had made love tothat young lady, I should not be seen here to-day?"

"What do you mean?" she asked. 

"I mean, " said Jack Glover soberly, "that it would not have beenBulford, but I, who would have been lured from his club by a telephonemessage, and told to wait outside the door in Berkeley Street. It wouldhave been I, who would have been shot dead by Miss Briggerland's fatherfrom the drawing-room window. "

The girl looked at him in amazement. 

"What a preposterous charge to make!" she said at last indignantly. "Doyou suggest that this girl has connived at a murder?"

"I not only suggest that she connived at it, but I stake my life thatshe planned it, " said Jack carefully. 

"But the pistol was found near Mr. Bulford's body, " said Lydia almosttriumphantly, as she conceived this unanswerable argument. 

Jack nodded. 

"From Bulford's body to the drawing-room window was exactly nine feet. It was possible to pitch the pistol so that it fell near him. Bulfordwas waiting there by the instructions of Jean Briggerland. We havetraced the telephone call that came through to him from the club--itcame from the Briggerlands' house in Berkeley Street, and the attendantat the club was sure it was a woman's voice. We didn't find that outtill after the trial. Poor Meredith was in the hall when the shot wasfired. The signal was given when he turned the handle to let himselfout. He heard the shot, rushed down the steps and saw the body. Whetherhe picked up the pistol or not, I do not know. Jean Briggerland swearshe had it in his hand, but, of course, Jean Briggerland is a hopelessliar!"

"You can't know what you're saying, " said Lydia in a low voice. "It is adreadful charge to make, dreadful, against a girl whose very facerefutes such an accusation. "

"Her face is her fortune, " snapped Jack, and then penitently, "I'm sorryI'm rude, but somehow the very mention of Jean Briggerland arouses allthat is worst in me. Now, you will accept Jaggs, won't you?"

"Who is he?" she asked. 

"He is an old army pensioner. A weird bird, as shrewd as the dickens, inspite of his age a pretty powerful old fellow. "

"Oh, he's old, " she said with some relief. 

"He's old, and in some ways, incapacitated. He hasn't the use of hisright arm, and he's a bit groggy in one of his ankles as the result ofa Boer bullet. "

She laughed in spite of herself. 

"He doesn't sound a very attractive kind of guardian. He's a perfectlyclean old bird, though I confess he doesn't look it, and he won't botheryou or your servants. You can give him a room where he can sit, and youcan give him a bit of bread and cheese, and a glass of beer, and he'llnot bother you. "

Lydia was amused now. It was absurd that Jack Glover should imagine sheneeded a guardian at all, but if he insisted, as he did, it would bebetter to have somebody as harmless as the unattractive Jaggs. 

"What time will he come?"

"At about ten o'clock every night, and he'll leave you at about seven inthe morning. Unless you wish, you need never see him, " said Jack. 

"How did you come to know him?" she asked curiously. 

"I know everybody, " said the boastful young man, "you mustn't forgetthat I am a lawyer and have to meet very queer people. "

He gathered up his papers and put them into his little bag. 

"And now what are your plans for to-day?" he demanded. 

She resented the self-imposed guardianship which he had undertaken, yetshe could not forget what she owed him. 

By some extraordinary means he had kept her out of the Meredith case andshe had not been called as a witness at the inquest. Incidentally, in asmysterious a way he had managed to whitewash his partner and himself, although the Law Society were holding an inquiry of their own (this thegirl did not know) it seemed likely that he would escape the consequenceof an act which was a flagrant breach of the law. 

"I am going to Mrs. Cole-Mortimer's to tea, " she said. 

"Mrs. Cole-Mortimer?" he said quickly. "How do you come to know thatlady?"

"Really, Mr. Glover, you are almost impertinent, " she smiled in spite ofher annoyance. "She came to call on me two or three days after thatdreadful morning. She knew Mr. Meredith and was an old friend of thefamily's. "

"As a matter of fact, " said Jack icily, "she did not know Meredith, except to say 'how-do-you-do' to him, and she was certainly not a friendof the family. She is, however, a friend of Jean Briggerland. "

"Jean Briggerland!" said the exasperated girl. "Can't you forget her?You are like the man in Dickens's books--she's your King Charles's head!Really, for a respectable and a responsible lawyer, you're simply eatenup with prejudices. Of course, she was a friend of Mr. Meredith's. Why, she brought me a photograph of him taken when he was at Eton. "

"Supplied by Jean Briggerland, " said the unperturbed Jack calmly, "andif she'd brought you a pair of socks he wore when he was a baby Isuppose you would have accepted those too. "

"Now you are being really abominable, " said the girl, "and I've got alot to do. "

He paused at the door. 

"Don't forget you can move into Cavendish Mansions to-morrow. I'll sendthe key round, and the day you move in, Jaggs will turn up for duty, bright and smiling. He doesn't talk a great deal----"

"I don't suppose you ever give the poor man a chance, " she saidcuttingly. 

Chapter IX

Mrs. Cole-Mortimer was a representative of a numerous class of women wholive so close to the border-line which separates good society fromsociety which is not quite as good, that the members of either setthought she was in the other. She had a small house where she gave bigparties, and nobody quite knew how this widow of an Indian colonel madeboth ends meet. It was the fact that her menage was an expensive one tomaintain; she had a car, she entertained in London in the season, anddisappeared from the metropolis when it was the correct thing todisappear, a season of exile which comes between the Goodwood RaceMeeting in the south and the Doncaster Race Meeting in the north. 

Lydia had been surprised to receive a visit from this elegant lady, andhad readily accepted the story of her friendship with James Meredith. Mrs. Cole-Mortimer's invitation she had welcomed. She needed somedistraction, something which would smooth out the ravelled threads oflife which were now even more tangled than she had ever expected theycould be. 

Mr. Rennett had handed to her a thousand pounds the day after thewedding, and when she had recovered from the shock of possessing such alarge sum, she hired a taxicab and indulged herself in a wild orgy ofshopping. 

The relief she experienced when he informed her he was taking charge ofher affairs and settling the debts which had worried her for three yearswas so great that she felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted fromher heart. 

It was in one of her new frocks that Lydia, feeling more confident thanusual, made her call. She had expected to find a crowd at the house inHyde Park Crescent, and she was surprised when she was ushered into thedrawing-room to find only four people present. 

Mrs. Cole-Mortimer was a chirpy, pale little woman of forty-something. It would be ungallant to say how much that "something" represented. Shecame toward Lydia with outstretched hands. 

"My dear, " she said with extravagant pleasure, "I am glad you were ableto come. You know Miss Briggerland and Mr. Briggerland?"

Lydia looked up at the tall figure of the man she had seen in the stallsthe night before her wedding and recognised him instantly. 

"Mr. Marcus Stepney, I don't think you have met. "

Lydia bowed to a smart looking man of thirty, immaculately attired. Hewas very handsome, she thought, in a dark way, but he was just a littletoo "new" to please her. She did not like fashion-plate men, andalthough the most captious of critics could not have found fault withhis correct attire, he gave her the impression of being over-dressed. 

Lydia had not expected to meet Miss Briggerland and her father, althoughshe had a dim recollection that Mrs. Cole-Mortimer had mentioned hername. Then in a flash she recalled the suspicions of Jack Glover, whichshe had covered with ridicule. The association made her feel a littleuncomfortable, and Jean Briggerland, whose intuition was a little shortof uncanny, must have read the doubt in her face. 

"Mrs. Meredith expected to see us, didn't she, Margaret?" she said, addressing the twittering hostess. "Surely you told her we were greatfriends?"

"Of course I did, my dear. Knowing your dear cousin and his dear father, it was not remarkable that I should know the whole of the family, " andshe smiled wisely from one to the other. 

Of course! How absurd she was, thought Lydia. She had almost forgotten, and probably Jack Glover had forgotten too, that the Briggerlands andthe Merediths were related. 

She found herself talking in a corner of the room with the girl, andfell to studying her face anew. A closer inspection merely consolidatedher earlier judgment. She smiled inwardly as she remembered JackGlover's ridiculous warning. It was like killing a butterfly with asteam hammer, to loose so much vengeance against this frail piece ofchina. 

"And how do you feel now that you're very rich?" asked Jean kindly. 

"I haven't realised it yet, " smiled Lydia. 

Jean nodded. 

"I suppose you have yet to settle with the lawyers. Who are they? Ohyes, of course Mr. Glover was poor Jim's solicitor. " She sighed. "Idislike lawyers, " she said with a shiver, "they are so heavily paternal!They feel that they and they only are qualified to direct your life andyour actions. I suppose it is second nature with them. Then, of course, they make an awful lot of money out of commissions and fees, though I'msure Jack Glover wouldn't worry about that. He's really a nice boy, " shesaid earnestly, "and I don't think you could have a better friend. "

Lydia glowed at the generosity of this girl whom the man had somaligned. 

"He has been very good to me, " she said, "although, of course, he is alittle fussy. "

Jean's lips twitched with amusement. 

"Has he warned you against me?" she asked solemnly. "Has he told youwhat a terrible ogre I am?" And then without waiting for a reply: "Isometimes think poor Jack is just a little--well, I wouldn't say mad, but a little queer. His dislikes are so violent. He positively loathesMargaret, though why I have never been able to understand. "

"He doesn't hate me, " laughed Lydia, and Jean looked at her strangely. 

"No, I suppose not, " she said. "I can't imagine anybody hating you, Lydia. May I call you by your Christian name?"

"I wish you would, " said Lydia warmly. 

"I can't imagine anybody hating you, " repeated the girl thoughtfully. "And, of course, Jack wouldn't hate you because you're his client--avery rich and attractive client too, my dear. " She tapped the girl'scheek and Lydia, for some reason, felt foolish. 

But as though unconscious of the embarrassment she had caused, Jean wenton. 

"I don't really blame him, either. I've a shrewd suspicion that allthese warnings against me and against other possible enemies willfurnish a very excellent excuse for seeing you every day and acting asyour personal bodyguard!"

Lydia shook her head. 

"That part of it he has relegated already, " she said, giving smile forsmile. "He has appointed Mr. Jaggs as my bodyguard. "

"Mr. Jaggs?" The tone was even, the note of inquiry was not strained. 

"He's an old gentleman in whom Mr. Glover is interested, an old armypensioner. Beyond the fact that he hasn't the use of his right arm, andlimps with his left leg, and that he likes beer and cheese, he seems anadmirable watch dog, " said Lydia humorously. 

"Jaggs?" repeated the girl. "I wonder where I've heard that name before. Is he a detective?"

"No, I don't think so. But Mr. Glover thinks I ought to have some sortof man sleeping in my new flat and Jaggs was duly engaged. "

Soon after this Mr. Marcus Stepney came over and Lydia found him ratheruninteresting. Less boring was Briggerland, for he had a fund of storiesand experiences to relate, and he had, too, one of those soft soothingvoices that are so rare in men. 

It was dark when she came out with Mr. And Miss Briggerland, and shefelt that the afternoon had not been unprofitably spent. 

For she had a clearer conception of the girl's character, and wasgetting Jack Glover's interest into better perspective. The mercenarypart of it made her just a little sick. There was something somysterious, so ugly in his outlook on life, and there might not be alittle self-interest in his care for her. 

She stood on the step of the house talking to the girl, whilst Mr. Briggerland lit a cigarette with a patent lighter. Hyde Park Crescentwas deserted save for a man who stood near the railings which protectedthe area of Mrs. Cole-Mortimer's house. He was apparently tying his shoelaces. 

They went down on the sidewalk, and Mr. Briggerland looked for his car. 

"I'd like to take you home. My chauffeur promised to be here at fouro'clock. These men are most untrustworthy. "

From the other end of the Crescent appeared the lights of a car. Atfirst Lydia thought it might be Mr. Briggerland's, and she was going tomake her excuses for she wanted to go home alone. The car was comingtoo, at a tremendous pace. She watched it as it came furiously towardher, and she did not notice that Mr. Briggerland and his daughter hadleft her standing alone on the sidewalk and had withdrawn a few paces. 

Suddenly the car made a swerve, mounted the sidewalk and dashed uponher. It seemed that nothing could save her, and she stood fascinatedwith horror, waiting for death. 

Then an arm gripped her waist, a powerful arm that lifted her from herfeet and flung her back against the railings, as the car flashed past, the mud-guard missing her by an inch. The machine pulled up with a jerk, and the white-faced girl saw Briggerland and Jean running toward her. 

"I should never have forgiven myself if anything had happened. I thinkmy chauffeur must be drunk, " said Briggerland in an agitated voice. 

She had no words. She could only nod, and then she remembered herpreserver, and she turned to meet the solemn eyes of a bent old man, whose pointed, white beard and bristling white eyebrows gave him ahawk-like appearance. His right hand was thrust into his pocket. He wastouching his battered hat with the other. 

"Beg pardon, miss, " he said raucously, "name of Jaggs! And I havereported for dooty!"

Chapter X

Jack Glover listened gravely to the story which the girl told. He hadcalled at her lodgings on the following morning to secure her signatureto some documents, and breathlessly and a little shamefacedly, she toldhim what had happened. 

"Of course it was an accident, " she insisted, "in fact, Mr. And MissBriggerland were almost knocked down by the car. But you don't know howthankful I am your Mr. Jaggs was on the spot. "

"Where is he now?" asked Jack. 

"I don't know, " replied the girl. "He just limped away without anotherword and I did not see him again, though I thought I caught a glimpse ofhim as I came into this house last night. How did he come to be on thespot?" she asked curiously. 

"That is easily explained, " replied Jack. "I told the old boy not to letyou out of his sight from sundown to sun up. "

"Then you think I'm safe during the day?" she rallied him. 

He nodded. 

"I don't know whether to laugh at you or to be very angry, " she said, shaking her head reprovingly. "Of course it was an accident!"

"I disagree with you, " said Jack. "Did you catch a glimpse of thechauffeur?"

"No, " she said in surprise. "I didn't think of looking at him. "

He nodded. 

"If you had, you would probably have seen an old friend, namely, thegentleman who carried you off from the Erving Theatre, " he said quietly. 

It was difficult for Lydia to analyse her own feelings. She knew thatJack Glover was wrong, monstrously wrong. She was perfectly confidentthat his fantastic theory had no foundation, and yet she could not getaway from his sincerity. Remembering Jean's description of him as "alittle queer" she tried to fit that description into her knowledge ofhim, only to admit to herself that he had been exceptionally normal asfar as she was concerned. The suggestion that his object was mercenary, and that he looked upon her as a profitable match for himself, shedismissed without consideration. 

"Anyway, I like your Mr. Jaggs, " she said. 

"Better than you like me, I gather from your tone, " smiled Jack. "He'snot a bad old boy. "

"He is a very strong old boy, " she said. "He lifted me as though I werea feather--I don't know now how I escaped. The steering gear wentwrong, " she explained unnecessarily. 

"Dear me, " said Jack politely, "and it went right again in time toenable the chauffeur to keep clear of Briggerland and his angeldaughter!"

She gave a gesture of despair. 

"You're hopeless, " she said. "These things happened in the dark ages;men and women do not assassinate one another in the twentieth century. "

"Who told you that?" he demanded. "Human nature hasn't changed for twothousand years. The instinct to kill is as strong as ever, or wars wouldbe impossible. If any man or woman could commit one cold-blooded murder, there is no reason why he or she should not commit a hundred. InEngland, America, and France fifty cold-blooded murders are detectedevery year. Twice that number are undetected. It does not make the crimemore impossible because the criminal is good looking. "

"You're hopeless, " she said again, and Jack made no further attempt toconvince her. 

On the Thursday of that week she exchanged her lodgings for a handsomeflat in Cavendish Place, and Mrs. Morgan had promised to join her a weeklater, when she had settled up her own business affairs. 

Lydia was fortunate enough to get two maids from one of the agencies, one of whom was to sleep on the premises. The flat was not illimitable, and she regretted that she had promised to place a room at the disposalof the aged Mr. Jaggs. If he was awake all night as she presumed hewould be, and slept in the day, he might have been accommodated in thekitchen, and she hinted as much to Jack. To her surprise the lawyer hadturned down that idea. 

"You don't want your servants to know that you have a watchman. "

"What do you imagine they will think he is?" she asked scornfully. "Howcan I have an old gentleman in the flat without explaining why he isthere?"

"Your explanation could be that he did the boots. "

"It wouldn't take him all night to do the boots. Of course, I'm toograteful to him to want him to do anything. "

Mr. Jaggs reported again for duty that night. He came at half-past nine, a shabby-looking old man, and Lydia, who had not yet got used to her newmagnificence, came out into the hall to meet him. 

He was certainly not a prepossessing object, and Lydia discovered that, in addition to his other misfortunes, he had a slight squint. 

"I hadn't an opportunity of thanking you the other day, Mr. Jaggs, " shesaid. "I think you saved my life. "

"That's all right, miss, " he said, in his hoarse voice. "Dooty isdooty!"

She thought he was looking past her, till she realised that his curiousslanting line of vision was part of his infirmity. 

"I'll show you to your room, " she said hastily. 

She led the way down the corridor, opened the door of a small room whichhad been prepared for him, and switched on the light. 

"Too much light for me, miss, " said the old man, shaking his head. "Ilike to sit in the dark and listen, that's what I like, to sit in thedark and listen. "

"But you can't sit in the dark, you'll want to read, won't you?"

"Can't read, miss, " said Jaggs cheerfully. "Can't write, either. I don'tknow that I'm any worse off. "

Reluctantly she switched out the light. 

"But you won't be able to see your food. "

"I can feel for that, miss, " he said with a hoarse chuckle. "Don't youworry about me. I'll just sit here and have a big think. "

If she was uncomfortable before, she was really embarrassed now. Thevery sight of the door behind which old Jaggs sat having his "big think"was an irritation to her. She could not sleep for a long time thatnight for thinking of him sitting in the darkness, and "listening" ashe put it, and had firmly resolved on ending a condition of affairswhich was particularly distasteful to her, when she fell asleep. 

She woke when the maid brought her tea, to learn that Jaggs had gone. 

The maid, too, had her views on the "old gentleman. " She hadn't sleptall night for the thought of him, she said, though probably this was anexaggeration. 

The arrangement must end, thought Lydia, and she called at Jack Glover'soffice that afternoon to tell him so. Jack listened without commentuntil she had finished. 

"I'm sorry he is worrying you, but you'll get used to him in time, and Ishould be obliged if you kept him for a month. You would relieve me of alot of anxiety. "

At first she was determined to have her way, but he was so persistent, so pleading, that eventually she surrendered. 

Lucy, the new maid, however, was not so easily convinced. 

"I don't like it, miss, " she said, "he's just like an old tramp, and I'msure we shall be murdered in our beds. "

"How cheerful you are, Lucy, " laughed Lydia. "Of course, there is nodanger from Mr. Jaggs, and he really was very useful to me. "

The girl grumbled and assented a little sulkily, and Lydia had afeeling that she was going to lose a good servant. In this she was notmistaken. 

Old Jaggs called at half-past nine that night, and was admitted by themaid, who stalked in front of him and opened his door. 

"There's your room, " she snapped, "and I'd rather have your room thanyour company. "

"Would you, miss?" wheezed Jaggs, and Lydia, attracted by the sound ofvoices, came to the door and listened with some amusement. 

"Lord, bless me life, it ain't a bad room, either. Put the light out, mydear, I don't like light. I like 'em dark, like them little cells inHolloway prison, where you were took two years ago for robbing yourmissus. "

Lydia's smile left her face. She heard the girl gasp. 

"You old liar!" she hissed. 

"Lucy Jones you call yourself--you used to be Mary Welch in them days, "chuckled old Jaggs. 

"I'm not going to be insulted, " almost screamed Lucy, though there was anote of fear in her strident voice. "I'm going to leave to-night. "

"No you ain't, my dear, " said old Jaggs complacently. "You're going tosleep here to-night, and you're going to leave in the morning. If youtry to get out of that door before I let you, you'll be pinched. "

"They've got nothing against me, " the girl was betrayed into saying. 

"False characters, my dear. Pretending to come from the agency, when youdidn't. That's another crime. Lord bless your heart, I've got enoughagainst you to put you in jail for a year. "

Lydia came forward. 

"What is this you're saying about my maid?"

"Good evening, ma'am. "

The old man knuckled his forehead. 

"I'm just having an argument with your young lady. "

"Do you say she is a thief?"

"Of course she is, miss, " said Jaggs scornfully. "You ask her!"

But Lucy had gone into her room, slammed the door and locked it. 

The next morning when Lydia woke, the flat was empty, save for herself. But she had hardly finished dressing when there came a knock at thedoor, and a trim, fresh-looking country girl, with an expansive smileand a look of good cheer that warmed Lydia's heart, appeared. 

"You're the lady that wants a maid, ma'am, aren't you?"

"Yes, " said Lydia in surprise. "But who sent you?"

"I was telegraphed for yesterday, ma'am, from the country. "

"Come in, " said Lydia helplessly. 

"Isn't it right?" asked the girl a little disappointedly. "They sent memy fare. I came up by the first train. "

"It is quite all right, " said Lydia, "only I'm wondering who is runningthis flat, me or Mr. Jaggs?"

Chapter XI

Jean Briggerland had spent a very busy afternoon. There had been astring of callers at the handsome house in Berkeley Street. 

Mr. Briggerland was of a philanthropic bent, and had instituted a clubin the East End of London which was intended to raise the moral tone ofLimehouse, Wapping, Poplar and the adjacent districts. It was startedwithout ostentation with a man named Faire as general manager. Mr. Fairehad had in his lifetime several hectic contests with the police, inwhich he had been invariably the loser. And it was in his role as areformed character that he undertook the management of this socialuplift club. 

Well-meaning police officials had warned Mr. Briggerland that Faire hada bad character. Mr. Briggerland listened, was grateful for the warning, but explained that Faire had come under the influence of the new upliftmovement, and from henceforward he would be an exemplary citizen. Later, the police had occasion to extend their warning to its founder. The clubwas being used by known criminal characters; men who had already beenin jail and were qualifying for a return visit. 

Again Mr. Briggerland pointed to the object of the institution which wasto bring bad men into the society of good men and women, and to arousein them a desire for better things. He quoted a famous text with greateffect. But still the police were unconvinced. 

It was the practice of Miss Jean Briggerland to receive selected membersof the club and to entertain them at tea in Berkeley Street. Her friendsthought it was very "sweet" and very "daring, " and wondered whether shewasn't afraid of catching some kind of disease peculiar to the East Endof London. But Jean did not worry about such things. On this afternoon, after the last of her callers had gone, she went down to the littlemorning-room where such entertainments occurred and found two men, whorose awkwardly as she entered. 

The gentle influence of the club had not made them look anything butwhat they were. "Jail-bird" was written all over them. 

"I'm very glad you men have come, " said Jean sweetly. "Mr. Hoggins----"

"That's me, miss, " said one, with a grin. 

"And Mr. Talmot. "

The second man showed his teeth. 

"I'm always glad to see members of the club, " said Jean busy with theteapot, "especially men who have had so bad a time as you have. Youhave only just come out of prison, haven't you, Mr. Hoggins?" she askedinnocently. 

Hoggins went red and coughed. 

"Yes, miss, " he said huskily and added inconsequently, "I didn't do it!"

"I'm sure you were innocent, " she said with a smile of sympathy, "andreally if you were guilty I don't think you men are so much to blame. Look what a bad time you have! What disadvantages you suffer, whilsthere in the West End people are wasting money that really ought to go toyour wives and children. "

"That's right, " said Mr. Hoggins. 

"There's a girl I know who is tremendously rich, " Jean prattled on. "Shelives at 84, Cavendish Mansions, just on the top floor, and, of course, she's very foolish to sleep with her windows open, especially as peoplecould get down from the roof--there is a fire escape there. She alwayshas a lot of jewellery--keeps it under her pillow I think, and there isgenerally a few hundred pounds scattered about the bedroom. Now that iswhat I call putting temptation in the way of the weak. "

She lifted her blue eyes, saw the glitter in the man's eyes and went on. 

"I've told her lots of times that there is danger, but she only laughs. There is an old man who sleeps in the house--quite a feeble old man whohas only the use of one arm. Of course, if she cried out, I suppose hewould come to her rescue, but then a real burglar wouldn't let her cryout, would he?" she asked. 

The two men looked at one another. 

"No, " breathed one. 

"Especially as they could get clean away if they were clever, " saidJean, "and it isn't likely that they would leave her in a condition tobetray them, is it?"

Mr. Hoggins cleared his throat. 

"It's not very likely, miss, " he said. 

Jean shrugged her shoulders. 

"Women do these things, and then they blame the poor man to whom athousand pounds would be a fortune because he comes and takes it. Personally, I should not like to live at 84, Cavendish Mansions. "

"84, Cavendish Mansions, " murmured Mr. Hoggins absent-mindedly. 

His last sentence had been one of ten years' penal servitude. His nextsentence would be for life. Nobody knew this better than JeanBriggerland as she went on to talk of the club and of the wonderful workwhich it was doing. 

She dismissed her visitors and went back to her sitting-room. As sheturned to go up the stairway her maid intercepted her. 

"Mary is in your room, miss, " she said in a low voice. 

Jean frowned but made no reply. 

The woman who stood awkwardly in the centre of the room awaiting thegirl, greeted her with an apologetic smile. 

"I'm sorry, miss, " she said, "but I lost my job this morning. That oldman spotted me. He's a split--a detective. "

Jean Briggerland regarded her with an unmoved face save that herbeautiful mouth took on the pathetic little droop which had excited thepity of a judge and an army of lawyers. 

"When did this happen?" she asked. 

"Last night, miss. He came and I got a bit cheeky to him, and he turnedon me, the old devil, and told me my real name and that I'd got the jobby forging recommendations. "

Jean sat down slowly in the padded Venetian chair before her writingtable. 

"Jaggs?" she asked. 

"Yes, miss. "

"And why didn't you come here at once?"

"I thought I might be followed, miss. "

The girl bit her lip and nodded. 

"You did quite right, " she said, and then after a moment's reflection, "We shall be in Paris next week. You had better go by the night trainand wait for us at the flat. "

She gave the maid some money and after she had gone, sat for an hourbefore the fire looking into its red depths. 

She rose at last a little stiffly, pulled the heavy silken curtainacross the windows and switched on the light, and there was a smile onher face that was very beautiful to see. For in that hour came aninspiration. 

She sought her father in his study and told him her plan, and heblanched and shivered with the very horror of it. 

Chapter XII

Mr. Briggerland, it seemed, had some other object in life than theregeneration of the criminal classes. He was a sociologist--a loosetitle which covers a great deal of inquisitive investigation into otherpeople's affairs. Moreover, he had published a book on the subject. Hisname was on the title page and the book had been reviewed to his credit;though in truth he did no more than suggest the title, the work inquestion having been carried out by a writer on the subject who, for aconsideration, had allowed Mr. Briggerland to adopt the child of hisbrain. 

On a morning when pale yellow sunlight brightened his dining-room, Mr. Briggerland put down his newspaper and looked across the table at hisdaughter. He had a club in the East End of London and his manager hadtelephoned that morning sending a somewhat unhappy report. 

"Do you remember that man Talmot, my dear?" he asked. 

She nodded, and looked up quickly. 

"Yes, what about him?"

"He's in hospital, " said Mr. Briggerland. "I fear that he and Hogginswere engaged in some nefarious plan and that in making an attempt toenter--as, of course, they had no right to enter--a block of flats inCavendish Place, poor Talmot slipped and fell from the fourth floorwindow-sill, breaking his leg. Hoggins had to carry him to hospital. "

The girl reached for bacon from the hot plate. 

"He should have broken his neck, " she said calmly. "I suppose now thepolice are making tender inquiries?"

"No, no, " Mr. Briggerland hastened to assure her. "Nobody knows anythingabout it, not even the--er--fortunate occupant of the flat they wereevidently trying to burgle. I only learnt of it because the manager ofthe club, who gets information of this character, thought I would beinterested. "

"Anyway I'm glad they didn't succeed, " said Jean after a while. "Thepossibility of their trying rather worried me. The Hoggins type is sucha bungler that it was almost certain they would fail. "

It was a curious fact that whilst her father made the most guardedreferences to all their exploits and clothed them with garments ofeuphemism, his daughter never attempted any such disguise. Thepsychologist would find in Mr. Briggerland's reticence the embryo of aonce dominant rectitude, no trace of which remained in his daughter'smoral equipment. 

"I have been trying to place this man Jaggs, " she went on with a littlepuzzled frown, "and he completely baffles me. He arrives every night ina taxicab, sometimes from St. Pancras, sometimes from Euston, sometimesfrom London Bridge Station. "

"Do you think he is a detective?"

"I don't know, " she said thoughtfully. "If he is, he has been importedfrom the provinces. He is not a Scotland Yard man. He may, of course, bean old police pensioner, and I have been trying to trace him from thatsource. "

"It should not be difficult to find out all about him, " said Mr. Briggerland easily. "A man with his afflictions should be prettywell-known. "

He looked at his watch. 

"My appointment at Norwood is at eleven o'clock, " he said. He made alittle grimace of disgust. 

"Would you rather I went?" asked the girl. 

Mr. Briggerland would much rather that she had undertaken thedisagreeable experience which lay before him, but he dare not confess asmuch. 

"You, my dear? Of course not! I would not allow you to have such anexperience. No, no, I don't mind it a bit. "

Nevertheless, he tossed down two long glasses of brandy before he left. 

His car set him down before the iron gates of a squat and ugly stuccobuilding, surrounded by high walls, and the uniformed attendant, havingexamined his credentials, admitted him. He had to wait a little whilebefore a second attendant arrived to conduct him to the medicalsuperintendent, an elderly man who did not seem overwhelmed with joy atthe honour Mr. Briggerland was paying him. 

"I'm sorry I shan't be able to show you round, Mr. Briggerland, " hesaid. "I have an engagement in town, but my assistant, Dr. Carew, willconduct you over the asylum and give you all the information yourequire. This, of course, as you know, is a private institution. Ishould have thought you would have got more material for your book inone of the big public asylums. The people who are sent to Norwood, youknow, are not the mild cases, and you will see some rather terriblesights. You are prepared for that?"

Mr. Briggerland nodded. He was prepared to the extent of two fullnoggins of brandy. Moreover, he was well aware that Norwood was theasylum to which the more dangerous of lunatics were transferred. 

Dr. Carew proved to be a young and enthusiastic alienist whose heart andsoul was in his work. 

"I suppose you are prepared to see jumpy things, " he said with a smile, as he conducted Mr. Briggerland along a stone-vaulted corridor. 

He opened a steel gate, the bars of which were encased with thick layersof rubber, crossed a grassy plot (there were no stone-flagged paths atNorwood) and entered one of the three buildings which constituted theasylum proper. 

It was a harrowing, heart-breaking, and to some extent, a disappointingexperience for Mr. Briggerland. True, his heart did not break, becauseit was made of infrangible material, and his disappointment wascounter-balanced by a certain vague relief. 

At the end of two hours' inspection they were standing out on the bigplaying fields, watching the less violent of the patients wanderingaimlessly about. Except one, they were unattended by keepers, but in thecase of this one man, two stalwart uniformed men walked on either sideof him. 

"Who is he?" asked Briggerland. 

"That is rather a sad case, " said the alienist cheerfully. He hadpointed out many "sad cases" in the same bright manner. "He's a doctorand a genuine homicide. Luckily they detected him before he did anymischief or he would have been in Broadmoor. "

"Aren't you ever afraid of these men escaping?" asked Mr. Briggerland. 

"You asked that before, " said the doctor in surprise. "No. You see, aninsane asylum is not like a prison; to make a good get-away from prisonyou have to have outside assistance. Nobody wants to help a lunaticescape, otherwise it would be easier than getting out of prison, becausewe have no patrols in the grounds, the wards can be opened from theoutside without a key and the night patrol who visits the wards everyhalf-hour has no time for any other observation. Would you like to talkto Dr. Thun?"

Mr. Briggerland hesitated only for a second. 

"Yes, " he said huskily. 

There was nothing in the appearance of the patient to suggest that hewas in any way dangerous. A fair, bearded man, with pale blue eyes, heheld out his hand impulsively to the visitor, and after a momentaryhesitation, Mr. Briggerland took it and found his hand in a grip like avice. The two attendants exchanged glances with the asylum doctor andstrolled off. 

"I think you can talk to him without fear, " said the doctor in a lowvoice, not so low, however, that the patient did not hear it, for helaughed. 

"Without fear, favour or prejudice, eh? Yes, that was how they swore theofficers at my court martial. "

"The doctor was the general who was responsible for the losses atCaperetto, " explained Dr. Carew. "That was where the Italians lost soheavily. "

Thun nodded. 

"Of course, I was perfectly innocent, " he explained to Briggerlandseriously, and taking the visitor's arm he strolled across the field, the doctor and the two attendants following at a distance. Mr. Briggerland breathed a little more quickly as he felt the strength ofthe patient's biceps. 

"My conviction, " said Dr. Thun seriously, "was due to the fact thatwomen were sitting on the court martial, which is, of course, againstall regulations. "

"Certainly, " murmured Mr. Briggerland. 

"Keeping me here, " Thun went on, "is part of the plot of the Italiangovernment. Naturally, they do not wish me to get at my enemies, who Ihave every reason to believe are in London. "

Mr. Briggerland drew a long breath. 

"They are in London, " he said a little hoarsely. "I happen to know wherethey are. "

"Really?" said the other easily, and then a cloud passed over his faceand he shook his head. 

"They are safe from my vengeance, " he said a little sadly. "As long asthey keep me in this place pretending that I am mad, there is nopossible chance for me. "

The visitor looked round and saw that the three men who were followingwere out of ear shot. 

"Suppose I came to-morrow night, " he said, lowering his voice, "andhelped you to get away? What is your ward?"

"No. 6, " said the other in the same tone. His eyes were blazing. 

"Do you think you will remember?" asked Briggerland. 

Thun nodded. 

"You will come to-morrow night--No. 6, the first cubicle on the left, "he whispered, "you will not fail me? If I thought you'd fail me----" Hiseyes lit up again. 

"I shall not fail you, " said Mr. Briggerland hastily. "When the clockstrikes twelve you may expect me. "

"You must be Marshal Foch, " murmured Thun, and then with all a madman'scunning, changed the conversation as the doctor and attendants, who hadnoticed his excitement, drew nearer. "Believe me, Mr. Briggerland, " hewent on airily, "the strategy of the Allies was at fault until I took upthe command of the army.... "

Ten minutes later Mr. Briggerland was in his car driving homeward, alittle breathless, more than a little terrified at the unpleasant taskhe had set himself; jubilant, too, at his amazing success. 

Jean had said he might have to visit a dozen asylums before he found hisopportunity and the right man, and he had succeeded at the firstattempt. Yet--he shuddered at the picture he conjured--that climb overthe high wall (he had already located the ward, for he had followed theGeneral and the attendants and had seen him safely put away), themidnight association with a madman.... 

He burst in upon Jean with his news. 

"At the first attempt, my dear, what do you think of that?" His darkface glowed with almost childish pride, and she looked at him with ahalf-smile. 

"I thought you would, " she said quietly. "That's the rough work done, atany rate. "

"The rough work!" he said indignantly. 

She nodded. 

"Half the difficulty is going to be to cover up your visit to theasylum, because this man is certain to mention your name, and it willnot all be dismissed as the imagination of a madman. Now I think I willmake my promised call upon Mrs. Meredith. "

Chapter XIII

There was one thing which rather puzzled and almost piqued LydiaMeredith, and that was the failure of Jean Briggerland's prophecy tomaterialise. Jean had said half jestingly that Jack Glover would be afrequent visitor at the flat; in point of fact, he did not come at all. Even when she visited the offices of Rennett, Glover and Simpson, it wasMr. Rennett who attended to her, and Jack was invisible. Mr. Rennettsometimes explained that he was at the courts, for Jack did all thecourt work, sometimes that he had gone home. 

She caught a glimpse of him once as she was driving past the Law Courtsin the Strand. He was standing on the pavement talking to a be-wiggedcounsel, so possibly Mr. Rennett had not stated more than the truth whenhe said that the young man's time was mostly occupied by the processesof litigation. 

She was curious enough to look through the telephone directory todiscover where he lived. There were about fifty Glovers, and ten ofthese were John Glovers, and she was enough of a woman to call up six ofthe most likely only to discover that her Mr. Glover was not amongstthem. She did not know till later that his full name was Bertram JohnGlover, or she might have found his address without difficulty. 

Mrs. Morgan had now arrived, to Lydia's infinite relief, and had takencontrol of the household affairs. The new maid was as perfect as a newmaid could be, and but for the nightly intrusion of the taciturn Jaggs, to whom, for some reason, Mrs. Morgan took a liking, the current of herdomestic life ran smoothly. 

She was already becoming accustomed to the possession of wealth. Thehabit of being rich is one of the easiest acquired, and she foundherself negotiating for a little house in Curzon Street and a morepretentious establishment in Somerset, with a sangfroid which astonishedand frightened her. 

The purchase and arrival of her first car, and the engagement of herchauffeur had been a thrilling experience. It was incredible, too, thather new bankers should, without hesitation, deliver to her enormous sumsof money at the mere affixing of her signature to an oblong slip ofpaper. 

She had even got over the panic feeling which came to her on her firstfew visits to the bank. On these earlier occasions she had felt ratherlike an inexpert forger, who was endeavouring to get money by falsepretence, and it was both a relief and a wonder to her when thenonchalant cashier thrust thick wads of bank-notes under the grille, without so much as sending for a policeman. 

"It's a lovely flat, " said Jean Briggerland, looking round the pinkdrawing-room approvingly, "but of course, my dear, this is one that wasalready furnished for you. I'm dying to see what you will make of yourown home when you get one. "

She had telephoned that morning to Lydia saying that she was paying acall, asking if it was convenient, and the two girls were alone. 

"It _is_ a nice flat, and I shall be sorry to leave it, " agreed Lydia. "It is so extraordinarily quiet. I sleep like a top. There is no noiseto disturb one, except that there was rather an unpleasant happening theother morning. "

"What was that?" asked Jean, stirring her tea. 

"I don't know really what happened, " said Lydia. "I heard an awfulgroaning very early in the morning and I got up and looked out of thewindow. There were two men in the courtyard. One, I think, had hurthimself very badly. I never discovered what happened. "

"They must have been workmen, I should think, " said Jean, "or else theywere drunk. Personally, I have never liked taking furnished flats, " shewent on. "One always breaks things, and there's such a big bill to payat the end. And then I always lose the keys. One usually has two orthree. You should be very careful about that, my dear, they make anenormous charge for lost keys, " she prattled on. 

"I think the house agent gave me three, " said Lydia. She walked to herlittle secretaire, opened it and pulled out a drawer. 

"Yes, three, " she said, "there is one here, one I carry, and Mrs. Morganhas one. "

"Have you seen Jack Glover lately?"

Jean never pursued an enquiry too far, by so much as one syllable. 

"No, I haven't seen him, " smiled Lydia, "You weren't a good prophet. "

"I expect he is busy, " said the girl carelessly. "I think I could likeJack awfully--if he hadn't such a passion for ordering people about. Howcareless of me!" She had tipped over her teacup and its contents wererunning across the little tea table. She pulled out her handkerchiefquickly and tried to stop the flow. 

"Oh, please, please don't spoil your beautiful handkerchief, " saidLydia, rising hurriedly, "I will get a duster. "

She ran out of the room and was back almost immediately, to find Jeanstanding with her back to the secretaire examining the ruins of her latehandkerchief with a smile. 

"Let me put your handkerchief in water or it will be stained, " saidLydia, putting out her hand. 

"I would rather do it myself, " laughed Jean Briggerland, and pushed thehandkerchief into her bag. 

There were many reasons why Lydia should not handle that flimsy piece ofcambric and lace, the most important of which was the key which Jean hadtaken from the secretaire in Lydia's absence, and had rolled inside thetea-stained handkerchief. 

A few days later Mr. Bertram John Glover interviewed a high official atScotland Yard, and the interview was not a particularly satisfactory oneto the lawyer. It might have been worse, had not the police commissionerbeen a friend of Jack's partner. 

The official listened patiently whilst the lawyer, with professionalskill, marshalled all his facts, attaching to them the suspicions whichhad matured to convictions. 

"I have sat in this chair for twenty-five years, " said the head of theC. I. D. , "and I have heard stories which beat the best and the worst ofdetective stories hollow. I have listened to cranks, amateur detectives, crooks, parsons and expert fictionists, but never in my experience haveI ever heard anything quite so improbable as your theory. It happensthat I have met Briggerland and I've met his daughter too, and a morebeautiful girl I don't think it has been my pleasure to meet. "

Jack groaned. 

"Aren't you feeling well?" asked the chief unpleasantly. 

"I'm all right, sir, " said Jack, "only I'm so tired of hearing aboutJean Briggerland's beauty. It doesn't seem a very good argument tooppose to the facts--"

"Facts!" said the other scornfully. "What facts have you given us?"

"The fact of the Briggerlands' history, " said Jack desperately. "Briggerland was broke when he married Miss Meredith under theimpression that he would get a fortune with his wife. He has lived byhis wits all his life, and until this girl was about fifteen, they wereexisting in a state of poverty. They lived in a tiny house in Ealing, the rent of which was always in arrears, and then Briggerland becameacquainted with a rich Australian of middle age who was crazy about hisdaughter. The rich Australian died suddenly. "

"From an overdose of veronal, " said the chief. "It was established atthe inquest--I got all the documents out after I received yourletter--that he was in the habit of taking veronal. You suggest he wasmurdered. If he was, for what? He left the girl about six thousandpounds. "

"Briggerland thought she was going to get it all, " said Jack. 

"That is conjecture, " interrupted the chief. "Go on. "

"Briggerland moved up west, " Jack went on, "and when the girl wasseventeen she made the acquaintance of a man named Gunnesbury, who wentjust as mad about her. Gunnesbury was a midland merchant with a wife andfamily. He was so infatuated with her that he collected all the loosemoney he could lay his hands on--some twenty-five thousand pounds--andbolted to the continent. The girl was supposed to have gone on ahead, and he was to join her at Calais. He never reached Calais. The theorywas that he jumped overboard. His body was found and brought in toDover, but there was none of the money in his possession that he haddrawn from the Midland Bank. "

"That is a theory, too, " said the chief, shaking his head. "The identityof the girl was never established. It was known that she was a friend ofGunnesbury's, but there was proof that she was in London on the night ofhis death. It was a clear case of suicide. "

"A year later, " Jack went on, "she forced a meeting with Meredith, hercousin. His father had just died--Jim had come back from Central Africato put things in order. He was not a woman's man, and was a grave, retiring sort of fellow, who had no other interest in life than hisshooting. The story of Meredith you know. "

"And is that all?" asked the chief politely. 

"All the facts I can gather. There must be other cases which are beyondthe power of the investigator to unearth. "

"And what do you expect me to do?"

Jack smiled. 

"I don't expect you to do anything, " he said frankly. "You are notexactly supporting my views with enthusiasm. "

The chief rose, a signal that the interview was at an end. 

"I'd like to help you if you had any real need for help, " he said. "Butwhen you come to me and tell me that Miss Briggerland, a girl whoseinnocence shows in her face, is a heartless criminal and murderess, anda conspirator--why, Mr. Glover, what do you expect me to say?"

"I expect you to give adequate protection to Mrs. Meredith, " said Jacksharply. "I expect you, sir, to remember that I've warned you that Mrs. Meredith may die one of those accidental deaths in which Mr. And MissBriggerland specialise. I'm going to put my warning in black and white, and if anything happens to Lydia Meredith, there is going to be serioustrouble on the Thames Embankment. "

The chief touched a bell, and a constable came in. 

"Show Mr. Glover the way out, " he said stiffly. 

Jack had calmed down considerably by the time he reached the ThamesEmbankment, and was inclined to be annoyed with himself for losing histemper. 

He stopped a newsboy, took a paper from his hand, and, hailing a cab, drove to his office. 

There was little in the early edition save the sporting news, but on thefront page a paragraph arrested his eye. 

 "DANGEROUS LUNATIC AT LARGE. "

 "The Medical Superintendent at Norwood Asylum reports that Dr. Algernon John Thun, an inmate of the asylum, escaped last night, and is believed to be at large in the neighbourhood. Search parties have been organised, but no trace of the man has been found. He is known to have homicidal tendencies, a fact which renders his immediate recapture a very urgent necessity. "

There followed a description of the wanted man. Jack turned to anotherpart of the paper, and dismissed the paragraph from his mind. 

His partner, however, was to bring the matter up at lunch. NorwoodAsylum was near Dulwich, and Mr. Rennett was pardonably concerned. 

"The womenfolk at my house are scared to death, " he said at lunch. "Theywon't go out at night, and they keep all the doors locked. How did yourinterview with the commissioner go on?"

"We parted the worst of friends, " said Jack, "and, Rennett, the next manwho talks to me about Jean Briggerland's beautiful face is going to bekilled dead through it, even though I have to take a leaf from her bookand employ the grisly Jaggs to do it. "

Chapter XIV

That night the "grisly Jaggs" was later than usual. Lydia heard himshuffling along the passage, and presently the door of his room closedwith a click. She was sitting at the piano, and had stopped playing atthe sound of his knock, and when Mrs. Morgan came in to announce hisarrival, she closed the piano and swung round on the music stool, a lookof determination on her delicate face. 

"He's come, miss. "

"And for the last time, " said Lydia ominously. "Mrs. Morgan, I can'tstand that weird old gentleman any longer. He has got on my nerves sothat I could scream when I think of him. "

"He's not a bad old gentleman, " excused Mrs. Morgan. 

"I'm not so worried about his moral character, and I dare say that it isperfectly blameless, " said Lydia determinedly, "but I have written anote to Mr. Glover to tell him that I really must dispense with hisservices. "

"What's he here for, miss?" asked Mrs. Morgan. 

Her curiosity had been aroused, but this was the first time she hadgiven it expression. 

"He's here because----" Lydia hesitated, "well, because Mr. Gloverthinks I ought to have a man in the house to look after me. "

"Why, miss?" asked the startled woman. 

"You'd better ask Mr. Glover that question, " said Lydia grimly. 

She was beginning to chafe under the sense of restraint. She was being"school-marmed" she thought. No girl likes the ostentatious protectionof the big brother or the head mistress. The soul of the schoolgirlyearns to break from the "crocodile" in which she is marched to churchand to school, and this sensation of being marshalled and ordered about, and of living her life according to a third person's programme, and thatthird person a man, irked her horribly. 

Old Jaggs was the outward and visible sign of Jack Glover's unwarrantedauthority, and slowly there was creeping into her mind a suspicion thatJean Briggerland might not have been mistaken when she spoke of Jack'spenchant for "ordering people about. "

Life was growing bigger for her. She had broken down the barriers whichhad confined her to a narrow promenade between office and home. Thehours which she had had to devote to work were now entirely free, andshe could sketch or paint whenever the fancy took her--which was notvery often, though she promised herself a period of hard work when onceshe was settled down. 

Toward the good-looking young lawyer her point of view had shifted. Shehardly knew herself how she regarded him. He irritated, and yet in someindefinable way, pleased her. His sincerity--? She did not doubt hissincerity. She admitted to herself that she wished he would call alittle more frequently than he did. He might have persuaded her thatJaggs was a necessary evil, but he hadn't even taken the trouble tocome. Therefore--but this she did not admit--Jaggs must go. 

"I don't think the old gentleman's quite right in his head, you know, sometimes, " said Mrs. Morgan. 

"Why ever not, Mrs. Morgan?" asked the girl in surprise. 

"I often hear him sniggering to himself as I go past his door. I supposehe stays in his room all night, miss?"

"He doesn't, " said the girl emphatically, "and that's why he's going. Iheard him in the passage at two o'clock this morning; I'm getting intosuch a state of nerves that the slightest sound awakens me. He had hisboots off and was creeping about in his stockings, and when I went outand switched the light on he bolted back to his room. I can't have thatsort of thing going on, and I won't! it's altogether too creepy!"

Mrs. Morgan agreed. 

Lydia had not been out in the evening for several days, she remembered, as she began to undress for the night. The weather had been unpleasant, and to stay in the warm, comfortable flat was no great hardship. Even ifshe had gone out, Jaggs would have accompanied her, she thoughtironically. 

And then she had a little twinge of conscience, remembering that Jaggs'spresence on a memorable afternoon had saved her from destruction. 

She wondered for the twentieth time what was old Jaggs's history, andwhere Jack had found him. Once she had been tempted to ask Jaggshimself, but the old man had fenced with the question, and had talkedvaguely of having worked in the country, and she was as wise as she hadbeen before. 

But she must get rid of old Jaggs, she thought, as she switched off thelight and kicked out the innumerable water-bottles, with which Mrs. Morgan, in mistaken kindness, had encumbered the bed ... Old Jaggs mustgo ... He was a nuisance.... 

She woke with a start from a dreamless sleep. The clock in the hall wasstriking three. She realised this subconsciously. Her eyes were fixed onthe window, which was open at the bottom. Mrs. Morgan had pulled itdown at the top, but now it was wide open, and her heart began to thump, thump, rapidly. Jaggs! He was her first thought. She would never havebelieved that she could have thought of that old man with such a warmglow of thankfulness. There was nothing to be seen. The storm of theearly night had passed over, and a faint light came into the room fromthe waning moon. And then she saw the curtains move, and opened hermouth to scream, but fear had paralysed her voice, and she lay staringat the hangings, incapable of movement or sound. As she watched thecurtain she saw it move again, and a shape appeared faintly against thegloomy background. 

The spell was broken. She swung herself out of the opposite side of thebed, and raced to the door, but the man was before her. Before she couldscream, a big hand gripped her throat and flung her back against therail of the bed. 

Horrified she stared into the cruel face that leered down at her, andfelt the grip tighten. And then as she looked into the face she saw asudden grimace, and sensed the terror in his eyes. The hand relaxed; hebubbled something thickly and fell sideways against the bed. And now shesaw. A man had come through the doorway, a tall man, with a fair beardand eyes that danced with insane joy. 

He came slowly toward her, wiping on his cuff the long-handled knifethat had sent her assailant to the floor. 

He was mad. She knew it instinctively, and remembered in a hazy, confused way, a paragraph she had read about an escaped lunatic. Shetried to dash past him to the open door, but he caught her in the crookof his left arm, and pressed her to him, towering head and shouldersover her. 

"You have no right to sit on a court martial, madam, " he said withuncanny politeness, and at that moment the light in the room wasswitched on and Jaggs appeared in the doorway, his bearded lips partedin an ugly grin, a long-barrelled pistol in his left hand. 

"Drop your knife, " he said, "or I'll drop you. "

The mad doctor turned his head slowly and frowned at the intruder. 

"Good morning, General, " he said calmly. "You came in time, " and hethrew the knife on to the ground. "We will try her according toregulations!"

Chapter XV

 A TRAGIC AFFAIR IN THE WEST END. 

 MAD DOCTOR WOUNDS A BURGLAR IN A SOCIETY WOMAN'S BEDROOM. 

 "There was an extraordinary and tragic sequel to the escape of Dr. Thun from Norwood Asylum, particulars of which appeared in our early edition of yesterday. This morning at four o'clock, in answer to a telephone call, Detective-Sergeant Miller, accompanied by another officer, went to 84, Cavendish Mansions, a flat occupied by Mrs. Meredith, and there found and took into custody Dr. Algernon Thun, who had escaped from Norwood Asylum. In the room was also found a man named Hoggins, a person well known to the police. It appears that Hoggins had effected an entrance into Mrs. Meredith's flat, descending from the roof by means of a rope, making his way into the premises through the window of Mrs. Meredith's bedroom. Whilst there he was detected by Mrs. Meredith, who would undoubtedly have been murdered had not Dr. Thun, who, in some mysterious manner, had gained admission to the flat, intervened. In the struggle that followed the doctor, who is suffering from the delusion of persecution, severely wounded the man, who is not expected to live. He then turned his attention to the lady. Happily an old man who works at the flat, who was sleeping on the premises at the time, was roused by the sound of the struggle, and succeeded in releasing the lady from the maniacal grasp of the intruder. The wounded burglar was removed to hospital and the lunatic was taken to the police station and was afterwards sent under a strong guard to the asylum from whence he had escaped. He made a rambling statement to the police to the effect that General Foch had assisted his escape and had directed him to the home of his persecutors. "

Jean Briggerland put down the paper and laughed. 

"It is nothing to snigger about, " growled Briggerland savagely. 

"If I didn't laugh I should do something more emotional, " said the girlcoolly. "To think that that fool should go back and make the attemptsingle-handed. I never imagined that. "

"Faire tells me that he's not expected to live, " said Mr. Briggerland. He rubbed his bald head irritably. "I wonder if that lunatic is goingto talk?"

"What does it matter if he does?" said the girl impatiently. 

"You said the other day----" he began. 

"The other day it mattered, my dear father. To-day nothing matters verymuch. I think we have got well out of it. I ignored all the lessonswhich my textbook teaches when I entrusted work to other hands. Jaggs, "she said softly. 

"Eh?" said the father. 

"I'm repeating a well-beloved name, " she smiled and rose, folding herserviette. "I am going for a long run in the country. Would you like tocome? Mordon is very enthusiastic about the new car, the bill for which, by the way, came in this morning. Have we any money?"

"A few thousands, " said her father, rubbing his chin. "Jean, we shallhave to sell something unless things brighten. "

Jean's lips twitched, but she said nothing. 

On her way to the open road she called at Cavendish Mansions, and wasneither surprised nor discomfited to discover that Jack Glover wasthere. 

"My dear, " she said, warmly clasping both the girl's hands in hers, "Iwas so shocked when I read the news! How terrible it must have been foryou. "

Lydia was looking pale, and there were dark shadows under her eyes, butshe treated the matter cheerfully. 

"I've just been trying to explain to Mr. Glover what happened. Unfortunately, the wonderful Jaggs is not here. He knows more about itthan I, for I collapsed in the most feminine way. "

"How did he get in--I mean this madman?" asked the girl. 

"Through the door. "

It was Jack who answered. 

"It is the last way in the world a lunatic would enter a flat, isn't it?He came in with a key, and he was brought here by somebody who struck amatch to make sure it was the right number. "

"He might have struck the match himself, " said Jean, "but you're soclever that you would not say a thing like that unless you had proof. "

"We found two matches in the hall outside, " said Jack, "and when Dr. Thun was searched no matches were found on him, and I have since learntthat, like most homicidal lunatics, he had a horror of fire in any form. The doctor to whom I have been talking is absolutely sure that he wouldnot have struck the match himself. Oh, by the way, Miss Briggerland, your father met this unfortunate man. I understand he paid a visit tothe asylum a few days ago?"

"Yes, he did, " she answered without hesitation. "He was talking abouthim this morning. You see, father has been making a tour of the asylums. He is writing a book about such things. Father was horrified when heheard the man had escaped, because the doctor told him that he was aparticularly dangerous lunatic. But who would have imagined he wouldhave turned up here?"

Her big, sad eyes were fixed on Jack as she shook her head in wonder. 

"If one had read that in a book one would never have believed it, wouldone?"

"And the man Hoggins, " said Jack, who did not share her wonder. "He wasby way of being an acquaintance of yours, a member of your father'sclub, wasn't he?"

She knit her brows. 

"I don't remember the name, but if he is a very bad character, " she saidwith a little smile, "I should say distinctly that he was a member offather's club! Poor daddy, I don't think he will ever regenerate theEast End. "

"I don't think he will, " agreed Jack heartily. "The question is, whetherthe East End will ever regenerate him. "

A slow smile dawned on her face. 

"How unkind!" she said, mockery in her eyes now. "I wonder why youdislike him so. He is so very harmless, really. My dear, " she turned tothe girl with a gesture of helplessness. "I am afraid that even in thisaffair Mr. Glover is seeing my sinister influence!"

"You're the most un-sinister person I have ever met, Jean, " laughedLydia, "and Mr. Glover doesn't really think all these horrid things. "

"Doesn't he?" said Jean softly, and Jack saw that she was shaking withlaughter. 

There was a certain deadly humour in the situation which tickled himtoo, and he grinned. 

"I wish to heaven you'd get married and settle down, Miss Briggerland, "he said incautiously. 

It was her chance. She shook her head, the lips drooped, the eyes againgrew moist with the pain she could call to them at will. 

"I wish I could, " she said in a tone a little above a whisper, "but, Jack, I could never marry you, never!"

She left Jack Glover bereft of speech, totally incapable of arousing somuch as a moan. 

Lydia, returning from escorting her visitor to the door, saw hisembarrassment and checked his impulsive explanation a little coldly. 

"I--I believed you when you said it wasn't true, Mr. Glover, " she said, and there was a reproach in her tone for which she hated herselfafterwards. 

Chapter XVI

Lydia had promised to go to the theatre that night with Mrs. Cole-Mortimer, and she was glad of the excuse to leave her tragic home. 

Mrs. Cole-Mortimer, who was not lavish in the matter of entertainmentsthat cost money, had a box, and although Lydia had seen the piece before(it was in fact the very play she had attended to sketch dresses on thenight of her adventure) it was a relief to sit in silence, which herhostess, with singular discretion, did not attempt to disturb. 

It was during the last act that Mrs. Cole-Mortimer gave her aninvitation which she accepted joyfully. 

"I've got a house at Cap Martin, " said Mrs. Cole-Mortimer. "It is only atiny place, but I think you would rather like it. I hate going to theRiviera alone, so if you care to come as my guest, I shall be most happyto chaperon you. They are bringing my yacht down to Monaco, so we oughtto have a really good time. "

Lydia accepted the yacht and the house as she had accepted theinvitation--without question. That the yacht had been chartered thatmorning and the house hired by telegram on the previous day, she couldnot be expected to guess. For all she knew, Mrs. Cole-Mortimer might bea very wealthy woman, and in her wildest dreams she did not imagine thatJean Briggerland had provided the money for both. 

It had not been a delicate negotiation, because Mrs. Cole-Mortimer hadthe skin of a pachyderm. 

Years later Lydia discovered that the woman lived on borrowed money, money which never could and never would be repaid, and which theborrower had no intention of refunding. 

A hint dropped by Jean that there was somebody on the Riviera whom shedesired to meet, without her father's knowledge, accompanied by theplain statement that she would pay all expenses, was quite sufficientfor Mrs. Cole-Mortimer, and she had fallen in with her patron's views asreadily as she had agreed to pose as a friend of Meredith's. To do herjustice, she had the faculty of believing in her own invention, and shewas quite satisfied that James Meredith had been a great personal friendof hers, just as she would believe that the house on the Riviera and thelittle steam-yacht had been procured out of her own purse. 

It was harder for her, however, to explain the great system which shewas going to work in Monte Carlo and which was to make everybody'sfortune. 

Lydia, who was no gambler and only mildly interested in games of chance, displayed so little evidence of interest in the scheme that Mrs. Cole-Mortimer groaned her despair, not knowing that she was expected todo no more than stir the soil for the crop which Jean Briggerland wouldplant and reap. 

They went on to supper at one of the clubs, and Lydia thought withamusement of poor old Jaggs, who apparently took his job very seriouslyindeed. 

Again her angle of vision had shifted, and her respect for the old manhad overcome any annoyance his uncouth presence brought to her. 

As she alighted at the door of the club she looked round, half expectingto see him. The club entrance was up a side street off Leicester Square, an ill-lit thoroughfare which favoured Mr. Jaggs's retiring methods, butthere was no sign of him, and she did not wait in the drizzling night tomake any closer inspection. 

Mrs. Cole-Mortimer had not disguised the possibility of Jean Briggerlandbeing at the club, and they found her with a gay party of young people, sitting in one of the recesses. Jean made a place for the girl by herside and introduced her to half a dozen people whose names Lydia did notcatch, and never afterwards remembered. 

Mr. Marcus Stepney, however, that sleek, dark man, who bowed over herhand and seemed as though he were going to kiss it, she had met before, and her second impression of him was even less favourable than thefirst. 

"Do you dance?" asked Jean. 

A jazz band was playing an infectious two-step. At the girl's nod Jeanbeckoned one of her party, a tall, handsome boy who throughout thesubsequent dance babbled into Lydia's ear an incessant pæan in praise ofJean Briggerland. 

Lydia was amused. 

"Of course she is very beautiful, " she said in answer to theinterminable repetition of his question. "I think she's lovely. "

"That's what I say, " said the young man, whom she discovered was LordStoker. "The most amazingly beautiful creature on the earth, I think. "

"Of course you're awfully good-looking, too, " he blundered, and Lydialaughed aloud. 

"But she's got enemies, " said the young man viciously, "and if ever Imeet that infernal cad, Glover, he'll be sorry. "

The smile left Lydia's face. 

"Mr. Glover is a friend of mine, " she said a little quickly. 

"Sorry, " he mumbled, "but----"

"Does Miss Briggerland say he is so very bad?"

"Of course not. She never says a word against him really. " His lordshiphastened to exonerate his idol. "She just says she doesn't know how longshe's going to stand his persecutions. It breaks one's heart to see howsad this--your friend makes her. "

Lydia was a very thoughtful girl for the rest of the evening; she wasbeginning in a hazy way to see things which she had not seen before. Ofcourse Jean never said anything against Jack Glover. And yet she hadsucceeded in arousing this youth to fury against the lawyer, and Lydiarealised, with a sense of amazement, that Jean had also made her feelbad about Jack. And yet she had said nothing but sweet things. 

When she got back to the flat that night she found that Mr. Jaggs hadnot been there all the evening. He came in a few minutes after her, wrapped up in an old army coat, and from his appearance she gatheredthat he had been standing out in the rain and sleet the whole of theevening. 

"Why, Jaggs, " she said impulsively, "wherever have you been?"

"Just dodging round, miss, " he grunted. "Having a look at the littleducks in the pond. "

"You've been outside the theatre, and you've been waiting outside Niro'sClub, " she said accusingly. 

"Don't know it, miss, " he said. "One theayter is as much like anotherone to me. "

"You must take your things off and let Mrs. Morgan dry your clothes, "she insisted, but he would not hear of this, compromising only withstripping his sodden great coat. 

He disappeared into his dark room, there to ruminate upon such mattersas appeared of interest to him. A bed had been placed for him, but onlyonce had he slept on it. 

After the flat grew still and the last click of the switch told that thelast light had been extinguished, he opened the door softly, and, carrying a chair in his hand, he placed this gently with its back to thefront door, and there he sat and dozed throughout the night. When Lydiawoke the next morning he was gone as usual. 

Chapter XVII

Lydia had plenty to occupy her days. The house in Curzon Street had beenbought and she had been a round of furnishers, paper-hangers and fittersof all variety. 

The trip to the Riviera came at the right moment. She could leave Mrs. Morgan in charge and come back to her new home, which was to be ready intwo months. 

Amongst other things, the problem of the watchful Mr. Jaggs would besettled automatically. 

She spoke to him that night when he came. 

"By the way, Mr. Jaggs, I am going to the South of France next week. "

"A pretty place by all accounts, " volunteered Mr. Jaggs. 

"A lovely place--by all accounts, " repeated Lydia with a smile. "Andyou're going to have a holiday, Mr. Jaggs. By the way, what am I to payyou?"

"The gentleman pays me, miss, " said Mr. Jaggs with a sniff. "The lawyergentleman. "

"Well, he must continue paying you whilst I am away, " said the girl. "Iam very grateful to you and I want to give you a little present beforeI go. Is there anything you would like, Mr. Jaggs?"

Mr. Jaggs rubbed his beard, scratched his head and thought he would likea pipe. 

"Though bless you, miss, I don't want any present. "

"You shall have the best pipe I can buy, " said the girl. "It seems veryinadequate. "

"I'd rather have a briar, miss, " said old Jaggs mistakenly. 

He was on duty until the morning she left, and although she rose earlyhe had gone. She was disappointed, for she had not given him thehandsome case of pipes she had bought, and she wanted to thank him. Shefelt she had acted rather meanly towards him. She owed her life to himtwice. 

"Didn't you see him go?" she asked Mrs. Morgan. 

"No, miss, " the stout housekeeper shook her head. "I was up at six andhe'd gone then, but he'd left his chair in the passage--I've got an ideathat's where he slept, miss, if he slept at all. "

"Poor old man, " said the girl gently. "I haven't been very kind to him, have I? And I do owe him such a lot. "

"Maybe he'll turn up again, " said Mrs. Morgan hopefully. She had themother feeling for the old, which is one of the beauties of her class, and she regretted Lydia's absence probably as much because it wouldentail the disappearance of old Jaggs as for the loss of her mistress. But old Jaggs did not turn up. Lydia hoped to see him at the station, hovering on the outskirts of the crowd in his furtive way, but she wasdisappointed. 

She left by the eleven o'clock train, joining Mrs. Cole-Mortimer on thestation. That lady had arranged to spend a day in Paris, and the girlwas not sorry, after a somewhat bad crossing of the English Channel, that she had not to continue her journey through the night. 

The South of France was to be a revelation to her. She had no conceptionof the extraordinary change of climate and vegetation that could beexperienced in one country. 

She passed from a drizzly, bedraggled Paris into a land of sunshine andgentle breezes; from the bare sullen lands of the Champagne, into acountry where flowers grew by the side of the railway, and that inFebruary; to a semi-tropic land, fragrant with flowers, to white beachesby a blue, lazy sea and a sky over all unflecked by clouds. 

It took her breath away, the beauty of it; and the sense and genialwarmth of it. The trees laden with lemons, the wisteria on the walls, the white dust on the road, and the glory of the golden mimosa thatscented the air with its rare and lovely perfume. 

They left the train at Nice and drove along the Grande Corniche. Mrs. Cole-Mortimer had a call to make in Monte Carlo and the girl sat back inthe car and drank in the beauty of this delicious spot, whilst herhostess interviewed the house agent. 

Surely the place must be kept under glass. It looked so fresh and cleanand free from stain. 

The Casino disappointed her--it was a place of plaster and stucco, anddid not seem built for permanent use. 

They drove back part of the way they had come, on to the peninsula ofCap Martin and she had a glimpse of beautiful villas between the pinesand queer little roads that led into mysterious dells. Presently the cardrew up before a good looking house (even Mrs. Cole-Mortimer wassurprised into an expression of her satisfaction at the sight of it). 

Lydia, who thought that this was Mrs. Cole-Mortimer's own demesne, wasdelighted. 

"You are lucky to have a beautiful home like this, Mrs. Cole-Mortimer, "she said, "it must be heavenly living here. "

The habit of wealth had not been so well acquired that she could realisethat she also could have a beautiful house if she wished--she thought ofthat later. Nor did she expect to find Jean Briggerland there, and Mr. Briggerland too, sitting on a big cane chair on the veranda overlookingthe sea and smoking a cigar of peace. 

Mrs. Cole-Mortimer had been very careful to avoid all mention of Jean onthe journey. 

"Didn't I tell you they would be here?" she said in careless amazement. "Why, of course, dear Jean left two days before we did. It makes such anice little party. Do you play bridge?"

Lydia did not play bridge, but was willing to be taught. 

She spent the remaining hour of daylight exploring the grounds which leddown to the road which fringed the sea. 

She could look across at the lights already beginning to twinkle atMonte Carlo, to the white yachts lying off Monaco, and farther along thecoast to a little cluster of lights that stood for Beaulieu. 

"It is glorious, " she said, drawing a long breath. 

Mrs. Cole-Mortimer, who had accompanied her in her stroll, purred thepurr of the pleased patron whose protégée has been thankful for favoursreceived. 

Dinner was a gay meal, for Jean was in her brightest mood. She had akeen sense of fun and her sly little sallies, sometimes aimed at herfather, sometimes at Lydia's expense, but more often directed at peoplein the social world, whose names were household words, kept Lydia in aconstant gurgle of laughter. 

Mrs. Cole-Mortimer alone was nervous and ill at ease. She had learntunpleasant news and was not sure whether she should tell the company orkeep her secret to herself. In such dilemma, weak people take the mostsensational course, and presently she dropped her bombshell. 

"Celeste says that the gardener's little boy has malignant smallpox, "she almost wailed. 

Jean was telling a funny story to the girl who sat by her, and did notpause for so much as a second in her narrative. The effect on Mr. Briggerland was, however, wholly satisfactory to Mrs. Cole-Mortimer. Hepushed back his chair and blinked at his "hostess. "

"Smallpox?" he said in horror, "here--in Cap Martin? Good God, did youhear that, Jean?"

"Did I hear what?" she asked lazily, "about the gardener's little boy?Oh, yes. There has been quite an epidemic on the Italian Riviera, infact they closed the frontier last week. "

"But--but here!" spluttered Briggerland. 

Lydia could only look at him in open-eyed amazement. The big man'sterror was pitiably apparent. The copper skin had turned a dirty grey, his lower lip was trembling like a frightened child's. 

"Why not here?" said Jean coolly, "there is nothing to be scared about. Have you been vaccinated recently?" she turned to the girl, and Lydiashook her head. 

"Not since I was a baby--and then I believe the operation was not asuccess. "

"Anyway, the child is isolated in the cottage and they are taking him toNice to-night, " said Jean. "Poor little fellow! Even his own mother hasdeserted him. Are you going to the Casino?" she asked. 

"I don't know, " replied Lydia. "I'm very tired but I should love to go. "

"Take her, father--and you go, Margaret. By the time you return theinfection will be removed. "

"Won't you come too?" asked Lydia. 

"No, I'll stay at home to-night. I turned my ankle to-day and it israther stiff. Father!"

This time her voice was sharp, menacing almost, thought Lydia, and Mr. Briggerland made an heroic attempt to recover his self-possession. 

"Cer--certainly, my dear--I shall be delighted--er--delighted. "

He saw her alone whilst Lydia was changing in her lovely bigdressing-room, overlooking the sea. 

"Why didn't you tell me there was smallpox in Cap Martin?" he demandedfretfully. 

"Because I didn't know till Margaret relieved her mind at our expense, "said his daughter coolly. "I had to say something. Besides, I'd heardone of the maids say that somebody's mother had deserted him--I fittedit in. What a funk you are, father!"

"I hate the very thought of disease, " he growled. "Why aren't you comingwith us--there is nothing the matter with your ankle?"

"Because I prefer to stay at home. "

He looked at her suspiciously. 

"Jean, " he said in a milder voice, "hadn't we better let up on the girlfor a bit--until that lunatic doctor affair has blown over?"

She reached out and took a gold case from his waistcoat pocket, extracted a cigarette and replaced the case before she spoke. 

"We can't afford to 'let up' as you call it, for a single hour. Do yourealise that any day her lawyer may persuade her to make a will leavingher money to a--a home for cats, or something equally untouchable? Ifthere was no Jack Glover we could afford to wait months. And I'm lesstroubled about him than I am about the man Jaggs. Father, you will beglad to learn that I am almost afraid of that freakish old man. "

"Neither of them are here--" he began. 

"Exactly, " said Jean, "neither are here--Lydia had a telegram from himjust before dinner asking if he could come to see her next week. "

At this moment Lydia returned and Jean Briggerland eyed her critically. 

"My dear, you look lovely, " she said and kissed her. 

Mr. Briggerland's nose wrinkled, as it always did when his daughtershocked him. 

Chapter XVIII

Jean Briggerland waited until she heard the sound of the departing carsink to a faint hum, then she went up to her room, opened the bureau andtook out a long and tightly fitting dust-coat that she wore when she wasmotoring. She had seen a large bottle of peroxide in Mrs. Cole-Mortimer's room. It probably contributed to the dazzling glories ofMrs. Cole-Mortimer's hair, but it was also a powerful germicide. Shesoaked a big silk handkerchief in a basin of water, to which she added agenerous quantity of the drug, and squeezing the handkerchief nearlydry, she knotted it loosely about her neck. A rubber bathing cap shepulled down over her head, and smiled at her queer reflection in theglass. Then she found a pair of kid gloves and drew them on. 

She turned out the light and went softly down the carpeted stairs. Theservants were at their dinner, and she opened the front door and crossedthe lawn into a belt of trees, beyond which she knew, for she had beenin the house two days, was the gardener's cottage. 

A dim light burnt in one of the two rooms and the window wasuncurtained. She saw the bed and its tiny occupant, but nobody else wasin the room. The maid had said that the mother had deserted the littlesufferer, but this was not quite true. The doctor had ordered the motherinto isolation, and had sent a nurse from the infection hospital to takeher place. That lady, at the moment, was waiting at the end of theavenue for the ambulance to arrive. 

Jean opened the door and stepped in, pulling up the saturatedhandkerchief until it covered nose and mouth. The place was deserted, and, without a moment's hesitation, she lifted the child, wrapped ablanket about it and crossed the lawn again. She went quietly up thestairs straight to Lydia's room. There was enough light from thedressing-room to see the bed, and unwrapping the blanket she pulled backthe covers and laid him gently in the bed. The child was unconscious. The hideous marks of the disease had developed with remarkable rapidityand he made no sound. 

She sat down in a chair, waiting. Her almost inhuman calm was notruffled by so much as a second's apprehension. She had provided forevery contingency and was ready with a complete explanation, whateverhappened. 

Half an hour passed, and then rising, she wrapped the child in theblanket and carried him back to the cottage. She heard the purr of themotor and footsteps as she flitted back through the trees. 

First she went to Lydia's room and straightened the bed, spraying theroom with the faint perfume which she found on the dressing table; thenshe went back again into the garden, stripped off the dust coat, cap andhandkerchief, rolling them into a bundle, which she thrust through thebars of an open window which she knew ventilated a cellar. Last of allshe stripped her gloves and sent them after the bundle. 

She heard the voices of the nurse and attendant as they carried thechild to the ambulance. 

"Poor little kid, " she murmured, "I hope he gets better. "

And, strangely enough, she meant it. 

 * * * * *

It had been a thrilling evening for Lydia, and she returned to the houseat Cap Martin very tired, but very happy. She was seeing a new world, aworld the like of which had never been revealed to her, and though shecould have slept, and her head did nod in the car, she roused herself totalk it all over again with the sympathetic Jean. 

Mrs. Cole-Mortimer retired early. Mr. Briggerland had gone up to bed themoment he returned, and Lydia would have been glad to have ended herconversation; since her head reeled with weariness, but Jean was verytalkative, until----

"My dear, if I don't go to bed I shall sleep on the table, " smiledLydia, rising and suppressing a yawn. 

"I'm so sorry, " said the penitent Jean. 

She accompanied the girl upstairs, her arm about her waist, and left herat the door of her dressing-room. 

A maid had laid out her night things on a big settee (a little toLydia's surprise) and she undressed quickly. 

She opened the door of her bedroom, her hand was on a switch, when shewas conscious of a faint and not unpleasant odour. It was a clean, pungent smell. "Disinfectant, " said her brain mechanically. She turnedon the light, wondering where it came from. And then as she crossed theroom she came in sight of her bed and stopped, for it was saturated withwater--water that dropped from the hanging coverlet, and made littlepools on the floor. From the head of the bed to the foot there was notone dry place. Whosoever had done the work was thorough. Blankets, sheets, pillows were soddened, and from the soaked mass came a faintacrid aroma which she recognised, even before she saw on the floor anempty bottle labelled "Peroxide of Hydrogen. "

She could only stand and stare. It was too late to arouse the household, and she remembered that there was a very comfortable settee in thedressing-room with a rug and a pillow, and she went back. 

A few minutes later she was fast asleep. Not so Miss Briggerland, whowas sitting up in bed, a cigarette between her lips, a heavy volume onher knees, reading:

"Such malignant cases are almost without exception rapidly fatal, sometimes so early that no sign of the characteristic symptoms appear atall, " she read and, dropping the book on the floor, extinguished hercigarette on an alabaster tray, and settled herself to sleep. She wasdozing when she remembered that she had forgotten to say her prayers. 

"Oh, damn!" said Jean, getting out reluctantly to kneel on the coldfloor by the side of the bed. 

Chapter XIX

Her maid woke Jean Briggerland at eight o'clock the next morning. 

"Oh, miss, " she said, as she drew up the table for the chocolate, "haveyou heard about Mrs. Meredith?"

Jean blinked open her eyes, slipped into her dressing jacket and sat upwith a yawn. 

"Have I heard about Mrs. Meredith? Many times, " she said. 

"But what somebody did last night, miss?"

Jean was wide awake now. 

"What has happened to Mrs. Meredith?" she asked. 

"Why, miss, somebody played a practical joke on her. Her bed's sopping. "

"Sopping?" frowned the girl. 

"Yes, miss, " the woman nodded. "They must have poured buckets of waterover it, and used up all Mrs. Cole-Mortimer's peroxide, what she usesfor keeping her hands nice. "

Jean swung out of her bed and sat looking down at her tiny white feet. 

"Where did Mrs. Meredith sleep? Why didn't she wake us up?"

"She slept in the dressing-room, miss. I don't suppose the young ladyliked making a fuss. "

"Who did it?"

"I don't know who did it. It's a silly kind of practical joke, and Iknow none of the maids would have dared, not the French ones. "

Jean put her feet into her slippers, exchanged her jacket for a gown, and went on a tour of inspection. 

Lydia was dressing in her room, and the sound of her fresh, young voice, as she carolled out of sheer love of life, came to the girl before sheturned into the room. 

One glance at the bed was sufficient. It was still wet, and the emptyperoxide bottle told its own story. 

Jean glanced at it thoughtfully as she crossed into the dressing-room. 

"Whatever happened last night, Lydia?"

Lydia turned at the voice. 

"Oh, the bed you mean, " she made a little face. "Heaven knows. Itoccurred to me this morning that some person, out of mistaken kindness, had started to disinfect the room--it was only this morning that Irecalled the little boy who was ill--and had overdone it. "

"They've certainly overdone it, " said Jean grimly. "I wonder what poorMrs. Cole-Mortimer will say. You haven't the slightest idea----"

"Not the slightest idea, " said Lydia, answering the unspoken question. 

"I'll see Mrs. Cole-Mortimer and get her to change your bed--there'sanother room you could have, " suggested Jean. 

She went back to her own apartment, bathed and dressed leisurely. 

She found her father in the garden reading the _Nicoise_, under theshade of a bush, for the sun was not warm, but at that hour, blinding. 

"I've changed my plans, " she said without preliminary. 

He looked up over his glasses. 

"I didn't know you had any, " he said with heavy humour. 

"I intended going back to London and taking you with me, " she saidunexpectedly. 

"Back to London?" he said incredulously. "I thought you were staying onfor a month. "

"I probably shall now, " she said, pulling up a basket-chair and sittingby his side. "Give me a cigarette. "

"You're smoking a lot lately, " he said as he handed his case to her. 

"I know I am. "

"Have your nerves gone wrong?"

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and her lips curled. 

"It wouldn't be remarkable if I inherited a little of your yellowstreak, " she said coolly, and he growled something under his breath. "No, my nerves are all right, but a cigarette helps me to think. "

"A yellow streak, have I?" Mr. Briggerland was annoyed. "And I've beenout since five o'clock this morning----" he stopped. 

"Doing--what?" she asked curiously. 

"Never mind, " he said with a lofty gesture. 

Thus they sat, busy with their own thoughts, for a quarter of an hour. 

"Jean. "

"Yes, " she said without turning her head. 

"Don't you think we'd better give this up and get back to London? LordStoker is pretty keen on you. "

"I'm not pretty keen on him, " she said decidedly. "He has his regimentalpay and £500 a year, two estates, mortgaged, no brains and a title--whatis the use of his title to me? As much use as a coat of paint! Besidewhich, I am essentially democratic. "

He chuckled, and there was another silence. 

"Do you think the lawyer is keen on the girl?"

"Jack Glover?"

Mr. Briggerland nodded. 

"I imagine he is, " said Jean thoughtfully. "I like Jack--he's clever. Hehas all the moral qualities which one admires so much in the abstract. Icould love Jack myself. "

"Could he love you?" bantered her father. 

"He couldn't, " she said shortly. "Jack would be a happy man if he sawme stand in Jim Meredith's place in the Old Bailey. No, I have noillusion about Jack's affections. "

"He's after Lydia's money I suppose, " said Mr. Briggerland, stroking hisbald head. 

"Don't be a fool, " was the calm reply. "That kind of man doesn't worryabout a girl's money. I wish Lydia was dead, " she added without malice. "It would make things so easy and smooth. "

Her father swallowed something. 

"You shock me sometimes, Jean, " he said, a statement which amused her. 

"You're such a half-and-half man, " she said with a note of contempt inher voice. "You were quite willing to benefit by Jim Meredith's death;you killed him as cold-bloodedly as you killed poor little Bulford, andyet you must whine and snivel whenever your deeds are put into plainlanguage. What does it matter if Lydia dies now or in fifty years time?"she asked. "It would be different if she were immortal. You peopleattach so much importance to human life--the ancients, and the Japaneseamongst the modern, are the only people who have the matter in trueperspective. It is no more cruel to kill a human being than it is to cutthe throat of a pig to provide you with bacon. There's hardly a dish atyour table which doesn't represent wilful murder, and yet you neverthink of it, but because the man animal can talk and dresses himself orherself in queer animal and vegetable fabrics, and decorates the bodywith bits of metal and pieces of glittering quartz, you give its life avalue which you deny to the cattle within your gates! Killing is amatter of expediency. Permissible if you call it war, terrible if youcall it murder. To me it is just killing. If you are caught in the actof killing they kill you, and people say it is right to do so. Thesacredness of human life is a slogan invented by cowards who feardeath--as you do. "

"Don't you, Jean?" he asked in a hushed voice. 

"I fear life without money, " she said quietly. "I fear long days of workfor a callous, leering employer, and strap-hanging in a crowded tube onmy way home to one miserable room and the cold mutton of yesterday. Ifear getting up and making my own bed and washing my own handkerchiefsand blouses, and renovating last year's hats to make them look like thisyear's. I fear a poor husband and a procession of children, and doingthe housework with an incompetent maid, or maybe without any at all. Those are the things I fear, Mr. Briggerland. "

She dusted the ash from her dress and got up. 

"I haven't forgotten the life we lived at Ealing, " she saidsignificantly. 

She looked across the bay to Monte Carlo glittering in the morningsunlight, to the green-capped head of Cap-d'Ail, to Beaulieu, a jewelset in greystone and shook her head. 

"'It is written', " she quoted sombrely and left him in the midst of thequestion he was asking. She strolled back to the house and joined Lydiawho was looking radiantly beautiful in a new dress of silver greycharmeuse. 

Chapter XX

"Have you solved the mystery of the submerged bed?" smiled Jean. 

Lydia laughed. 

"I'm not probing too deeply into the matter, " she said. "Poor Mrs. Cole-Mortimer was terribly upset. "

"She would be, " said Jean. "It was her own eiderdown!"

This was the first hint Lydia had received that the house was rentedfurnished. 

They drove into Nice that morning, and Lydia, remembering Jack Glover'sremarks, looked closely at the chauffeur, and was startled to see aresemblance between him and the man who had driven the taxicab on thenight she had been carried off from the theatre. It is true that thetaxi-driver had a moustache and that this man was clean-shaven, andmoreover, had tiny side whiskers, but there was a resemblance. 

"Have you had your driver long?" she asked as they were running throughMonte Carlo, along the sea road. 

"Mordon? Yes, we have had him six or seven years, " said Jeancarelessly. "He drives us when we are on the continent, you know. Hespeaks French perfectly and is an excellent driver. Father has tried topersuade him to come to England, but he hates London--he was telling methe other day that he hadn't been there for ten years. "

That disposed of the resemblance, thought Lydia, and yet--she couldremember his voice, she thought, and when they alighted on the Promenadedes Anglaise she spoke to him. He replied in French, and it isimpossible to detect points of resemblance in a voice that speaks onelanguage and the same voice when it speaks another. 

The promenade was crowded with saunterers. A band was playing by thejetty and although the wind was colder than it had been at Cap Martinthe sun was warm enough to necessitate the opening of a parasol. 

It was a race week, and the two girls lunched at the Negrito. They werein the midst of their meal when a man came toward them and Lydiarecognised Mr. Marcus Stepney. This dark, suave man was no favourite ofhers, though why she could not have explained. His manners were alwaysperfect and, towards her, deferential. 

As usual, he was dressed with the precision of a fashion-plate. Mr. Marcus Stepney was a man, a considerable portion of whose time wastaken up every morning by the choice of cravats and socks and shirts. Though Lydia did not know this, his smartness, plus a certain dexteritywith cards, was his stock in trade. No breath of scandal had touchedhim, he moved in a good set and was always at the right place at theproper season. 

When Aix was full he was certain to be found at the Palace, in theDeauville week you would find him at the Casino punting mildly at thebaccarat table. And after the rooms were closed, and even the SportsClub at Monte Carlo had shut its doors, there was always a little gameto be had in the hotels and in Marcus Stepney's private sitting-room. 

And it cannot be denied that Mr. Stepney was lucky. He won sufficient atthese out-of-hour games to support him nobly through the trials andvicissitudes which the public tables inflict upon their votaries. 

"Going to the races, " he said, "how very fortunate! Will you come alongwith me? I can give you three good winners. "

"I have no money to gamble, " said Jean, "I am a poor woman. Lydia, whois rolling in wealth, can afford to take your tips, Marcus. "

Marcus looked at Lydia with a speculative eye. 

"If you haven't any money with you, don't worry. I have plenty and youcan pay me afterwards. I could make you a million francs to-day. "

"Thank you, " said Jean coolly, "but Mrs. Meredith does not bet soheavily. "

Her tone was a clear intimation to the man of wits that he was impingingupon somebody else's preserves and he grinned amiably. 

Nevertheless, it was a profitable afternoon for Lydia. She came back toCap Martin twenty thousand francs richer than she had been when shestarted off. 

"Lydia's had a lot of luck she tells me, " said Mr. Briggerland. 

"Yes. She won about five hundred pounds, " said his daughter. "Marcus waslaying ground bait. She did not know what horses he had backed untilafter the race was run, when he invariably appeared with a few _mille_notes and Lydia's pleasure was pathetic. Of course she didn't winanything. The twenty thousand francs was a sprat--he's coming to-nightto see how the whales are blowing!"

Mr. Marcus Stepney arrived punctually, and, to Mr. Briggerland'sdisgust, was dressed for dinner, a fact which necessitated the olderman's hurried retreat and reappearance in conventional evening wear. 

Marcus Stepney's behaviour at dinner was faultless. He devoted himselfin the main to Mrs. Cole-Mortimer and Jean, who apparently never lookedat him and yet observed his every movement, knew that he was merelywaiting his opportunity. 

It came when the dinner was over and the party adjourned to the bigstoep facing the sea. The night was chilly and Mr. Stepney found wrapsand furs for the ladies, and so manoeuvred the arrangement of the chairsthat Lydia and he were detached from the remainder of the party, not byany great distance, but sufficient, as the experienced Marcus knew, toremove a murmured conversation from the sharpest eavesdropper. 

Jean, who was carrying on a three-cornered conversation with her fatherand Mrs. Cole-Mortimer, did not stir, until she saw, by the light of ashaded lamp in the roof, the dark head of Mr. Marcus Stepney droop moreconfidently towards his companion. Then she rose and strolled across. 

Marcus did not curse her because he did not express his inmost thoughtsaloud. 

He gave her his chair and pulled another forward. 

"Does Miss Briggerland know?" asked Lydia. 

"No, " said Mr. Stepney pleasantly. 

"May I tell her?"

"Of course. "

"Mr. Stepney has been telling me about a wonderful racing coup to bemade to-morrow. Isn't it rather thrilling, Jean? He says it will bequite possible for me to make five million francs without any risk atall. "

"Except the risk of a million, I suppose, " smiled Jean. "Well, are yougoing to do it?" Lydia shook her head. 

"I haven't a million francs in France, for one thing, " she said, "and Iwouldn't risk it if I had. "

And Jean smiled again at the discomfiture which Mr. Marcus Stepneystrove manfully to hide. 

Later she took his arm and led him into the garden. 

"Marcus, " she said when they were out of range of the house, "I thinkyou are several kinds of a fool. "

"Why?" asked the other, who was not in the best humour. 

"It was so crude, " she said scornfully, "so cheap andconfidence-trickish. A miserable million francs--twenty thousand pounds. Apart from the fact that your name would be mud in London if it wereknown that you had robbed a girl----"

"There's no question of robbery, " he said hotly, "I tell you Valdau is acertainty for the Prix. "

"It would not be a certainty if her money were on, " said Jean dryly. "Itwould finish an artistic second and you would be full of apologies, andpoor Lydia would be a million francs to the bad. No, Marcus, that ischeap. "

"I'm nearly broke, " he said shortly. 

He made no disguise of his profession, nor of his nefarious plan. 

Between the two there was a queer kind of camaraderie. Though he may nothave been privy to the more tremendous of her crimes, yet he seemed toaccept her as one of those who lived on the frontiers of illegality. 

"I was thinking about you, as you sat there telling her the story, " saidJean thoughtfully. "Marcus, why don't you marry her?"

He stopped in his stride and looked down at the girl. 

"Marry her, Jean; are you mad? She wouldn't marry me. "

"Why not?" she asked. "Of course she'd marry you, you silly fool, if youwent the right way about it. "

He was silent. 

"She is worth six hundred thousand pounds, and I happen to know that shehas nearly two hundred thousand pounds in cash on deposit at the bank, "said Jean. 

"Why do you want me to marry her?" he asked significantly. "Is there arake-off for you?"

"A big rake-off, " she said. "The two hundred thousand on deposit shouldbe easily get-at-able, Marcus, and she'd even give you more----"

"Why?" he asked. 

"To agree to a separation, " she said coolly. "I know you. No woman couldlive very long with you and preserve her reason. "

He chuckled. 

"And I'm to hand it all over to you?"

"Oh no, " she corrected. "I'm not greedy. It is my experience that thegreedy people get into bad trouble. The man or woman who 'wants it all'usually gets the dressing-case the 'all' was kept in. No, I'd like totake a half. "

He sat down on a garden seat and she followed his example. 

"What is there to be?" he asked. "An agreement between you and me?Something signed and sealed and delivered, eh?"

Her sad eyes caught his and held them. 

"I trust you, Marcus, " she said softly. "If I help you in this--and Iwill if you will do all that I tell you to do--I will trust you to giveme my share. "

Mr. Marcus Stepney fingered his collar a little importantly. 

"I've never let a pal down in my life, " he said with a cough. "I'm asstraight as they make 'em, to people who play the game with me. "

"And you are wise, so far as I am concerned, " said the gentle Jean. "Forif you double-crossed me, I should hand the police the name and addressof your other wife who is still living. "

His jaw dropped. 

"Wha--what?" he stammered. 

"Let us join the ladies, " mocked Jean, as she rose and put her arm inhis. 

It pleased her immensely to feel this big man trembling. 

Chapter XXI

It seemed to Lydia that she had been abroad for years, though in realityshe had been three days in Cap Martin, when Mr. Marcus Stepney became aregular caller. 

Even the most objectionable people improve on acquaintance, and give thelie to first impressions. 

Mr. Stepney never bored her. He had an inexhaustible store of anecdotesand reminiscences, none of which was in the slightest degree offensive. He was something of a sportsman, too, and he called by arrangement thenext morning, after his introduction to the Cap Martin household, andconducting her to a sheltered cove, containing two bathing huts, heintroduced her to the exhilarating Mediterranean. 

Sea bathing is not permitted in Monte Carlo until May, and the water wasmuch colder than Lydia had expected. They swam out to a floatingplatform when Mr. Briggerland and Jean put in an appearance. Jean hadcome straight from the house in her bathing-gown, over which she wore alight wrap. Lydia watched her with amazement, for the girl was anexpert swimmer. She could dive from almost any height and could remainunder water an alarming time. 

"I never thought you had so much energy and strength in your littlebody, " said Lydia, as Jean, with a shriek of enjoyment, drew herself onthe raft and wiped the water from her eyes. 

"There's a man up there looking at us through glasses, " said Briggerlandsuddenly. "I saw the flash of the sun on them. "

He pointed to the rising ground beyond the seashore, but they could seenothing. 

Presently there was a glitter of light amongst the green, and Lydiapointed. 

"I thought that sort of thing was never done except in comicnewspapers, " she said, but Jean did not smile. Her eyes were focused onthe point where the unseen observer lay or sat, and she shaded her eyes. 

"Some visitor from Monte Carlo, I expect. People at Cap Martin are muchtoo respectable to do anything so vulgar. "

Mr. Briggerland, at a glance from his daughter, slipped into the water, and with strong heavy strokes, made his way to the shore. 

"Father is going to investigate, " said Jean, "and the water really isthe warmest place, " and with that she fell sideways into the blue sealike a seal, dived down into its depths, and presently Lydia saw herwalking along the white floor of the ocean, her little hands keeping upan almost imperceptible motion. Presently she shot up again, shook herhead and looked round, only to dive again. 

In the meantime, though Lydia, who was fascinated by the manoeuvre ofthe girl, did not notice the fact, Mr. Briggerland had reached theshore, pulled on a pair of rubber shoes, and with his mackintoshbuttoned over his bathing dress, had begun to climb through theunderbrush towards the spot where the glasses had glistened. When Lydialooked up he had disappeared. 

"Where is your father?" she asked the girl. 

"He went into the bushes. " Mr. Stepney volunteered the information. "Isuppose he's looking for the Paul Pry. "

Mr. Stepney had been unusually glum and silent, for he was piqued by thetactless appearance of the Briggerlands. 

"Come into the water, Marcus, " said Jean peremptorily, as she put herfoot against the edge of the raft, and pushed herself backward, "I wantto see Mrs. Meredith dive. "

"Me?" said Lydia in surprise. "Good heavens, no! After watching you Idon't intend making an exhibition of myself. "

"I want to show you the proper way to dive, " said Jean. "Stand up on theedge of the raft. "

Lydia obeyed. 

"Straight up, " said Jean. "Now put both your arms out wide. Now----"

There was a sharp crack from the shore; something whistled past Lydia'shead, struck an upright post, splintering the edge, and with a whinewent ricochetting into the sea. 

Lydia's face went white. 

"What--what was that?" she gasped. She had hardly spoken before therewas another shot. This time the bullet must have gone very high, andimmediately afterwards came a yell of pain from the shore. 

Jean did not wait. She struck out for the beach, swimming furiously. Itwas not the shot, but the cry which had alarmed her, and without waitingto put on coat or sandals, she ran up the little road where her fatherhad gone, following the path through the undergrowth. Presently she cameto a grassy plot, in the centre of which two tall pines grew side byside, and lying against one of the trees was the huddled figure ofBriggerland. She turned him over. He was breathing heavily and wasunconscious. An ugly wound gaped at the back of his head, and hismackintosh and bathing dress were smothered with blood. 

She looked round quickly for his assailant, but there was nobody insight, and nothing to indicate the presence of a third person but twoshining brass cartridges which lay on the grass. 

Chapter XXII

Lydia Meredith only remembered swooning twice in her life, and boththese occasions had happened within a few weeks. 

She never felt quite so unprepared to carry on as she did when, with aneffort she threw herself into the water at Marcus Stepney's side andswam slowly toward the shore. 

She dare not let her mind dwell upon the narrowness of her escape. Whoever had fired that shot had done so deliberately, and with theintention of killing her. She had felt the wind of the bullet in herface. 

"What do you suppose it was?" asked Marcus Stepney as he assisted her upthe beach. "Do you think it was soldiers practising?"

She shook her head. 

"Oh, " said Mr. Stepney thoughtfully, and then: "If you don't mind, I'llrun up and see what has happened. "

He wrapped himself in the dressing gown he had brought with him, andfollowed Jean's trail, coming up with her as Mr. Briggerland opened hiseyes and stared round. 

"Help me to hold him, Marcus, " said Jean. 

"Wait a moment, " said Mr. Stepney, feeling in his pocket and producing asilk handkerchief, "bandage him with that. "

She shook her head. 

"He's lost all the blood he's going to lose, " she said quietly, "and Idon't think there's a fracture. I felt the skull very carefully with myfinger. "

Mr. Stepney shivered. 

"Hullo, " said Briggerland drowsily, "Gee, he gave me a whack!"

"Who did it?" asked the girl. 

Mr. Briggerland shook his head and winced with the pain of it. 

"I don't know, " he moaned. "Help me up. Stepney. "

With the man's assistance he rose unsteadily to his feet. 

"What happened?" asked Stepney. 

"Don't ask him any questions now, " said the girl sharply. "Help him backto the house. "

A doctor was summoned and stitched the wound. He gave an encouragingreport, and was not too inquisitive as to how the injury had occurred. Foreign visitors get extraordinary things in the regions of Monte Carlo, and medical men lose nothing by their discretion. 

It was not until that afternoon, propped up with pillows in a chair, the centre of a sympathetic audience, that Mr. Briggerland told hisstory. 

"I had a feeling that something was wrong, " he said, "and I went up toinvestigate. I heard a shot fired, almost within a few yards of me, anddashing through the bushes, I saw the fellow taking aim for the secondtime, and seized him. You remember the second shot went high. "

"What sort of a man was he?" asked Stepney. 

"He was an Italian, I should think, " answered Mr. Briggerland. "At anyrate, he caught me an awful whack with the back of his rifle, and I knewno more until Jean found me. "

"Do you think he was firing at me?" asked Lydia in horror. 

"I am certain of it, " said Briggerland. "I realised it the moment I sawthe fellow. "

"How am I to thank you?" said the girl impulsively. "Really, it waswonderful of you to tackle an armed man with your bare hands. "

Mr. Briggerland closed his eyes and sighed. 

"It was nothing, " he said modestly. 

Before dinner he and his daughter were left alone for the first timesince the accident. 

"What happened?" she asked. 

"It was going to be a little surprise for you, " he said. "A littlescheme of my own, my dear; you're always calling me a funk, and Iwanted to prove----"

"What happened?" she asked tersely. 

"Well, I went out yesterday morning and fixed it all. I bought therifle, an old English rifle, at Amiens from a peasant. I thought itmight come in handy, especially as the man threw in a packet ofammunition. Yesterday morning, lying awake before daybreak, I thought itout. I went up to the hill--the land belongs to an empty house, by theway--and I located the spot, put the rifle where I could find it easily, and fixed a pair of glass goggles on to one of the bushes, where the sunwould catch it. The whole scheme was not without its merit as a piece ofstrategy, my dear, " he said complacently. 

"And then----?" she said. 

"I thought we'd go bathing yesterday, but we didn't, but to-day--it wasa long time before anybody spotted the glasses, but once I had theexcuse for going ashore and investigating, the rest was easy. "

She nodded. 

"So that was why you asked me to keep her on the raft, and make herstand up?"

He nodded. 

"Well----?" she demanded. 

"I went up to the spot, got the rifle and took aim. I've always been apretty good shot----"

"You didn't advertise it to-day, " she said sardonically. "Then I supposesomebody hit you on the head?"

He nodded and made a grimace, but any movement of his injured craniumwas excessively painful. 

"Who was it?" she asked. 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

"Don't ask fool questions, " he said petulantly. "I know nothing. Ididn't even feel the blow. I just remember taking aim, and theneverything went dark. "

"And how would you have explained it all, supposing you had succeeded?"

"That was easy, " he said. "I should have said that I went in search ofthe man we had seen, I heard a shot and rushed forward and found nothingbut the rifle. "

She was silent, pinching her lips absently. 

"And you took the risk of some peasant or visitor seeing you--took therisk of bringing the police to the spot and turning what might haveeasily been a case of accidental death into an obvious case of wilfulmurder. I think you called yourself a strategist, " she asked politely. 

"I did my best, " he growled. 

"Well, don't do it again, father, " she said. "Your foolhardiness appalsme, and heaven knows, I never expected that I should be in a position tocall you foolhardy. "

And with this she left him to bask in the hero-worship which theapproaching Mrs. Cole-Mortimer would lavish upon him. 

The "accident" kept them at home that night, and Lydia was not sorry. Asettee is not a very comfortable sleeping place, and she was ready for areal bed that night. Mr. Stepney found her yawning surreptitiously, andwent home early in disgust. 

The night was warmer than the morning had been. The _Föhn_ wind wasblowing and she found her room with its radiator a little oppressive. She opened the long French windows, and stepped out on to the balcony. The last quarter of the moon was high in the sky, and though the lightwas faint, it gave shadows to trees and an eerie illumination to thelawn. 

She leant her arms on the rail and looked across the sea to the lightsof Monte Carlo glistening in the purple night. Her eyes wandered idly tothe grounds and she started. She could have sworn she had seen a figuremoving in the shadow of the tree, nor was she mistaken. 

Presently it left the tree belt, and stepped cautiously across the lawn, halting now and again to look around. She thought at first that it wasMarcus Stepney who had returned, but something about the walk of the manseemed familiar. Presently he stopped directly under the balcony andlooked up and she uttered an exclamation, as the faint light revealedthe iron-grey hair and the grisly eyebrows of the intruder. 

"All right, miss, " he said in a hoarse whisper, "it's only old Jaggs. "

"What are you doing?" she answered in the same tone. 

"Just lookin' round, " he said, "just lookin' round, " and limped againinto the darkness. 

Chapter XXIII

So old Jaggs was in Monte Carlo! Whatever was he doing, and how was hegetting on with these people who spoke nothing but French, she wondered!She had something to think about before she went to sleep. 

She opened her eyes singularly awake as the dawn was coming up over thegrey sea. She looked at her watch; it was a quarter to six. Why she hadwakened so thoroughly she could not tell, but remembered with a littleshiver another occasion she had wakened, this time before the dawn, toface death in a most terrifying shape. 

She got up out of bed, put on a heavy coat and opened the wire doorsthat led to the balcony. The morning was colder than she imagined, andshe was glad to retreat to the neighbourhood of the warm radiator. 

The fresh clean hours of the dawn, when the mind is clear, and there isneither sound nor movement to distract the thoughts, are favourable tosane thinking. 

Lydia reviewed the past few weeks in her life, and realised, for thefirst time, the miracle which had happened. It was like a legend ofold--the slave had been lifted from the king's anteroom--the strugglingartist was now a rich woman. She twiddled the gold ring on her handabsent-mindedly--and she was married ... And a widow! She had anuncomfortable feeling that, in spite of her riches, she had not yetfound her niche. She was an odd quantity, as yet. The Cole-Mortimers andthe Briggerlands did not belong to her ideal world, and she could findno place where she fitted. 

She tried, in this state of mind so favourable to the consideration ofsuch a problem, to analyse Jack Glover's antagonism toward JeanBriggerland and her father. 

It seemed unnatural that a healthy young man should maintain so bitter afeud with a girl whose beauty was almost of a transcendant quality andall because she had rejected him. 

Jack Glover was a public school boy, a man with a keen sense of honour. She could not imagine him being guilty of a mean action. And such mendid not pursue vendettas without good reason. If they were rejected by awoman, they accepted their _congé_ with a good grace, and it was almostunthinkable that Jack should have no other reason for his hatred. Yetshe could not bring herself even to consider the possibility that thereason was the one he had advanced. She came again to the dead end ofconjecture. She could believe in Jack's judgment up to a point--beyondthat she could not go. 

She had her bath, dressed, and was in the garden when the easternhorizon was golden with the light of the rising sun. Nobody was about, the most energetic of the servants had not yet risen, and she strolledthrough the avenue to the main road. As she stood there looking up anddown a man came out from the trees that fringed the road and beganwalking rapidly in the direction of Monte Carlo. 

"Mr. Jaggs!" she called. 

He took no notice, but seemed to increase his limping pace, and after amoment's hesitation, she went flying down the road after him. He turnedat the sound of her footsteps and in his furtive way drew into theshadow of a bush. He looked more than usually grimy; on his hands werean odd pair of gloves and a soft slouch hat that had seen better days, covered his head. 

"Good-morning, miss, " he wheezed. 

"Why were you running away, Mr. Jaggs?" she asked, a little out ofbreath. 

"Not runnin' away, miss, " he said, glancing at her sharply from underhis heavy white eyebrows. "Just havin' a look round!"

"Do you spend all your nights looking round?" she smiled at him. 

"Yes, miss. "

At that moment a cyclist gendarme came into view. He slowed down as heapproached the two and dismounted. 

"Good morning, madame, " he said politely, and then looking at the man, "is this man in your employ? I have seen him coming out of your houseevery morning?"

"Oh, yes, " said Lydia hastily, "he's my----"

She was at a loss to describe him, but old Jaggs saved her the trouble. 

"I'm madame's courier, " he said, and to Lydia's amazement he spoke inperfect French, "I am also the watchman of the house. "

"Yes, yes, " said Lydia, after she had recovered from her surprise. "M'sieur is the watchman, also. "

"_Bien_, madame, " said the gendarme. "Forgive my asking, but we have somany strangers here. "

They watched the gendarme out of sight. Then old Jaggs chuckled. 

"Pretty good French, miss, wasn't it?" he said, and without anotherword, turned and limped in the trail of the police. 

She looked after him in bewilderment. So he spent every night in thegrounds, or somewhere about the house? The knowledge gave her a queersense of comfort and safety. 

When she went back to the villa she found the servants were up. Jean didnot put in an appearance until breakfast, and Lydia had an opportunityof talking to the French housekeeper whom Mrs. Cole-Mortimer had engagedwhen she took the villa. From her she learnt a bit of news, which shepassed on to Jean almost as soon as she put in an appearance. 

"The gardener's little boy is going to get well, Jean. "

Jean nodded. 

"I know, " she said. "I telephoned to the hospital yesterday. "

It was so unlike her conception of the girl, that Lydia stared. 

"The mother is in isolation, " Lydia went on, "and Madame Souviet saysthat the poor woman has no money and no friends. I thought of going downto the hospital to-day to see if I could do anything for her. "

"You'd better not, my dear, " warned Mrs. Cole-Mortimer nervously. "Letus be thankful we've got the little brat out of the neighbourhoodwithout our catching the disease. One doesn't want to seek trouble. Keepaway from the hospital. "

"Rubbish!" said Jean briskly. "If Lydia wants to go, there is no reasonwhy she shouldn't. The isolation people are never allowed to come intocontact with visitors, so there is really no danger. "

"I agree with Mrs. Cole-Mortimer, " grumbled Briggerland. "It is veryfoolish to ask for trouble. You take my advice, my dear, and keepaway. "

"I had a talk with a gendarme this morning, " said Lydia to change thesubject. "When he stopped and got off his bicycle I thought he was goingto speak about the shooting. I suppose it was reported to the police?"

"Er--yes, " said Mr. Briggerland, not looking up from his plate, "ofcourse. Have you been into Monte Carlo?"

Lydia shook her head. 

"No, I couldn't sleep, and I was taking a walk along the road when hepassed. " She said nothing about Mr. Jaggs. "The police at Monaco arevery sociable. "

Mr. Briggerland sniffed. 

"Very, " he said. 

"Have they any theories?" she asked. In her innocence she was persistingin a subject which was wholly distasteful to Mr. Briggerland. "About theshooting I mean?"

"Yes, they have theories, but my dear, I should advise you not todiscuss the matter with the police. The fact is, " invented Mr. Briggerland, "I told them that you were unaware of the fact that you hadbeen shot at, and if you discussed it with the police, you would make melook rather foolish. "

When Lydia and Mrs. Cole-Mortimer had gone, Jean seized an opportunitywhich the absence of the maid offered. 

"I hope you are beginning to see how perfectly insane your scheme was, "she said. "You have to support your act with a whole series of bunglinglies. Possibly Marcus, like a fool, has mentioned it in Monte Carlo, andwe shall have the detectives out here asking why you have not reportedthe matter. "

"If I were as clever as you----" he growled. 

"You're not, " said Jean, rolling her serviette. "You're the mostun-clever man I know. "

Chapter XXIV

Lydia went up to her bedroom to put away her clothes and found the maidmaking the bed. 

"Oh, madame, " said the girl, "I forgot to speak to you about a matter--Ihope madame will not be angry. "

"I'm hardly likely to be angry on a morning like this, " said Lydia. 

"It is because of this matter, " said the girl. She groped in her pocketand brought out a small shining object, and Lydia took it from her hand. 

"This matter" was a tiny silver cross, so small that a five-franc piecewould have covered it easily. It was brightly polished and apparentlyhad seen service. 

"When we took your bed, after the atrocious and mysterious happening, "said the maid rapidly, "this was found in the sheets. It was not thoughtthat it could possibly be madame's, because it was so poor, until thismorning when it was suggested that it might be a souvenir that madamevalues. "

"You found it in the sheets?" asked Lydia in surprise. 

"Yes, madame. "

"It doesn't belong to me, " said Lydia. "Perhaps it belongs to MadameCole-Mortimer. I will show it to her. "

Mrs. Cole-Mortimer was a devout Catholic and it might easily be somecherished keep-sake of hers. 

The girl carried the cross to the window; an "X" had been scrawled bysome sharp-pointed instrument at the junction of the bars. There was noother mark to identify the trinket. 

She put the cross in her bag, and when she saw Mrs. Cole-Mortimer againshe forgot to ask her about it. 

The car drove her into Nice alone. Jean did not feel inclined to makethe journey and Lydia rather enjoyed the solitude. 

The isolation hospital was at the top of the hill and she found somedifficulty in obtaining admission at this hour. The arrival of the chiefmedical officer, however, saved her from making the journey in vain. Thereport he gave about the child was very satisfactory; the mother was inthe isolation ward. 

"Can she be seen?"

"Yes, madame, " said the urbane Frenchman in charge. "You understand, youwill not be able to get near her? It will be rather like interviewing aprisoner, for she will be behind one set of bars and you behindanother. "

Lydia was taken to a room which was, she imagined, very much like a roomin which prisoners interviewed their distressed relations. There werenot exactly bars, but two large mesh nets of steel separated the visitorfrom the patient under observation. After a time a nun brought in thegardener's wife, a tall, gaunt woman, who was a native of Marseilles, and spoke the confusing patois of that city with great rapidity. It wassome time before Lydia could accustom her ear to the queer dialect. 

Her boy was getting well, she said, but she herself was in terribletrouble. She had no money for the extra food she required. Her husbandwho was away in Paris when the child had been taken, had not troubled towrite to her. It was terrible being in a place amongst other fevercases, and she was certain that her days were numbered.... 

Lydia pushed a five-hundred franc note through the grating to the nun, to settle her material needs. 

"And, oh, madame, " wailed the gardener's wife, "my poor little boy haslost the gift of the Reverend Mother of San Surplice! His own crosswhich has been blessed by his holiness the Pope! It is because I lefthis cross in his little shirt that he is getting better, but now it islost and I am sure these thieving doctors have taken it. "

"A cross?" said Lydia. "What sort of a cross?"

"It was a silver cross, madame; the value in money was nothing--it waspriceless. Little Xavier----"

"Xavier?" repeated Lydia, remembering the "X" on the trinket that hadbeen found in her bed. "Wait a moment, madame. " She opened her bag andtook out the tiny silver symbol, and at the sight of it the woman burstinto a volley of joyful thanks. 

"It is the same, the same, madame! It has a small 'X' which the ReverendMother scratched with her own blessed scissors!"

Lydia pushed the cross through the net and the nun handed it to thewoman. 

"It is the same, it is the same!" she cried. "Oh, thank you, madame! Nowmy heart is glad.... "

Lydia came out of the hospital and walked through the gardens by thedoctor's side. But she was not listening to what he was saying--her mindwas fully occupied with the mystery of the silver cross. 

It was little Xavier's ... It had been tucked inside his bed when helay, as his mother thought, dying ... And it had been found in her bed!Then little Xavier had been in her bed! Her foot was on the step of thecar when it came to her--the meaning of that drenched couch and theempty bottle of peroxide. Xavier had been put there, and somebody whoknew that the bed was infected had so soaked it with water that shecould not sleep in it. But who? Old Jaggs!

She got into the car slowly, and went back to Cap Martin along theGrande Corniche. 

Who had put the child there? He could not have walked from the cottage;that was impossible. 

She was half-way home when she noticed a parcel lying on the floor ofthe car, and she let down the front window and spoke to the chauffeur. It was not Mordon, but a man whom she had hired with the car. 

"It came from the hospital, madame, " he said. "The porter asked me if Icame from Villa Casa. It was something sent to the hospital to bedisinfected. There was a charge of seven francs for the service, madame, and this I paid. "

She nodded. 

She picked up the parcel--it was addressed to "Mademoiselle JeanBriggerland" and bore the label of the hospital. 

Lydia sat back in the car with her eyes closed, tired of turning overthis problem, yet determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. 

Jean was out when she got back and she carried the parcel to her ownroom. She was trying to keep out of her mind the very possibility thatsuch a hideous crime could have been conceived as that which all theevidence indicated had been attempted. Very resolutely she refused tobelieve that such a thing could have happened. There must be someexplanation for the presence of the cross in her bed. Possibly it hadbeen found after the wet sheets had been taken to the servants' part ofthe house. 

She rang the bell, and the maid who had given her the trinket came. 

"Tell me, " said Lydia, "where was this cross found?"

"In your bed, mademoiselle. "

"But where? Was it before the clothing was removed from this room orafter?"

"It was before, madame, " said the maid. "When the sheets were turnedback we found it lying exactly in the middle of the bed. "

Lydia's heart sank. 

"Thank you, that will do, " she said. "I have found the owner of thecross and have restored it. "

Should she tell Jean? Her first impulse was to take the girl into herconfidence, and reveal the state of her mind. Her second thought was toseek out old Jaggs, but where could he be found? He evidently livedsomewhere in Monte Carlo, but his name was hardly likely to be in thevisitors' list. She was still undecided when Marcus Stepney called totake her to lunch at the Café de Paris. 

The whole thing was so amazingly improbable. It belonged to a world ofunreality, but then, she told herself, she also was living in an unrealworld, and had been so for weeks. 

Chapter XXV

Mr. Stepney had become more bearable. A week ago she would have shrunkfrom taking luncheon with him, but now such a prospect had no terrors. His views of things and people were more generous than she had expected. She had anticipated his attitude would be a little cynical, but to hersurprise he oozed loving-kindness. Had she known Mr. Marcus Stepney aswell as Jean knew him, she would have realised that he adapted hismental attitude to his audience. He was a man whose stock-in-trade was aknowledge of human nature, and the ability to please. He would no morehave attempted to shock or frighten her, than a first-class salesmanwould shock or annoy a possible customer. 

He had goods to sell, and it was his business to see that they satisfiedthe buyer. In this case the goods were represented by sixty-nine inchesof good-looking, well-dressed man, and it was rather important that heshould present the best face of the article to the purchaser. It wasalmost as important that the sale should be a quick one. Mr. Stepneylived from week to week. What might happen next year seldom interestedhim, therefore his courting must be rapid. 

He told the story of his life at lunch, a story liable to move atender-hearted woman to at least a sympathetic interest. The story ofhis life varied also with the audience. In this case, it was designedfor one whom he knew had had a hard struggle, whose father had beenheavily in debt, and who had tasted some of the bitterness of defeat. Jean had given him a very precise story of the girl's career, and Mr. Marcus Stepney adapted it for his own purpose. 

"Why, your life has almost run parallel with mine, " said Lydia. 

"I hope it may continue, " said Mr. Stepney not without a touch ofsadness in his voice. "I am a very lonely man--I have no friends exceptthe acquaintances one can pick up at night clubs, and the places wherethe smart people go in the season, and there is an artificiality aboutsociety friends which rather depresses me. "

"I feel that, too, " said the sympathetic Lydia. 

"If I could only settle down!" he said, shaking his head. "A littlehouse in the country, a few horses, a few cows, a woman who understoodme.... "

A false move this. 

"And a few pet chickens to follow you about?" she laughed. "No, itdoesn't sound quite like you, Mr. Stepney. "

He lowered his eyes. 

"I am sorry you think that, " he said. "All the world thinks that I'm agadabout, an idler, with no interest in existence, except the pleasure Ican extract. "

"And a jolly good existence, too, " said Lydia briskly. She had detecteda note of sentiment creeping into the conversation, and had slain itwith the most effective weapon in woman's armoury. 

"And now tell me all about the great Moorish Pretender who is staying atyour hotel--I caught a glimpse of him on the promenade--and there was alot about him in the paper. "

Mr. Stepney sighed and related all that he knew of the redoubtable MuleyHafiz on the way to the rooms. Muley Hafiz was being lionised in Francejust then, to the annoyance of the Spanish authorities, who had put aprice on his head. 

Lydia showed much more interest in the Moorish Pretender than she did inthe pretender who walked by her side. 

He was not in the best of tempers when he brought her back to the VillaCasa, and Jean, who entertained him whilst Lydia was changing, saw thathis first advances had not met with a very encouraging result. 

"There will be no wedding bells, Jean, " he said. 

"You take a rebuff very easily, " said the girl, but he shook his head. 

"My dear Jean, I know women as well as I know the back of my hand, and Itell you that there's nothing doing with this girl. I'm not a fool. "

She looked at him earnestly. 

"No, you're not a fool, " she said at last. "You're hardly likely to makea mistake about that sort of thing. I'm afraid you'll have to dosomething more romantic. "

"What do you mean?" he asked. 

"You'll have to run away with her; and like the knights of old carry offthe lady of your choice. "

"The knights of old didn't have to go before a judge and jury and serveseven years at Dartmoor for their sins, " he said unpleasantly. 

She was sitting on a low chair overlooking the sea, whittling a twigwith a silver-handled knife she had taken from her bag--a favouriteoccupation of hers in moments of cogitation. 

"All the ladies of old didn't go to the police, " she said. "Some of themwere quite happy with their powerful lords, especially delicate-mindedladies who shrank from advertising their misfortune to the readers ofthe Sunday press. I think most women like to be wooed in the cave-manfashion, Marcus. "

"Is that the kind of treatment you'd like, Jean?"

There was a new note in his voice. Had she looked at him she would haveseen a strange light in his eyes. 

"I'm merely advancing a theory, " she said, "a theory which has beensupported throughout the ages. "

"I'd let her go and her money, too, " he said. He was speaking quickly, almost incoherently. "There's only one woman in the world for me, Jean, and I've told you that before. I'd give my life and soul for her. "

He bent over, and caught her arm in his big hand. 

"You believe in the cave-man method, do you?" he breathed. "It is thekind of treatment you'd like, eh, Jean?"

She did not attempt to release her arm. 

"Keep your hand to yourself, Marcus, please, " she said quietly. 

"You'd like it, wouldn't you, Jean? My God, I'd sacrifice my soul foryou, you little devil!"

"Be sensible, " she said. It was not her words or her firm tone that madehim draw back. Twice and deliberately she drew the edge of her littleknife across the back of his hand, and he leapt away with a howl ofpain. 

"You--you beast, " he stammered, and she looked at him with her slysmile. 

"There must have been cave women, too, Marcus, " she said coolly, as sherose. "They had their methods--give me your handkerchief, I want towipe this knife. "

His face was grey now. He was looking at her like a man bereft of hissenses. 

He did not move when she took his handkerchief from his pocket, wipedthe knife, closed and slipped it into her bag, before she replaced thehandkerchief tidily. And all the time he stood there with his handstreaming with blood, incapable of movement. It was not until she haddisappeared round the corner of the house that he pulled out thehandkerchief and wrapped it about his hand. 

"A devil, " he whimpered, almost in tears, "a devil!"

Chapter XXVI

Jean Briggerland discovered a new arrival on her return to the house. 

Jack Glover had come unexpectedly from London, so Lydia told her, andJack himself met her with extraordinary geniality. 

"You lucky people to be in this paradise!" he said. "It is raining likethe dickens in London, and miserable beyond description. And you'relooking brown and beautiful, Miss Briggerland. "

"The spirit of the warm south has got into your blood, Mr. Glover, " shesaid sarcastically. "A course at the Riviera would make you almosthuman. "

"And what would make you human?" asked Jack blandly. 

"I hope you people aren't going to quarrel as soon as you meet, " saidLydia. 

Jean was struck by the change in the girl. There was a colour in hercheeks, and a new and a more joyous note in her voice, which wasunmistakable to so keen a student as Jean Briggerland. 

"I never quarrel with Jack, " she said. She assumed a proprietorial airtoward Jack Glover, which unaccountably annoyed Lydia. "He invents thequarrels and carries them out himself. How long are you staying?"

"Two days, " said Jack, "then I'm due back in town. "

"Have you brought your Mr. Jaggs with you?" asked Jean innocently. 

"Isn't he here?" asked Jack in surprise. "I sent him along a week ago. "

"Here?" repeated Jean slowly. "Oh, he's here, is he? Of course. " Shenodded. Certain things were clear to her now; the unknown drencher ofbeds, the stranger who had appeared from nowhere and had left her fathersenseless, were no longer mysteries. 

"Oh, Jean, " it was Lydia who spoke. "I'm awfully remiss, I didn't giveyou the parcel I brought back from the hospital. "

"From the hospital?" said Jean. "What parcel was that?"

"Something you had sent to be sterilized. I'll get it. "

She came back in a minute or two with the parcel which she had found inthe car. 

"Oh yes, " said Jean carelessly, "I remember. It is a rug that I lent tothe gardener's wife when her little boy was taken ill. "

She handed the packet to the maid. 

"Take it to my room, " she said. 

She waited just long enough to find an excuse for leaving the party, and went upstairs. The parcel was on her bed. She tore off thewrapping--inside, starched white and clean, was the dust coat she hadworn the night she had carried Xavier from the cottage to Lydia's bed. The rubber cap was there, discoloured from the effects of thedisinfectant, and the gloves and the silk handkerchief, neatly washedand pressed. She looked at them thoughtfully. 

She put the articles away in a drawer, went down the servants' stairsand through a heavy open door into the cellar. Light was admitted by twobarred windows, through one of which she had thrust her bundle thatnight, and she could see every corner of the cellar, which was empty--asshe had expected. The clothing she had thrown down had been gathered bysome mysterious agent, who had forwarded it to the hospital in her name. 

She came slowly up the stairs, fastened the open door behind her, andwalked out into the garden to think. 

"Jaggs!" she said aloud, and her voice was as soft as silk. "I think, Mr. Jaggs, you ought to be in heaven. "

Chapter XXVII

"Who were the haughty individuals interviewing Jean in the saloon?"asked Jack Glover, as Lydia's car panted and groaned on the stiff ascentto La Turbie. 

Lydia was concerned, and he had already noted her seriousness. 

"Poor Jean is rather worried, " she said. "It appears that she had a loveaffair with a man three or four years ago, and recently he has beenbombarding her with threatening letters. "

"Poor soul, " said Jack dryly, "but I should imagine she could have dealtwith that matter without calling in the police. I suppose they weredetectives. Has she had a letter recently?"

"She had one this morning--posted in Monte Carlo last night. "

"By the way, Jean went into Monte Carlo last night, didn't she?" askedJack. 

She looked at him reproachfully. 

"We all went into Monte Carlo, " she said severely. "Now, please don't behorrid, Mr. Glover, you aren't suggesting that Jean wrote this awfulletter to herself, are you?"

"Was it an awful letter?" asked Jack. 

"A terrible letter, threatening to kill her. Do you know that Mr. Briggerland thinks that the person who nearly killed me was reallyshooting at Jean. "

"You don't say, " said Jack politely. "I haven't heard about peopleshooting at you--but it sounds rather alarming. "

She told him the story, and he offered no comment. 

"Go on with your thrilling story of Jean's mortal enemy. Who is he?"

"She doesn't know his name, " said Lydia. "She met him in Egypt--anelderly man who positively dogged her footsteps wherever she went, andmade himself a nuisance. "

"Doesn't know his name, eh?" said Jack with a sniff. "Well, that'sconvenient. "

"I think you're almost spiteful, " said Lydia hotly. "Poor girl, she wasso distressed this morning; I have never seen her so upset. "

"And are the police going to keep guard and follow her wherever shegoes? And is that impossible person, Mr. Marcus Stepney, also in thevendetta? I saw him wandering about this morning like a wounded hero, with his arm in a sling. "

"He hurt his hand gathering wild flowers for me on the--"

But Jack's outburst of laughter checked her, and she glared at him. 

"I think you're boorish, " she snapped angrily. "I'm sorry I came outwith you. "

"And I'm sorry I've been such a fool, " apologised the penitent Jack, "but the vision of the immaculate Mr. Stepney gathering wild flowers ina top hat and a morning suit certainly did appeal to me as beingcomical!"

"He doesn't wear a top hat or a morning suit in Monte Carlo, " she said, furious at his banter. "Let us talk about somebody else than myfriends. "

"I haven't started to talk about your friends yet, " he said. "And pleasedon't try to tell your chauffeur to turn round--the road is too narrow, and he'd have the car over the cliff before you knew where you were, ifhe were stupid enough to try. I'm sorry, deeply sorry, Mrs. Meredith, but I think that Jean was right when she said that the southern air hadgot into my blood. I'm a little hysterical--yes, put it down to that. Itruns in the family, " he babbled on. "I have an aunt who faints at thesight of strawberries, and an uncle who swoons whenever a cat walks intothe room. "

"I hope you don't visit him very much, " she said coldly. 

"Two points to you, " said Jack, "but I must warn Jaggs, in case he ismistaken for the elderly Lothario. Obviously Jean is preparing the wayfor an unpleasant end to poor old Jaggs. "

"Why do you think these things about Jean?" she asked, as they wererunning into La Turbie. 

"Because I have a criminal mind, " he replied promptly. "I have the sametype of mind as Jean Briggerland's, wedded to a wholesome respect forthe law, and a healthy sense of right and wrong. Some people couldn't behappy if they owned a cent that had been earned dishonestly; otherpeople are happy so long as they have the money--so long as it is realmoney. I belong to the former category. Jean--well, I don't know whatwould make Jean happy. "

"And what would make you happy--Jean?" she asked. 

He did not answer this question until they were sitting on the stoep ofthe National, where a light luncheon was awaiting them. 

"Jean?" he said, as though the question had just been asked. "No, Idon't want Jean. She is wonderful, really, Mrs. Meredith, wonderful! Ifind myself thinking about her at odd moments, and the more I think themore I am amazed. Lucretia Borgia was a child in arms compared withJean--poor old Lucretia has been maligned, anyway. There was a woman inthe sixteenth century rather like her, and another girl in the earlydays of New England, who used to denounce witches for the pleasure ofseeing them burn, but I can't think of an exact parallel, because Jeangets no pleasure out of hurting people any more than you will get out ofcutting that cantaloup. It has just got to be cut, and the fact that youare finally destroying the life of the melon doesn't worry you. "

"Have cantaloups life?" She paused, knife in hand, eyeing the fruit witha frown. "No, I don't think I want it. So Jean is a murderess at heart?"

She asked the question in solemn mockery, but Jack was not smiling. 

"Oh yes--in intention, at any rate. I don't know whether she has everkilled anybody, but she has certainly planned murders. "

Lydia sighed and sat back in her chair patiently. 

"Do you still suggest that she harbours designs against my young life?"

"I not only suggest it, but I state positively that there have been fourattempts on your life in the past fortnight, " he said calmly. 

"Let us have this out, " she said recklessly. "Number one?"

"The nearly-a-fatal accident in Berkeley Street, " said Jack. 

"Will you explain by what miracle the car arrived at the psychologicalmoment?" she asked. 

"That's easy, " he said with a smile. "Old man Briggerland lit his cigarstanding on the steps of the house. That light was a brilliant one, Jaggs tells me. It was the signal for the car to come on. The nextattempt was made with the assistance of a lunatic doctor who was helpedto escape by Briggerland, and brought to your house by him. In some wayhe got hold of a key--probably Jean manoeuvred it. Did she ever talkto you about keys?"

"No, " said the girl, "she----" She stopped suddenly, remembering thatJean had discussed keys with her. 

"Are you sure she didn't?" asked Jack, watching her. 

"I think she may have done, " said the girl defiantly; "what was thethird attempt?"

"The third attempt, " said Jack slowly, "was to infect your bed with amalignant fever. "

"Jean did it?" said the girl incredulously. "Oh no, that would beimpossible. "

"The child was in your bed. Jaggs saw it and threw two buckets of waterover the bed, so that you should not sleep in it. "

She was silent. 

"And I suppose the next attempt was the shooting?"

He nodded. 

"Now do you believe?" he asked. 

She shook her head. 

"No, I don't believe, " she said quietly. "I think you have worked up avery strong case against poor Jean, and I am sure you think you'rejustified. "

"You are quite right there, " he said. 

He lifted a pair of field glasses which he had put on the table, andsurveyed the road from the sea. "Mrs. Meredith, I want you to dosomething and tell Jean Briggerland when you have done it. "

"What is that?" she asked. 

"I want you to make a will. I don't care where you leave your property, so long as it is not to somebody you love. "

She shivered. 

"I don't like making wills. It's so gruesome. "

"It will be more gruesome for you if you don't, " he said significantly. "The Briggerlands are your heirs at law. "

She looked at him quickly. 

"So that is what you are aiming at? You think that all these plots aredesigned to put me out of the way so that they can enjoy my money?"

He nodded, and she looked at him wonderingly. 

"If you weren't a hard-headed lawyer, I should think you were a writerof romantic fiction, " she said. "But if it will please you I will make awill. I haven't the slightest idea who I could leave the money to. I'vegot rather a lot of money, haven't I?"

"You have exactly £160, 000 in hard cash. I want to talk to you aboutthat, " said Jack. "It is lying at your bankers in your current account. It represents property which has been sold or was in process of beingsold when you inherited the money, and anybody who can get yoursignature and can satisfy the bankers that they are bona fide payees, can draw every cent you have of ready money. I might say in passing thatwe are prepared for that contingency, and any large cheque will bereferred to me or to my partner. "

He raised his field glasses for a second time and looked steadily downalong the hill road up which they had come. 

"Are you expecting anybody?" she asked. 

"I'm expecting Jean, " he said grimly. 

"But we left her----"

"The fact that we left her talking to the police doesn't mean that shewill not be coming up here, to watch us. Jean doesn't like me, you know, and she will be scared to death of this _tête-à-tête_. "

The conversation had been arrested by the arrival of the soup and nowthere was a further interruption whilst the table was being cleared. When the _maître d'hôtel_ had gone the girl asked:

"What am I to do with the money? Reinvest it?"

"Exactly, " said Jack, "but the most important thing is to make yourwill. "

He looked along the deserted veranda. They were the only guests presentwho had come early. From the veranda two curtained doors led into the_salon_ of the hotel and it struck him that one of these had not beenajar when he looked at it before, and it was the door opposite to thetable where they were sitting. 

He noted this idly without attaching any great importance to the fact. 

"Suppose somebody were to present a cheque to the bank in my name?" sheasked. "What would happen?"

"If it were for a large sum? The manager would call us up and one of uswould probably go round to your bank. It is only a block from ouroffice. If Rennett or I said it was all right the cheque would behonoured. You may be sure that I should make very drastic inquiries asto the origin of the signature. "

And then she saw him stiffen and his eyes go to the door. He waited asecond, then rising noiselessly, crossed the wooden floor of the verandaquickly and pushed open the door, to find himself face to face with thesmiling Jean Briggerland. 

Chapter XXVIII

"However did you get here?" asked Lydia in surprise. 

"I went into Nice, " said the girl carelessly. "The detectives were goingthere and I gave them a lift. "

"I see, " said Jack, "so you came into Turbie by the back road? Iwondered why I hadn't seen your car. "

"You expected me, did you?" she smiled, as she sat down at the table andselected a peach from its cotton-wool bed. "I only arrived a second ago, in fact I was opening the door when you almost knocked my head off. Whata violent man you are, Jack! I shall have to put you into my story. "

Glover had recovered his self-possession by now. 

"So you are adding to your other crimes by turning novelist, are you?"he said good-humouredly. "What is the book, Miss Briggerland?"

"It is going to be called 'Suspected, '" she said coolly. "And it will bethe Story of a Hurt Soul. "

"Oh, I see, a humorous story, " said Jack, wilfully dense. "I didn't knowyou were going to write a biography. "

"But do tell me about this, it is very thrilling, Jean, " said Lydia, "and it is the first I've heard of it. "

Jean was skinning the peach and was smiling as at an amusing thought. 

"I've been two years making up my mind to write it, " she said, "and I'mgoing to dedicate it to Jack. I started work on it three or four daysago. Look at my wrist!" She held out her beautiful hand for the girl'sinspection. 

"It is a very pretty wrist, " laughed Lydia, "but why did you want me tosee it?"

"If you had a professional eye, " said the girl, resuming her occupation, "you would have noticed the swelling, the result of writers' cramp. "

"The yarn about your elderly admirer ought to provide a good chapter, "said Jack, "and isn't there a phrase 'A Chapter of Accidents'--_that_ought to go in?"

She did not raise her eyes. 

"Don't discourage me, " she said a little sadly. "I have to make moneysomehow. "

How much had she heard? Jack was wondering all the time, and he groanedinwardly when he saw how little effect his warning had upon the girl hewas striving to protect. Women are natural actresses, but Lydia was notacting now. She was genuinely fond of Jean and he could see that she hadaccepted his warnings as the ravings of a diseased imagination. Heconfirmed this view when after a morning of sight-seeing and theexploration of the spot where, two thousand years before, the EmperorAugustine had erected his lofty "trophy, " they returned to the villa. There are some omissions which are marked, and when Lydia allowed him todepart without pressing him to stay to dinner he realised that he hadlost the trick. 

"When are you going back to London?" she asked. 

"To-morrow morning, " said Jack. "I don't think I shall come here againbefore I go. "

She did not reply immediately. She was a little penitent at her lack ofhospitality, but Jack had annoyed her and the more convincing he hadbecome, the greater had been the irritation he had caused. One questionhe had to ask but he hesitated. 

"About that will----" he began, but her look of weariness stopped him. 

It was a very annoyed young man that drove back to the Hôtel de Paris. He had hardly gone before Lydia regretted her brusqueness. She likedJack Glover more than she was prepared to admit, and though he had onlybeen in Cap Martin for two days she felt a little sense of desolation athis going. Very resolutely she refused even to consider hisextraordinary views about Jean. And yet----

Jean left her alone and watched her strolling aimlessly about thegarden, guessing the little storm which had developed in her breast. Lydia went to bed early that night, another significant sign Jean noted, and was not sorry, because she wanted to have her father to herself. 

Mr. Briggerland listened moodily whilst Jean related all that she hadlearnt, for she had been in the _salon_ at the National for a goodquarter of an hour before Jack had discovered her. 

"I thought he would want her to make a will, " she said, "and, of course, although she has rejected the idea now, it will grow on her. I think wehave the best part of a week. "

"I suppose you have everything cut and dried as usual, " growled Mr. Briggerland. "What is your plan?"

"I have three, " said Jean thoughtfully, "and two are particularlyappealing to me because they do not involve the employment of any thirdperson. "

"Had you one which brought in somebody else?" asked Briggerland insurprise. "I thought a clever girl like you----"

"Don't waste your sarcasm on me, " said Jean quietly. "The third personwhom I considered was Marcus Stepney, " and she told him the gist of herconversation with the gambler. Mr. Briggerland was not impressed. 

"A thief like Marcus will get out of paying, " he said, "and if he canstall you long enough to get the money you may whistle for your share. Besides, a fellow like that isn't really afraid of a charge of bigamy. "

Jean, curled up in a big arm-chair, looked up under her eyelashes at herfather and laughed. 

"I had no intention of letting Marcus marry Lydia, " she said coolly, "but I had to dangle something in front of his eyes, because he mayserve me in quite another way. "

"How did he get those two slashes on his hand?" asked Mr. Briggerlandsuddenly. 

"Ask him, " she said. "Marcus is getting a little troublesome. I thoughthe had learnt his lesson and had realised that I am not built formatrimony, especially for a hectic attachment to a man who gains hislivelihood by cheating at cards. "

"Now, now, my dear, " said her father. 

"Please don't be shocked, " she mocked him. "You know as well as I do howMarcus lives. "

"The boy is very fond of you. "

"The boy is between thirty and thirty-six, " she said tersely. "And he'snot the kind of boy that I am particularly fond of. He is useful andmay be more useful yet. "

She rose, stretched her arms and yawned. 

"I'm going up to my room to work on my story. You are watching for Mr. Jaggs?"

"Work on what?" he said. 

"The story I am writing and which I think will create a sensation, " shesaid calmly. 

"What's this?" asked Briggerland suspiciously. "A story? I didn't knowyou were writing that kind of Stuff. "

"There are lots of important things that you know nothing about, parent, " she said and left him a little dazed. 

For once Jean was not deceiving him. A writing table had been put in herroom and a thick pad of paper awaited her attention. She got into herkimono and with a little sigh sat down at the table and began to write. It was half-past two when she gathered up the sheets and read them overwith a smile which was half contempt. She was on the point of gettinginto bed when she remembered that her father was keeping watch below. She put on her slippers and went downstairs and tapped gently at thedoor of the darkened dining-room. 

Almost immediately it was opened. 

"What did you want to tap for?" he grumbled. "You gave me a start. "

"I preferred tapping to being shot, " she answered. "Have you heardanything or seen anybody?"

The French windows of the dining-room were open, her father was wearinghis coat and on his arm she saw by the reflected starlight from outsidehe carried a shot-gun. 

"Nothing, " he said. "The old man hasn't come to-night. "

She nodded. 

"Somehow I didn't think he would, " she said. 

"I don't see how I can shoot him without making a fuss. "

"Don't be silly, " said Jean lightly. "Aren't the police well aware thatan elderly gentleman has threatened my life, and would it be remarkableif seeing an ancient man prowl about this house you shot him on sight?"

She bit her lips thoughtfully. 

"Yes, I think you can go to bed, " she said. "He will not be hereto-night. To-morrow night, yes. "

She went up to her room, said her prayers and went to bed and was asleepimmediately. 

Lydia had forgotten about Jean's story until she saw her writingindustriously at a small table which had been placed on the lawn. It wasFebruary, but the wind and the sun were warm and Lydia thought she hadnever seen a more beautiful picture than the girl presented sittingthere in a garden spangled with gay flowers, heavy with the scent ofFebruary roses, a dainty figure of a girl, almost ethereal in herloveliness. 

"Am I interrupting you?"

"Not a bit, " said Jean, putting down her pen and rubbing her wrist. "Isn't it annoying. I've got to quite an exciting part, and my wrist isgiving me hell. "

She used the word so naturally that Lydia forgot to be shocked. 

"Can I do anything for you?"

Jean shook her head. 

"I don't exactly see what you can do, " she said, "unless you could--but, no, I would not ask you to do that!"

"What is it?" asked Lydia. 

Jean puckered her brows in thought. 

"I suppose you could do it, " she said, "but I'd hate to ask you. Yousee, dear, I've got a chapter to finish and it really ought to go off toLondon to-day. I am very keen on getting an opinion from a literaryfriend of mine--but, no, I won't ask you. "

"What is it?" smiled Lydia. "I'm sure you're not going to ask theimpossible. "

"The thought occurred to me that perhaps you might write as I dictated. It would only be two or three pages, " said the girl apologetically. "I'mso full of the story at this moment that it would be a shame if Iallowed the divine fire of inspiration--that's the term, isn't it--togo out. "

"Of course I'll do it, " said Lydia. "I can't write shorthand, but thatdoesn't matter, does it?"

"No, longhand will be quick enough for me. My thoughts aren't so fast, "said the girl. 

"What is it all about?"

"It is about a girl, " said Jean, "who has stolen a lot of money----"

"How thrilling!" smiled Lydia. 

"And she's got away to America. She is living a very full and joyouslife, but the thought of her sin is haunting her and she decides todisappear and let people think she has drowned herself. She is reallygoing into a convent. I've got to the point where she is saying farewellto her friend. Do you feel capable of being harrowed?"

"I never felt fitter for the job in my life, " said Lydia, and sittingdown in the chair the girl had vacated, she took up the pencil which theother had left. 

Jean strolled up and down the lawn in an agony of mental composition andpresently she came back and began slowly to dictate. 

Word by word Lydia wrote down the thrilling story of the girl's remorse, and presently came to the moment when the heroine was inditing a letterto her friend. 

"Take a fresh page, " said Jean, as Lydia paused half-way down onesheet. "I shall want to write something in there myself when my handgets better. Now begin:

"MY DEAR FRIEND. "

Lydia wrote down the words and slowly the girl dictated. 

 "_I do not know how I can write you this letter. I intended to tell you when I saw you the other day how miserable I was. Your suspicion hurt me less than your ignorance of the one vital event in my life which has now made living a burden. My money has brought no joy to me. I have met a man I love, but with whom I know a union is impossible. We are determined to die together--farewell--_"

"You said she was going away, " interrupted Lydia. 

"I know, " Jean nodded. "Only she wants to give the impression----"

"I see, I see, " said Lydia. "Go on. "

 "_Forgive me for the act I am committing, which you may think is the act of a coward, and try to think as well of me as you possibly can. Your friend----_"

"I don't know whether to make her sign her name or put her initials, "said Jean, pursing her lips. 

"What is her name?"

"Laura Martin. Just put the initials L. M. "

"They're mine also, " smiled Lydia. "What else?"

"I don't think I'll do any more, " said Jean. "I'm not a good dictator, am I? Though you're a wonderful amanuensis. "

She collected the papers tidily, put them in a little portfolio andtucked them under her arm. 

"Let us gamble the afternoon away, " said Jean. "I want distraction. "

"But your story? Haven't you to send it off?"

"I'm going to wrestle with it in secret, even if it breaks my wrist, "said Jean brightly. 

She took the portfolio up to her room, locked the door and sorted overthe pages. The page which held the farewell letter she put carefullyaside. The remainder, including all that part of the story she hadwritten on the previous night, she made into a bundle, and when Lydiahad gone off with Marcus Stepney to swim, she carried the paper to aremote corner of the grounds and burnt it sheet by sheet. Again sheexamined the "letter, " folded it and locked it in a drawer. 

Lydia, returning from her swim, was met by Jean half-way up the hill. 

"By the way, my dear, I wish you would give me Jack Glover's Londonaddress, " she said as they went into the house. "Write it here. Here isa pencil. " She pulled out an envelope from a stationery rack and Lydia, in all innocence, wrote as she requested. 

The envelope Jean carried upstairs, put into it the letter signed "L. M. , " and sealed it down. Lydia Meredith was nearer to death at thatmoment than she had been on the afternoon when Mordon the chauffeurbrought his big Fiat on to the pavement of Berkeley Street. 

Chapter XXIX

It was in the evening of the next day that Lydia received a wire fromJack Glover. It was addressed from London and announced his arrival. 

"Doesn't it make you feel nice, Lydia, " said Jean, when she saw thetelegram, "to have a man in London looking after your interests--a sortof guardian angel--and another guardian angel prowling round yourdemesne at Cap Martin?"

"You mean Jaggs? Have you seen him?"

"No, I have not seen him, " said the girl softly. "I should rather liketo see him. Do you know where he is staying at Monte Carlo?"

Lydia shook her head. 

"I hope I shall see him before I go, " said Jean. "He must be a veryinteresting old gentleman. "

It was Mr. Briggerland who first caught a glimpse of Lydia's watchman. Mr. Briggerland had spent the greater part of the day sleeping. He wasunusually wakeful at one o'clock in the morning, and sat on the verandain a fur-lined overcoat, his gun lay across his knees. He had seen manymysterious shapes flitting across the lawn, only to discover oninvestigation that they were no more than the shadows which the movingtree-tops cast. 

At two o'clock he saw a shape emerge from the tree belt and movestealthily in the shadow of the bushes toward the house. He did not firebecause there was a chance that it might have been one of the detectiveswho had promised to keep an eye upon the Villa Casa in view of themurderous threats which Jean had received. 

Noiselessly he rose and stepped in his rubber shoes to the darker end ofthe stoep. It was old Jaggs. There was no mistaking him. A bent man wholimped cautiously across the lawn and was making for the back of thehouse. Mr. Briggerland cocked his gun and took aim.... 

Both girls heard the shot, and Lydia, springing out of bed, ran on tothe balcony. 

"It's all right, Mrs. Meredith, " said Briggerland's voice. "It was aburglar, I think. "

"You haven't hurt him?" she cried, remembering old Jaggs's nocturnalhabits. 

"If I have, he's got away, " said Briggerland. "He must have seen me anddropped. "

Jean flew downstairs in her dressing-gown and joined her father on thelawn. 

"Did you get him?" she asked in a low voice. 

"I could have sworn I shot him, " said her father in the same tone, "butthe old devil must have dropped. "

He heard the quick catch of her breath and turned apprehensively. 

"Now, don't make a fuss about it, Jean, I couldn't help it. "

"You couldn't help it!" she almost snarled. "You had him under your gunand you let him go. Do you think he'll ever come again, you fool?"

"Now look here, I'm not going to----" began Mr. Briggerland, but shesnatched the gun from his hand, looked swiftly at the lock and ranacross the lawn toward the trees. 

Somebody was hiding. She sensed that and all her nerves were alert. Presently she saw a crouching figure and lifted the gun, but before shecould fire it was wrested from her hand. 

She opened her lips to cry out for help, but a hand closed over hermouth, and swung her round so that her back was toward her assailant, and then in a flash his arm came round her neck, the flex of the elbowagainst her throat. 

"Say one of them prayers of yours, " said a voice in her ear, and the armtightened. 

She struggled furiously, but the man held her as though she were achild. 

"You're going to die, " whispered the voice. "How do you like thesensation?"

The arm tightened on her neck. She was suffocating, dying she thought, and her heart was filled with a wild, mad longing for life and a terrorundreamt of. She could faintly hear her father's voice calling her andthen consciousness departed. 

When Jean came to herself she was in Lydia Meredith's arms. She openedher eyes and saw the pathetic face of her father looming from thebackground. Her hand went up to her throat. 

"Hallo, people--how did I get here?" she asked as she struggled into asitting position. 

"I came in search of you and found you lying on the ground, " quaveredMr. Briggerland. 

"Did you see the man?" she asked. 

"No. What happened to you, darling?"

"Nothing, " she said with that composure which she could command. "I musthave fainted. It was rather ridiculous of me, wasn't it?" she smiled. 

She got unsteadily to her feet and again she felt her throat. Lydianoticed the action. 

"Did he hurt you?" she asked anxiously. "It couldn't have been Jaggs. "

"Oh no, " smiled Jean, "it couldn't have been Jaggs. I think I'll go tobed. "

She did not expect to sleep. For the first time in her extraordinarylife fear had come to her, and she had shivered on the very edge of theabyss. She felt the shudder she could not repress and shook herselfimpatiently. Then she extinguished the light and went to the window andlooked out. Somewhere there in the darkness she knew her enemy washidden, and again that sense of apprehension swept over her. 

"I'm losing my nerve, " she murmured. 

It was extraordinary to Lydia Meredith that the girl showed no sign ofher night's adventure when she came in to breakfast on the followingmorning. She looked bright. Her eyes were clear and her delicate ironyas pointed as though she had slept the clock round. 

Lydia did not swim that day, and Mr. Stepney had his journey out to CapMartin in vain. Nor was she inclined to go back with him to Monte Carloto the Casino in the afternoon, and Mr. Stepney began to realise that hewas wasting valuable time. 

Jean found her scribbling in the garden and Lydia made no secret of thetask she was undertaking. 

"Making your will? What a grisly idea?" she said as she put down the cupof tea she had carried out to the girl. 

"Isn't it, " said Lydia with a grimace. "It is the most worryingbusiness, too, Jean. There is nobody I want to leave money to except youand Mr. Glover. "

"For heaven's sake don't leave me any or Jack will think I am conspiringto bring about your untimely end, " said Jean. "Why make a will at all?"

There was no need for her to ask that, but she was curious to discoverwhat reply the girl would make, and to her surprise Lydia fenced withthe question. 

"It is done in all the best circles, " she said good-humouredly. "And, Jean, I'm not interested in a single public institution! I don't know bytitle the name of any home for dogs, and I shouldn't be at all anxiousto leave my money to one even if I did. "

"Then you'd better leave it to Jack Glover, " said the girl, "or to theLifeboat Institution. "

Lydia threw down her pencil in disgust. 

"Fancy making one's will on a beautiful day like this, and givinginstructions as to where one should be buried. Brrr! Jean, " she askedsuddenly, "was it Mr. Jaggs you saw in the wood?"

Jean shook her head. 

"I saw nobody, " she said. "I went in to look for the burglar; theexcitement must have been too much for me, and I fainted. "

But Lydia was not satisfied. 

"I can't understand Mr. Jaggs myself, " she said, but Jean interruptedher with a cry. 

Lydia looked up and saw her eyes shining and her lips parting in asmile. 

"Of course, " she said softly. "He used to sleep at your flat, didn'the?"

"Yes, why?" asked the girl in surprise. 

"What a fool I am, what a perfect fool!" said Jean, startled out of heraccustomed self-possession. 

"I don't quite know where your folly comes in, but perhaps you will tellme, " but Jean was laughing softly. 

"Go on and make your will, " she said mockingly. "And when you'vefinished we'll go into the rooms and chase the lucky numbers. Poor dearMrs. Cole-Mortimer is feeling a little neglected, too, we ought to dosomething for her. "

The day and night passed without any untoward event. In the evening Jeanhad an interview with her French chauffeur, and afterwards disappearedinto her room. Lydia tapping at her door to bid her good night receivedno answer. 

Day was breaking when old Jaggs came out from the trees in his furtiveway and glancing up and down the road made his halting way toward MonteCarlo. The only objects in sight was a donkey laden with market produceled by a bare-legged boy who was going in the same direction as he. 

A little more than a mile along the road he turned sharply to the rightand began climbing a steep and narrow bridle path which joined themountain road, half-way up to La Turbie. The boy with the donkey turnedoff to the main road and continued the steep climb toward the GrandeCorniche. There were many houses built on the edge of the road andpractically on the edge of precipices, for the windows facing the seaoften looked sheer down for two hundred feet. At first these dwellingsappeared in clusters, then as the road climbed higher, they occurred atrare intervals. 

The boy leading the donkey kept his eye upon the valley below, and fromtime to time caught a glimpse of the old man who had now left the bridlepath, and was picking his way up the rough hill-side. He was making fora dilapidated house which stood at one of the hairpin bends of the road, and the donkey-boy, shading his eyes from the glare of the rising sun, saw him disappear into what must have been the cellar of the house, since the door through which he went was a good twenty feet beneath thelevel of the road. The donkey-boy continued his climb, tugging at hisburdened beast, and presently he came up to the house. Smoke was risingfrom one of the chimneys, and he halted at the door, tied the rope heheld to a rickety gate post, and knocked gently. 

A bright-faced peasant woman came to the open door and shook her head atthe sight of the wares with which the donkey was laden. 

"We want none of your truck, my boy, " she said. "I have my own garden. You are not a Monogasque. "

"No, signora, " replied the boy, flashing his teeth with a smile. "I amfrom San Remo, but I have come to live in Monte Carlo to sell vegetablesfor my uncle, and he told me I should find a lodging here. "

She looked at him dubiously. 

"I have one room which you could have, boy, " she said, "though I do notlike Italians. You must pay me a franc a night, and your donkey can gointo the shed of my brother-in-law up the hill. "

She led the way down a flight of ancient stairs and showed him a tinyroom overlooking the valley. 

"I have one other man who lives here, " she said. "An old one, who sleepsall day and goes out all night. But he is a very respectable man, " sheadded in defence of her client. 

"Where does he sleep?" asked the boy. 

"There!" The woman pointed to a room on the opposite side of the narrowlanding. "He has just come in, I can hear him. " She listened. 

"Will madame get me change for this?" The boy produced a fifty-francnote, and the woman's eyebrows rose. 

"Such wealth!" she said good-naturedly. "I did not think that a littleboy like you could have such money. "

She bustled upstairs to her own room, leaving the boy alone. He waiteduntil her heavy footsteps sounded overhead, and then gently he tried thedoor of the other lodger. Mr. Jaggs had not yet bolted the door, and thespy pushed it open and looked. What he saw satisfied him, for he pulledthe door tight again, and as the footfall of old Jaggs came nearer thedoor, the donkey-boy flew upstairs with extraordinary rapidity. 

"I will come later, madame, " he said, when he had received the change. "I must take my donkey into Monte Carlo. "

She watched the boy and his beast go down the road, and went back to thetask of preparing her lodger's breakfast. 

To Monte Carlo the cabbage seller did not go. Instead, he turned backthe way he had come, and a hundred yards from the gate of Villa Casa, Mordon, the chauffeur, appeared, and took the rope from his hand. 

"Did you find what you wanted, mademoiselle?" he asked. 

Jean nodded. She got into the house through the servants' entrance andup to her room without observation. She pulled off the black wig andapplied herself to removing the stains from her face. It had been a goodmorning's work. 

"You must keep Mrs. Meredith fully occupied to-day. " She waylaid herfather on the stairs to give him these instructions. 

For her it was a busy morning. First she went to the Hôtel de Paris, andon the pretext of writing a letter in the lounge, secured two or threesheets of the hotel paper and an envelope. Next she hired a typewriterand carried it with her back to the house. She was working for an hourbefore she had the letter finished. The signature took her some time. She had to ransack Lydia's writing case before she found a letter fromJack Glover--Lydia's signature was easy in comparison. 

This, and a cheque drawn from the back of Lydia Meredith's cheque-book, completed her equipment. 

That afternoon Mordon, the chauffeur, motored into Nice, and by nineo'clock that night an aeroplane deposited him in Paris. He was in Londonthe following morning, a bearer of an urgent letter to Mr. Rennett, thelawyer, which, however, he did not present in person. 

Mordon knew a French girl in London, and she it was who carried theletter to Charles Rennett--a letter that made him scratch his head manytimes before he took a sheet of paper, and addressing the manager ofLydia's bank, wrote:

"This cheque is in order. Please honour. "

Chapter XXX

"Desperate diseases, " said Jean Briggerland, "call for desperateremedies. "

Mr. Briggerland looked up from his book. 

"What was that tale you were telling Lydia this morning, " he asked, "about Glover's gambling? He was only here a day, wasn't he?"

"He was here long enough to lose a lot of money, " said Jean. "Of coursehe didn't gamble, so he did not lose. It was just a little seed-sowingon my part--one never knows how useful the right word may be in theright season. "

"Did you tell Lydia that he was losing heavily?" he asked quickly. 

"Am I a fool? Of course not! I merely said that youth would be served, and if you have the gambling instinct in you, why, it didn't matter whatposition you held in society or what your responsibilities were, youmust indulge your passion. "

Mr. Briggerland stroked his chin. There were times when Jean's schemesgot very far beyond him, and he hated the mental exercise of catchingup. The only thing he knew was that every post from London bore urgentdemands for money, and that the future held possibilities which he didnot care to contemplate. He was in the unfortunate position of havingnumerous pensioners to support, men and women who had served him invarious ways and whose approval, but what was more important, whoseloyalty, depended largely upon the regularity of their payments. 

"I shall gamble or do something desperate, " he said with a frown. "Unless you can bring off a coup that will produce twenty thousandpounds of ready money we are going to get into all kinds of trouble, Jean. "

"Do you think I don't know that?" she asked contemptuously. "It isbecause of this urgent need of money that I have taken a step which Ihate. "

He listened in amazement whilst she told him what she had done torelieve her pressing needs. 

"We are getting deeper and deeper into Mordon's hands, " he said, shakinghis head. "That is what scares me at times. "

"You needn't worry about Mordon, " she smiled. Her smile was a littlehard. "Mordon and I are going to be married. "

She was examining the toe of her shoe attentively as she spoke, and Mr. Briggerland leapt to his feet. 

"What!" he squeaked. "Marry a chauffeur? A fellow I picked out of thegutter? You're mad! The fellow is a rascal who has earned the guillotinetime and time again. "

"Who hasn't?" she asked, looking up. 

"It is incredible! It's madness!" he said. "I had no idea----" hestopped for want of breath. 

Mordon was becoming troublesome. She had known that better than herfather. 

"It was after the 'accident' that didn't happen that he began to get alittle tiresome, " she said. "You say we are getting deeper and deeperinto his hands? Well, he hinted as much, and I did not like it. When hebegan to get a little loving I accepted that way out as an easyalternative to a very unpleasant exposure. Whether he would havebetrayed us I don't know; probably he would. "

Mr. Briggerland's face was dark. 

"When is this interesting event to take place?"

"My marriage? In two months, I think. When is Easter? That class ofperson always wants to be married at Easter. I asked him to keep oursecret and not to mention it to you, and I should not have spoken now ifyou had not referred to the obligation we were under. "

"In two months?" Mr. Briggerland nodded. "Let me know when you want thisto end, Jean, " he said. 

"It will end almost immediately. Please do not trouble, " said Jean, "andthere is one other thing, father. If you see Mr. Jaggs in the gardento-night, I beg of you do not attempt to shoot him. He is a very usefulman. "

Her father sank back in his chair. 

"You're beyond me, " he said, helplessly. 

Mordon occupied two rooms above the garage, which was convenientlysituated for Jean's purpose. He arrived late the next night, and a lightin his window, which was visible from the girl's room, told her all shewanted to know. 

Mr. Mordon was a good-looking man by certain standards. His hair wasdark and glossily brushed. His normal pallor of countenance gave him theinteresting appearance which men of his kind did not greatly dislike, and he had a figure which was admired in a dozen servants' halls, and amanner which passed amongst housemaids for "gentlemanly, " and amongstgentlemen as "superior. " He heard the foot of the girl on the stairs, and opened the door. 

"You have brought it?" she said, without a preliminary word. 

She had thrown a dark cloak over her evening dress, and the man's eyesfeasted on her. 

"Yes, I have brought it--Jean, " he said. 

She put her finger to her lips. 

"Be careful, François, " she cautioned in a low voice. 

Although the man spoke English as well as he spoke French, it was in thelatter language that the conversation was carried on. He went to a gripwhich lay on the bed, opened it and took out five thick packages ofthousand-franc notes. 

"There are a thousand in each, mademoiselle. Five million francs. Ichanged part of the money in Paris, and part in London. "

"The woman--there is no danger from her?"

"Oh no, mademoiselle, " he smiled complacently. "She is not likely tobetray me, and she does not know my name or where I am living. She is agirl I met at a dance at the Swiss Waiters' Club, " he explained. "She isnot a good character. I think the French police wish to find her, butshe is very clever. "

"What did you tell her?" asked Jean. 

"That I was working a coup with Vaud and Montheron. These are twonotorious men in Paris whom she knew. I gave her five thousand francsfor her work. "

"There was no trouble?"

"None whatever, mademoiselle. I watched her, and saw she carried theletter to the bank. As soon as the money was changed I left Croydon byair for Paris, and came on from Paris to Marseilles by aeroplane. "

"You did well, François, " she said, and patted his hand. 

He would have seized hers, but she drew back. 

"You have promised, François, " she said with dignity, "and a Frenchgentleman keeps his word. "

François bowed. 

He was not a French gentleman, but he was anxious that this girl shouldthink he was, and to that end had told her stories of his birth whichhad apparently impressed her. 

"Now will you do something more for me?"

"I will do anything in the world, Jean, " he cried passionately, andagain a restraining hand fell on his shoulder. 

"Then sit down and write; your French is so much better than mine. "

"What shall I write?" he asked. She had never called upon him for proofof his scholarship, and he was childishly eager to reveal to the womanhe loved attainments of which he had no knowledge. 

"Write, 'Dear Mademoiselle'. " He obeyed. 

 "'_have returned from London, and have confessed to Madame Meredith that I have forged her name and have drawn £100, 000 from her bank----_'"

"Why do I write this, Jean?" he asked in surprise. 

"I will tell you one day--go on. François, " she continued herdictation. 

 "'_And now I have learnt that Madame Meredith loves me. There is only one end to this--that which you see----_'"

"Do you intend passing suspicion to somebody else?" he asked, evidentlyfogged, "but why should I say----?"

She stopped his mouth with her hand. 

"How wonderful you are, Jean, " he said, admiringly, as he blotted thepaper and handed it to her. "So that if this matter is traced toyou----" She looked into his eyes and smiled. 

"There will be trouble for somebody, " she said, softly, as she put thepaper in her pocket. 

Suddenly, before she could realise what was happening he had her in hisarms, his lips pressed against hers. 

"Jean, Jean!" he muttered. "You adorable woman!"

Gently she pressed him back and she was still smiling, though her eyeswere like granite. 

"Gently, François, " she said, "you must have patience!"

She slipped through the door and closed it behind her, and even in herthen state of mind she did not slam it, nor did she hurry down thestairs, but went out, taking her time, and was back in the house withouther absence having been noticed. Her face, reflected in her long mirror, was serene in its repose, but within her a devil was alive, hungry fordestruction. No man had roused the love of Jean Briggerland, but atleast one had succeeded in bringing to life a consuming hate which, forthe time being, absorbed her. 

From the moment she drew her wet handkerchief across her red lips andflung the dainty thing as though it were contaminated through the openwindow, François Mordon was a dead man. 

Chapter XXXI

A letter from Jack Glover arrived the next morning. He had had an easyjourney, was glad to have had the opportunity of seeing Lydia, and hopedshe would think over the will. Lydia was not thinking of wills, but ofan excuse to get back to London. Of a sudden the loveliness of MonteCarlo had palled upon her, and she had almost forgotten thecircumstances which had made the change of scene and climate so welcome. 

"Go back to London, my dear?" said Mrs. Cole-Mortimer, shocked. "Whata--a rash notion! Why it is _freezing_ in town and foggy and ... And Ireally can't let you go back!"

Mrs. Cole-Mortimer was agitated at the very thought. Her own good timeon the Riviera depended upon Lydia staying. Jean had made that pointvery clear. She, herself, she explained to her discomforted hostess, wasready to go back at once, and the prolongation of Mrs. Cole-Mortimer'sstay depended upon Lydia's plans. A startling switch of cause andeffect, for Mrs. Cole-Mortimer had understood that Jean's willcontrolled the plans of the party. 

Lydia might have insisted, had she really known the reason for hersudden longing for the grimy metropolis. But she could not even convinceherself that the charms of Monte Carlo were contingent upon the presencethere of a man who had aroused her furious indignation and with whom shehad spent most of the time quarrelling. She mentioned her unrest toJean, and Jean as usual seemed to understand. 

"The Riviera is rather like Turkish Delight--very sweet, butunsatisfying, " she said. "Stay another week and then if you feel thatway we'll all go home together. "

"This means breaking up your holiday, " said Lydia in self-reproach. 

"Not a bit, " denied the girl, "perhaps I shall feel as you do in aweek's time. "

A week! Jean thought that much might happen in a week. In truth eventsbegan to move quickly from that night, but in a way she had notanticipated. 

Mr. Briggerland, who had been reading the newspaper through theconversation, looked up. 

"They are making a great fuss of this Moor in Nice, " he said, "but if Iremember rightly, Nice invariably has some weird lion to adore. "

"Muley Hafiz, " said Lydia. "Yes, I saw him the day I went to lunch withMr. Stepney, a fine-looking man. "

"I'm not greatly interested in natives, " said Jean carelessly. "What ishe, a negro?"

"Oh, no, he's fairer than--" Lydia was about to say "your father, " butthought it discreet to find another comparison. "He's fairer than mostof the people in the south of France, " she said, "but then all veryhighly-bred Moors are, aren't they?"

Jean shook her head. 

"Ethnology means nothing to me, " she said humorously. "I've got my ideaof Moors from Shakespeare, and I thought they were mostly black. What ishe then? I haven't read the papers. "

"He is the Pretender to the Moorish throne, " said Lydia, "and there hasbeen a lot of trouble in the French Senate about him. France supportshis claims, and the Spaniards have offered a reward for his body, deador alive, and that has brought about a strained relationship betweenSpain and France. "

Jean regarded her with an amused smile. 

"Fancy taking an interest in international politics. I suppose that isdue to your working on a newspaper, Lydia. "

Jean discovered that she was to take a greater interest in Muley Hafizthan she could have thought was possible. She had to go into Monte Carloto do some shopping. Mentone was nearer, but she preferred the driveinto the principality. 

The Rooms had no great call for her, and whilst Mordon went to a garageto have a faulty cylinder examined, she strolled on to the terrace ofthe Casino, down the broad steps towards the sea. The bathing huts wereclosed at this season, but the little road down to the beach is secludedand had been a favourite walk of hers in earlier visits. 

Near the huts she passed a group of dark-looking men in long whitejellabs, and wondered which of these was the famous Muley. One shenoticed with a particularly negro type of face, wore on his flowing robethe scarlet ribbon of the Legion of Honour. Somehow or other he did notseem interesting enough to be Muley, she thought as she went on to astrip of beach. 

A man was standing on the sea shore, a tall, commanding man, gazing outit seemed across the sunlit ocean as though he were in search ofsomething. He could not have heard her footfall because she was walkingon the sand, and yet he must have realised her presence, for he turned, and she almost stopped at the sight of his face. He might have been aEuropean; his complexion was fair, though his eyebrows and eyes were jetblack, as also was the tiny beard and moustache he wore. Beneath theconventional jellab he wore a dark green jacket, and she had a glimpseof glittering decorations before he pulled over his cloak so that theywere hidden. But it was his eyes which held her. They were large and asblack as night, and they were set in a face of such strength anddignity that Jean knew instinctively that she was looking upon theMoorish Pretender. 

They stood for a second staring at one another, and then the Moorstepped aside. 

"Pardon, " he said in French, "I am afraid I startled you. "

Jean was breathing a little quicker. She could not remember in her lifeany man who had created so immediate and favourable an impression. Sheforgot her contempt for native people, forgot his race, his religion(and religion was a big thing to Jean), forgot everything except thatbehind those eyes she recognised something which was kin to her. 

"You are English, of course, " he said in that language. 

"Scottish, " smiled Jean. 

"It is almost the same, isn't it?" He spoke without any trace of anaccent, without an error of grammar, and his voice was the voice of acollege man. 

He had left the way open for her to pass on, but she lingered. 

"You are Muley Hafiz, aren't you?" she asked, and he turned his head. "I've read a great deal about you, " she added, though in truth she hadread nothing. 

He laughed, showing two rows of perfect white teeth. It was only bycontrast with their whiteness that she noticed the golden brown of hiscomplexion. 

"I am of international interest, " he said lightly and glanced roundtoward his attendants. 

She thought he was going and would have moved on, but he stopped her. 

"You are the first English speaking person I have talked to since I'vebeen in France, " he said, "except the American Ambassador. " He smiled asat a pleasant recollection. 

"You talk almost like an Englishman yourself. "

"I was at Oxford, " he said. "My brother was at Harvard. My father, thebrother of the late Sultan, was a very progressive man and believed inthe Western education for his children. Won't you sit down?" he asked, pointing to the sand. 

She hesitated a second, and then sank to the ground, and crossing hislegs he sat by her side. 

"I was in France for four years, " he carried on, evidently anxious tohold her in conversation, "so I speak both languages fairly well. Do youspeak Arabic?" He asked the question solemnly, but his eyes were brightwith laughter. 

"Not very well, " she answered gravely. "Are you staying very long?" Itwas a conventional question and she was unprepared for the reply. 

"I leave to-night, " he said, "though very few people know it. You havesurprised a State secret, " he smiled again. 

And then he began to talk of Morocco and its history, and withextraordinary ease he traced the story of the families which had ruledthat troubled State. 

He touched lightly on his own share in the rebellion which had almostbrought about a European war. 

"My uncle seized the throne, you know, " he said, taking up a handful ofsand and tossing it up in the air. "He defeated my father and killedhim, and then we caught his two sons. "

"What happened to them?" asked Jean curiously. 

"Oh, we killed them, " he said carelessly. "I had them hanged in front ofmy tent. You're shocked?"

She shook her head. 

"Do you believe in killing your enemies?"

She nodded. 

"Why not? It is the only logical thing to do. "

"My brother joined forces with the present Sultan, and if I ever catchhim I shall hang him too, " he smiled. 

"And if he catches you?" she asked. 

"Why, he'll hang me, " he laughed. "That is the rule of the game. "

"How strange!" she said, half to herself. 

"Do you think so? I suppose from the European standpoint----"

"No, no, " she stopped him. "I wasn't thinking of that. You are logicaland you do the logical thing. That is how I would treat my enemies. "

"If you had any, " he suggested. 

She nodded. 

"If I had any, " she repeated with a hard little smile. "Will you tell methis--do I call you Mr. Muley or Lord Muley?"

"You may call me Wazeer, if you're so hard up for a title, " he said, andthe little idiom sounded queer from him. 

"Well, Wazeer, will you tell me: Suppose somebody who had something thatyou wanted very badly and they wouldn't give it to you, and you had thepower to destroy them, what would you do?"

"I should certainly destroy them, " said Muley Hafiz. "It is unnecessaryto ask. 'The common rule, the simple plan'" he quoted. 

Her eyes were fixed on his face, and she was frowning, though this shedid not know. 

"I am glad I met you this afternoon, " she said. "It must be wonderfulliving in that atmosphere, the atmosphere of might and power, where menand women aren't governed by the finicking rules which vitiate theWestern world. "

He laughed. 

"Then you are tired of your Western civilisation, " he said as he roseand helped her to her feet (his hands were long and delicate, and shegrew breathless at the touch of them). "You must come along to my littlecity in the hills where the law is the sword of Muley Hafiz. "

She looked at him for a moment. 

"I almost wish I could, " she said and held out her hand. 

He took it in the European fashion and bowed over it. She seemed so tinya thing by the side of him, her head did not reach his shoulder. 

"Good-bye, " she said hurriedly and turning, walked back the way she hadcome, and he stood watching her until she was out of sight. 

Chapter XXXII

"Jean!"

She looked round to meet the scowling gaze of Marcus Stepney. 

"I must say you're the limit, " he said violently. "There are lots ofthings I imagine you'd do, but to stand there in broad daylight talkingto a nigger----"

"If I stand in broad daylight and talk to a card-sharper, Marcus, Ithink I'm just low enough to do almost anything. "

"A damned Moorish nigger, " he spluttered, and her eyes narrowed. 

"Walk up the road with me, and if you possibly can, keep your voice downto the level which gentlemen usually employ when talking to women, " shesaid. 

She was in better condition than he, and he was a little out of breathby the time they reached the Café de Paris, which was crowded at thathour with the afternoon tea people. 

He found a quiet corner, and by this time his anger, and a little of hiscourage, had evaporated. 

"I've only your interest at heart, Jean, " he said almost pleadingly, "but you don't want people in our set to know you've been hobnobbingwith this infernal Moor. "

"When you say 'our set, ' to which set are you referring?" she askedunpleasantly. "Because if it is the set I believe you mean, they can'tthink too badly of me for my liking. It would be a degradation to me tobe admired by your set, Marcus. "

"Oh, come now, " he began feebly. 

"I thought I had made it clear to you and I hoped you would carry themarks to your dying day"--there was malice in her voice, and hewinced--"that I do not allow you to dominate my life or to censor myactions. The 'nigger' you referred to was more of a gentleman than youcan ever be, Marcus, because he has breed, which the Lord didn't give toyou. "

The waiter brought the tea at that moment, and the conversation passedto unimportant topics till he had gone. 

"I'm rather rattled, " he apologised. "I lost six thousand louis lastnight. "

"Then you have six thousand reasons why you should keep on good termswith me, " said Jean smiling cheerfully. 

"That cave man stuff?" he asked, and shook his head. "She'd raise Cain. "

Jean was laughing inside herself, but she did not show her merriment. 

"You can but try, " she said. "I've already told you how it can bedone. "

"I'll try to-morrow, " he said after a thought. "By heavens, I'll tryto-morrow!"

It was on the tip of her tongue to say "Not to-morrow, " but she checkedherself. 

Mordon came round with the car to pick her up soon after. Mordon! Herlittle chin jerked up with a gesture of annoyance, which she seldompermitted herself. And yet she felt unusually cheered. Her meeting withthe Moor was a milestone in her life from which memory she could drawboth encouragement and comfort. 

"You met Muley?" said Lydia. "How thrilling! What is he like, Jean? Washe a blackamoor?"

"No, he wasn't a blackamoor, " said the girl quietly. "He was anunusually intelligent man. "

"H'm, " grunted her father. "How did you come to meet him, my dear?"

"I picked him up on the beach, " said Jean coolly, "as any flapper wouldpick up any nut. "

Mr. Briggerland choked. 

"I hate to hear you talking like that, Jean. Who introduced him?"

"I told you, " she said complacently. "I introduced myself. I talked tohim on the beach and he talked to me, and we sat down and played withthe sand and discussed one another's lives. "

"But how enterprising of you, Jean, " said the admiring Lydia. 

Mr. Briggerland was going to say something, but thought better of it. 

There was a concert at the theatre that night and the whole party went. They had a box, and the interval had come before Lydia saw somebodyushered into a box on the other side of the house with such evidence ofdeference that she would have known who he was even if she had not seenthe scarlet fez and the white robe. 

"It is your Muley, " she whispered. 

Jean looked round. 

Muley Hafiz was looking across at her; his eyes immediately sought thegirl's, and he bowed slightly. 

"What the devil is he bowing at?" grumbled Mr. Briggerland. "You didn'ttake any notice of him, did you, Jean?"

"I bowed to him, " said his daughter, not troubling to look round. "Don'tbe silly, father; anyway, if he weren't nice, it would be quite theright thing to do. I'm the most distinguished woman in the house becauseI know Muley Hafiz, and he has bowed to me! Don't you realise the socialvalue of a lion's recognition?"

Lydia could not see him distinctly. She had an impression of a whiteface, two large black spaces where his eyes were and a black beard. Hesat all the time in the shadow of a curtain. 

Jean looked round to see if Marcus Stepney was present, hoping that hehad witnessed the exchange of courtesies, but Marcus at that moment waswatching little bundles of twelve thousand franc notes raked across tothe croupier's end of the table--which is the business end of MonteCarlo. 

Jean was the last to leave the car when it set them down at the VillaCasa. Mordon called her respectfully. 

"Excuse me, mademoiselle, " he said, "I wish you would come to the garageand see the new tyres that have arrived. I don't like them. "

It was a code which she had agreed he should use when he wanted her. 

"Very good, Mordon, I will come to the garage later, " she saidcarelessly. 

"What does Mordon want you for?" asked her father, with a frown. 

"You heard him. He doesn't approve of some new tyres that have beenbought for the car, " she said coolly. "And don't ask me questions. I'vegot a headache and I'm dying for a cup of chocolate. "

"If that fellow gives you any trouble he'll be sorry, " said Briggerland. "And let me tell you this, Jean, that marriage idea of yours----"

She only looked at him, but he knew the look and wilted. 

"I don't want to interfere with your private affairs, " he mumbled, "butthe very thought of it gets me crazy. "

The garage was a brick building erected by the side of the carriagedrive, built much nearer the house than is usually the case. 

Jean waited a reasonable time before she slipped away. Mordon waswaiting for her before the open doors of the garage. The place was indarkness; she did not see him standing in the entrance until she waswithin a few paces of the man. 

"Come up to my room, " he said briskly. 

"What do you want?" she asked. 

"I want to speak to you and this is not the place. "

"This is the only place where I am prepared to speak to you at themoment, François, " she said reproachfully. "Don't you realise that myfather is within hearing, and at any moment Madame Meredith may comeout? How would I explain my presence in your room?"

He did not answer for the moment, then:

"Jean, I am worried, " he said, in a troubled voice. "I cannot understandyour plans--they are too clever for me, and I have known men and womenof great attainment. The great Bersac----"

"The great Bersac is dead, " she said coldly. "He was a man of such greatattainments that he came to the knife. Besides, it is not necessarythat you should understand my plans, François. "

She knew quite well what was troubling him, but she waited. 

"I cannot understand the letter which I wrote for you, " said Mordon. "The letter in which I say Madame Meredith loved me. I have thought thismatter out, Jean, and it seems to me that I am compromised. "

She laughed softly. 

"Poor François, " she said mockingly. "With whom could you be compromisedbut with your future wife? If I desire you to write that letter, whatelse matters?"

Again he was silent. 

"I cannot speak here, " he said almost roughly. "You must come to myroom. "

She hesitated. There was something in his voice she did not like. 

"Very well, " she said, and followed him up the steep stairs. 

Chapter XXXIII

"Now explain. " His words were a command, his tone peremptory. 

Jean, who knew men, and read them without error, realised that this wasnot a moment to temporise. 

"I will explain to you, François, but I do not like the way you speak, "she said. "It is not you I wish to compromise, but Madame Meredith. "

"In this letter I wrote for you I said I was going away. I confessed toyou that I had forged a cheque for five million francs. That is a veryserious document, mademoiselle, to be in the possession of anybody butmyself. " He looked at her straight in the eyes and she met his gazeunflinchingly. 

"The thing will be made very clear to you to-morrow, François, " she saidsoftly, "and really there is no reason to worry. I wish to end thisunhappy state of affairs. "

"With me?" he asked quickly. 

"No, with Madame Meredith, " she answered. "I, too, am tired of waitingfor marriage and I intend asking my father's permission for the weddingto take place next week. Indeed, François, " she lowered her eyesmodestly, "I have already written to the British Consul at Nice, askinghim to arrange for the ceremony to be performed. "

The sallow face of the chauffeur flushed a dull red. 

"Do you mean that?" he said eagerly. "Jean, you are not deceiving me?"

She shook her head. 

"No, François, " she said in that low plaintive voice of hers, "I couldnot deceive you in a matter so important to myself. "

He stood watching her, his breast heaving, his burning eyes devouringher, then:

"You will give me back that letter I wrote, Jean?" he said. 

"I will give it to you to-morrow. "

"To-night, " he said, and took both her hands in his. "I am sure I amright. It is too dangerous a letter to be in existence, Jean, dangerousfor you and for me--you will let me have it to-night?"

She hesitated. 

"It is in my room, " she said, an unnecessary statement, and, in thecircumstances, a dangerous one, for his eyes dropped to the bag thathung at her wrist. 

"It is there, " he said. "Jean darling, do as I ask, " he pleaded. "Youknow, every time I think of that letter I go cold. I was a madman when Iwrote it. "

"I have not got it here, " she said steadily. She tried to draw back, butshe was too late. He gripped her wrists and pulled the bag roughly fromher hand. 

"Forgive me, but I know I am right, " he began, and then like a fury sheflew at him, wrenched the bag from his hand, and by the very violence ofher attack, flung him backward. 

He stared at her, and the colour faded from his face leaving it a deadwhite. 

"What is this you are trying to do?" he glowered at her. 

"I will see you in the morning, François, " she said and turned. 

Before she could reach the head of the stairs his arm was round her andhe had dragged her back. 

"My friend, " he said between his teeth, "there is something in thismatter which is bad for me. "

"Let me go, " she breathed and struck at his face. 

For a full minute they struggled, and then the door opened and Mr. Briggerland came in, and at the sight of his livid face, Mordon releasedhis hold. 

"You swine!" hissed the big man. His fist shot out and Mordon went downwith a crash to the ground. For a moment he was stunned, and then with asnarl he turned over on his side and whipped a revolver from his hippocket. Before he could fire, the girl had gripped the pistol andwrenched it from his hand. 

"Get up, " said Briggerland sternly. "Now explain to me, my friend, whatyou mean by this disgraceful attack upon mademoiselle. "

The man rose and dusted himself mechanically and there was that in hisface which boded no good to Mr. Briggerland. 

Before he could speak Jean intervened. 

"Father, " she said quietly, "you have no right to strike François. "

"François, " spluttered Briggerland, his dark face purple with rage. 

"François, " she repeated calmly. "It is right that you should know thatFrançois and I will be married next week. "

Mr. Briggerland's jaw dropped. 

"What?" he almost shrieked. 

She nodded. 

"We are going to be married next week, " she said, "and the little sceneyou witnessed has nothing whatever to do with you. "

The effect of these words on Mordon was magical. The malignant frownwhich had distorted his face cleared away. He looked from Jean toBriggerland as though it were impossible to believe the evidence of hisears. 

"François and I love one another, " Jean went on in her even voice. "Wehave quarrelled to-night on a matter which has nothing to do withanybody save ourselves. "

"You're--going--to--marry--him--next--week?" said Mr. Briggerland dully. "By God, you'll do nothing of the sort!"

She raised her hand. 

"It is too late for you to interfere, father, " she said quietly. "François and I shall go our way and face our own fate. I'm sorry youdisapprove, because you have always been a very loving father to me. "

That was the first hint Mr. Briggerland had received that there might besome other explanation for her words, and he became calmer. 

"Very well, " he said, "I can only tell you that I strongly disapprove ofthe action you have taken and that I shall do nothing whatever tofurther your reckless scheme. But I must insist upon your coming back tothe house now. I cannot have my daughter talked about. "

She nodded. 

"I will see you to-morrow morning early, François, " she said. "Perhapsyou will drive me into Nice before breakfast. I have some purchases tomake. "

He bowed, and reached out his hand for the revolver which she had takenfrom him. 

She looked at the ornate weapon, its silver-plated metal parts, thegraceful ivory handle. 

"I'm not going to trust you with this to-night, " she said with her raresmile. "Good night, François. "

He took her hand and kissed it. 

"Good night, Jean, " he said in a tremulous voice. For a moment theireyes met, and then she turned as though she dared not trust herself andfollowed her father down the stairs. 

They were half-way to the house when she laid her hand on Briggerland'sarm. 

"Keep this, " she said. It was François' revolver. "It is probably loadedand I thought I saw some silver initials inlaid in the ivory handle. IfI know François Mordon, they are his. "

"What do you want me to do with it?" he said as he slipped the weapon inhis pocket. 

She laughed. 

"On your way to bed, come in to my room, " she said. "I've quite a lot totell you, " and she sailed into the drawing-room to interrupt Mrs. Cole-Mortimer, who was teaching a weary Lydia the elements of bezique. 

"Where have you been, Jean?" asked Lydia, putting down her cards. 

"I have been arranging a novel experience for you, but I'm not so surethat it will be as interesting as it might--it all depends upon thestate of your young heart, " said Jean, pulling up a chair. 

"My young heart is very healthy, " laughed Lydia. "What is theinteresting experience?"

"Are you in love?" challenged Jean, searching in a big chintz bag whereshe kept her handiwork for a piece of unfinished sewing. (Jean'sdomesticity was always a source of wonder to Lydia. )

"In love--good heavens, no. "

"So much the better, " nodded Jean, "that sounds as though the experiencewill be fascinating. "

She waited until she had threaded the fine needle before she explained. 

"If you really are not in love and you sit on the Lovers' Chair, thename of your future husband will come to you. If you're in love, ofcourse, that complicates matters a little. "

"But suppose I don't want to know the name of my future husband?"

"Then you're inhuman, " said Jean. 

"Where is this magical chair?"

"It is on the San Remo road beyond the frontier station. You've beenthere, haven't you, Margaret?"

"Once, " said Mrs. Cole-Mortimer, who had not been east of Cap Martin, but whose rule it was never to admit that she had missed anything worthseeing. 

"In a wild, eerie spot, " Jean went on, "and miles from any humanhabitation. "

"Are you going to take me?"

Jean shook her head. 

"That would ruin the spell, " she said solemnly. "No, my dear, if youwant that thrill, and, seriously, it is worth while, because the sceneryis the most beautiful of any along the coast, you must go alone. "

Lydia nodded. 

"I'll try it. Is it too far to walk?" she asked. 

"Much too far, " said Jean. "Mordon will drive you out. He knows the roadvery well and you ought not to take anybody but an experienced driver. Ihave a _permis_ for the car to pass the frontier; you will probably meetfather in San Remo--he is taking a motor-cycle trip, aren't you, daddy?"

Mr. Briggerland drew a long breath and nodded. He was beginning tounderstand. 

Chapter XXXIV

There was lying in Monaco harbour a long white boat with a stumpy mast, which delighted in the name of _Jungle Queen_. It was the property of animpecunious English nobleman who made a respectable income from lettingthe vessel on hire. 

Mrs. Cole-Mortimer had seemed surprised at the reasonable fee demandedfor two months' use until she had seen the boat the day after herarrival at Cap Martin. 

She had pictured a large and commodious yacht; she found a reasonablysized motor-launch with a whale-deck cabin. The description in theagent's catalogue that the _Jungle Queen_ would "sleep four" wasprobably based on the experience of a party of young roisterers who hadonce hired the vessel. Supposing that the "four" were reasonably drunkor heavily drugged, it was possible for them to sleep on board the_Jungle Queen_. Normally two persons would have found it difficult, though by lying diagonally across the "cabin" one small-sized man couldhave slumbered without discomfort. 

The _Jungle Queen_ had been a disappointment to Jean also. Her busybrain had conceived an excellent way of solving her principal problem, but a glance at the _Jungle Queen_ told her that the money she had spenton hiring the launch--and it was little better--was wasted. She herselfhated the sea and had so little faith in the utility of the boat, thatshe had even dismissed the youth who attended to its well-worn engines. 

Mr. Marcus Stepney, who was mildly interested in motor-boating, andconsiderably interested in any form of amusement which he could get atsomebody else's expense, had so far been the sole patron of the _JungleQueen_. It was his practice to take the boat out every morning for a twohours' sail, generally alone, though sometimes he would take somebodywhose acquaintance he had made, and who was destined to be a source ofprofit to him in the future. 

Jean's talk of the cave-man method of wooing had made a big impressionupon him, emphasised as it had been, and still was, by the two angry redscars across the back of his hand. Things were not going well with him;the supply of rich and trusting youths had suddenly dried up. The littlegames in his private sitting-room had dwindled to feeble proportions. Hewas still able to eke out a living, but his success at his privateséances had been counter-balanced by heavy losses at the public tables. 

It is a known fact that people who live outside the law keep to theirown plane. The swindler very rarely commits acts of violence. Theburglar who practises card-sharping as a side-line, is virtuallyunknown. 

Mr. Stepney lived on a plausible tongue and a pair of highly dexteroushands. It had never occurred to him to go beyond his own sphere, andindeed violence was as repugnant to him as it was vulgar. 

Yet the cave-man suggestion appealed to him. He had a way with women ofa certain kind, and if his confidence had been rather shaken by Jean'ssavagery and Lydia's indifference, he had not altogether abandoned thehope that both girls in their turn might be conquered by the adoption ofthe right method. 

The method for dealing with Jean he had at the back of his mind. 

As for Lydia--Jean's suggestion was very attractive. It was after a veryheavily unprofitable night spent at the Nice Casino, that he took hiscourage in both hands and drove to the Villa Casa. 

He was an early arrival, but Lydia had already finished her _petitedéjeuner_ and she was painfully surprised to see him. 

"I'm not swimming to-day, Mr. Stepney, " she said, "and you don't lookas if you were either. "

He was dressed in perfectly fitting white duck trousers, white shoes, and a blue nautical coat with brass buttons; a yachtsman's cap was setat an angle on his dark head. 

"No, I'm going out to do a little fishing, " he said, "and I waswondering whether, in your charity, you would accompany me. "

She shook her head. 

"I'm sorry--I have another engagement this morning, " she said. 

"Can't you break it?" he pleaded, "as an especial favour to me? I'vemade all preparations and I've got a lovely lunch on board--you said youwould come fishing with me one day. "

"I'd like to, " she confessed, "but I really have something veryimportant to do this morning. "

She did not tell him that her important duty was to sit on the Lovers'Chair. Somehow her trip seemed just a little silly in the cold clearlight of morning. 

"I could have you back in time, " he begged. "Do come along, Mrs. Meredith! You're going to spoil my day. "

"I'm sure Lydia wouldn't be so unkind. "

Jean had made her appearance as they were speaking. 

"What is the scheme, Lydia?"

"Mr. Stepney wants me to go out in the yacht, " said the girl, and Jeansmiled. 

"I'm glad you call it a 'yacht, '" she said dryly. "You're the secondperson who has so described it. The first was the agent. Take herto-morrow, Marcus. "

There was a glint of amusement in her eyes, and he felt that she knewwhat was at the back of his mind. 

"All right, " he said in a tone which suggested that it was anything butall right, and added, "I saw you flying through Nice this morning withthat yellow-faced chauffeur of yours, Jean. "

"Were you up so early?" she asked carelessly. 

"I wasn't dressed, I was looking out of the window--my room faces thePromenade d'Anglaise. I don't like that fellow. "

"I shouldn't let him know, " said Jean coolly. "He is very sensitive. There are so many fellows that you dislike, too. "

"I don't think you ought to allow him so much freedom, " Marcus Stepneywent on. He was not in an amiable frame of mind, and the knowledge thathe was annoying the girl encouraged him. "If you give these Frenchchauffeurs an inch they'll take a kilometre. "

"I suppose they would, " said Jean thoughtfully. "How is your poor hand, Marcus?"

He growled something under his breath and thrust his hand deep into thepocket of his reefer coat. 

"It is quite well, " he snapped, and went back to Monaco and his solitaryboat trip, flaming. 

"One of these days ... " he muttered, as he tuned up the motor. He didnot finish his sentence, but sent the nose of the _Jungle Queen_ at fullspeed for the open sea. 

Jean's talk with Mordon that morning had not been wholly satisfactory. She had calmed his suspicions to an extent, but he still harped upon theletter, and she had promised to give it to him that evening. 

"My dear, " she said, "you are too impulsive--too Gallic. I had aterrible scene with father last night. He wants me to break off theengagement; told me what my friends in London would say, and how Ishould be a social outcast. "

"And you--you, Jean?" he asked. 

"I told him that such things did not trouble me, " she said, and her lipsdrooped sadly. "I know I cannot be happy with anybody but you, François, and I am willing to face the sneers of London, even the hatred and scornof my father, for your sake. "

He would have seized her hand, though they were in the open road, butshe drew away from him. 

"Be careful, François, " she warned him. 

"Remember that you have a very little time to wait. "

"I cannot believe my good fortune, " he babbled, as he brought the car upthe gentle incline into Monte Carlo. He dodged an early morning tram, missing an unsuspecting passenger, who had come round the back of thetram-car, by inches, and set the big Italia up the palm avenue into thetown. 

"It is incredible, and yet I always thought some great thing wouldhappen to me, and, Jean, I have risked so much for you. I would havekilled Madame in London if she had not been dragged out of the way bythat old man, and did I not watch for you when the man Meredith----"

"Hush, " she said in a low voice. "Let us talk about something else. "

"Shall I see your father? I am sorry for what I did last night, " he saidwhen they were nearing the villa. 

"Father has taken his motor-bicycle and gone for a trip into Italy, " shesaid. "No, I do not think I should speak to him, even if he were here. He may come round in time, François. You can understand that it isterribly distressing; he hoped I would make a great marriage. You mustallow for father's disappointment. "

He nodded. He did not drive her to the house, but stopped outside thegarage. 

"Remember, at half-past ten you will take Madame Meredith to the Lovers'Chair--you know the place?"

"I know it very well, " he said. "It is a difficult place to turn--I musttake her almost into San Remo. Why does she want to go to the Lovers'Chair? I thought only the cheap people went there----"

"You must not tell her that, " she said sharply. "Besides, I myself havebeen there. "

"And who did you think of, Jean?" he asked suddenly. 

She lowered her eyes. 

"I will not tell you--now, " she said, and ran into the house. 

François stood gazing after her until she had disappeared, and then, like a man waking from a trance, he turned to the mundane business offilling his tank. 

Chapter XXXV

Lydia was dressing for her journey when Mrs. Cole-Mortimer came into thesaloon where Jean was writing. 

"There's a telephone call from Monte Carlo, " she said. "Somebody wantsto speak to Lydia. "

Jean jumped up. 

"I'll answer it, " she said. 

The voice at the other end of the wire was harsh and unfamiliar to her. 

"I want to speak to Mrs. Meredith. "

"Who is it?" asked Jean. 

"It is a friend of hers, " said the voice. "Will you tell her? Thebusiness is rather urgent. "

"I'm sorry, " said Jean, "but she's just gone out. "

She heard an exclamation of annoyance. 

"Do you know where she's gone?" asked the voice. 

"I think she's gone in to Monte Carlo, " said Jean. 

"If I miss her will you tell her not to go out again until I come to thehouse?"

"Certainly, " said Jean politely, and hung up the telephone. 

"Was that a call for me?"

It was Lydia's voice from the head of the stairs. 

"Yes, dear. I think it was Marcus Stepney who wanted to speak to you. Itold him you'd gone out, " said Jean. "You didn't wish to speak to him?"

"Good heavens, no!" said Lydia. "You're sure you won't come with me?"

"I'd rather stay here, " said Jean truthfully. 

The car was at the door, and Mordon, looking unusually spruce in hiswhite dust coat, stood by the open door. 

"How long shall I be away?" asked Lydia. 

"About two hours, dear, you'll be very hungry when you come back, " saidJean, kissing her. "Now, mind you think of the right man, " she warnedher in mockery. 

"I wonder if I shall, " said Lydia quietly. 

Jean watched the car out of sight, then went back to the saloon. She washardly seated before the telephone rang again, and she anticipated Mrs. Cole-Mortimer, and answered it. 

"Mrs. Meredith has not gone in to Monte Carlo, " said the voice. "Her carhas not been seen on the road. "

"Is that Mr. Jaggs?" asked Jean sweetly. 

"Yes, miss, " was the reply. 

"Mrs. Meredith has come back now. I'm dreadfully sorry, I thought shehad gone into Monte Carlo. She's in her room with a bad headache. Willyou come and see her?"

There was an interval of silence. 

"Yes, I will come, " said Jaggs. 

Twenty minutes later a taxicab set down the old man at the door, and amaid admitted him and brought him into the saloon. 

Jean rose to meet him. She looked at the bowed figure of old Jaggs. Tookhim all in, from his iron-grey hair to his dusty shoes, and then shepointed to a chair. 

"Sit down, " she said, and old Jaggs obeyed. "You've something veryimportant to tell Mrs. Meredith, I suppose. "

"I'll tell her that myself, miss, " said the old man gruffly. 

"Well, before you tell her anything, I want to make a confession, " shesmiled down on old Jaggs, and pulled up a chair so that she faced him. 

He was sitting with his back to the light, holding his battered hat onhis knees. 

"I've really brought you up under false pretences, " she said, "becauseMrs. Meredith isn't here at all. "

"Not here?" he said, half rising. 

"No, she's gone for a ride with our chauffeur. But I wanted to see you, Mr. Jaggs, because--" she paused. "I realise that you're a dear friendof hers and have her best interests at heart. I don't know who you are, "she said, shaking her head, "but I know, of course, that Mr. John Gloverhas employed you. "

"What's all this about?" he asked gruffly. "What have you to tell me?"

"I don't know how to begin, " she said, biting her lips. "It is such adelicate matter that I hate talking about it at all. But the attitude ofMrs. Meredith to our chauffeur Mordon, is distressing, and I think Mr. Glover should be told. "

He did not speak and she went on. 

"These things do happen, I know, " she said, "but I am happy to say thatnothing of that sort has come into my experience, and, of course, Mordonis a good-looking man and she is young----"

"What are you talking about?" His tone was dictatorial and commanding. 

"I mean, " she said, "that I fear poor Lydia is in love with Mordon. "

He sprang to his feet. 

"It's a damned lie!" he said, and she stared at him. "Now tell me whathas happened to Lydia Meredith, " he went on, "and let me tell you this, Jean Briggerland, that if one hair of that girl's head is harmed, I willfinish the work I began out there, " he pointed to the garden, "andstrangle you with my own hands. "

She lifted her eyes to his and dropped them again, and began totremble, then turning suddenly on her heel, she fled to her room, lockedthe door and stood against it, white and shaking. For the second time inher life Jean Briggerland was afraid. 

She heard his quick footsteps in the passage outside, and there came atap on her door. 

"Let me in, " growled the man, and for a second she almost lost controlof herself. She looked wildly round the room for some way of escape, andthen as a thought struck her, she ran quickly into the bath-room, whichopened from her room. A large sponge was set to dry by an open window, and this she seized; on a shelf by the side of the bath was a big bottleof ammonia, and averting her face, she poured its contents upon thesponge until it was sodden, then with the dripping sponge in her hand, she crept back, turned the key and opened the door. 

The old man burst in, then, before he realised what was happening, thesponge was pressed against his face. The pungent drug almost blindedhim, its paralysing fumes brought him on to his knees. He gripped herwrist and tried to press away her hand, but now her arm was round hisneck, and he could not get the purchase. 

With a groan of agony he collapsed on the floor. In that instant she wason him like a cat, her knee between his shoulders. 

Half unconscious he felt his hands drawn to his back, and felt somethinglashing them together. She was using the silk girdle which had beenabout her waist, and her work was effective. 

Presently she turned him over on his back. The ammonia was still in hiseyes, and he could not open them. The agony was terrible, almostunendurable. With her hand under his arm he struggled to his feet. Hefelt her lead him somewhere, and suddenly he was pushed into a chair. She left him alone for a little while, but presently came back and beganto tie his feet together. It was a most amazing single-handedcapture--even Jean could never have imagined the ease with which shecould gain her victory. 

"I'm sorry to hurt an old man. " There was a sneer in her voice which hehad not heard before. "But if you promise not to shout, I will not gagyou. "

He heard the sound of running water, and presently with a wet cloth shebegan wiping his eyes gently. 

"You will be able to see in a minute, " said Jean's cool voice. "In themeantime you'll stay here until I send for the police. "

For all his pain he was forced to chuckle. 

"Until you send for the police, eh? You know me?"

"I only know you're a wicked old man who broke into this house whilst Iwas alone and the servants were out, " she said. 

"You know why I've come?" he insisted. "I've come to tell Mrs. Merediththat a hundred thousand pounds have been taken from her bank on a forgedsignature. "

"How absurd, " said Jean. She was sitting on the edge of the bath lookingat the bedraggled figure. "How could anybody draw money from Mrs. Meredith's bank whilst her dear friend and guardian, Jack Glover, is inLondon to see that she is not robbed. "

"Old Jaggs" glared up at her from his inflamed eyes. 

"You know very well, " he said distinctly, "that I am Jack Glover, andthat I have not left Monte Carlo since Lydia Meredith arrived. "

Chapter XXXVI

Mr. Briggerland did not enthuse over any form of sport or exercise. Hishobbies were confined to the handsome motor-cycle, which not onlyprovided him with recreation, but had, on occasion, been of assistancein the carrying out of important plans, formulated by his daughter. 

He stopped at Mentone for breakfast and climbed the hill to Grimaldiafter passing the frontier station at Pont St. Louis. He had all themorning before him, and there was no great hurry. At Ventimille he had asecond breakfast, for the morning was keen and his appetite was good. Heloafed through the little town, with a cigar between his teeth, boughtsome curios at a shop and continued his leisurely journey. 

His objective was San Remo. There was a train at one o'clock which wouldbring him and his machine back to Monte Carlo, where it was hisintention to spend the remainder of the afternoon. At Pont St. Louis hehad had a talk with the Customs Officer. 

"No, m'sieur, there are very few travellers on the road in themorning, " said the official. "It is not until late in the afternoon thatthe traffic begins. Times have changed on the Riviera, and so manypeople go to Cannes. The old road is almost now deserted. "

At eleven o'clock Mr. Briggerland came to a certain part of the road andfound a hiding-place for his motor-cycle--a small plantation of olivetrees on the hill side. Incidentally it was an admirable resting place, for from here he commanded an extensive view of the western road. 

Lydia's journey had been no less enjoyable. She, too, had stopped atMentone to explore the town, and had left Pont St. Louis an hour afterMr. Briggerland had passed. 

The road to San Remo runs under the shadow of steep hills through ableak stretch of country from which even the industrious peasantry ofnorthern Italy cannot win a livelihood. Save for isolated patches ofcultivated land, the hills are bare and menacing. 

With these gaunt plateaux on one side and the rock-strewn seashore onthe other, there was little to hold the eye save an occasional glimpseof the Italian town in the far distance. There was a wild uncouthnessabout the scenery which awed the girl. Sometimes the car would berunning so near the sea level that the spray of the waves hit thewindows; sometimes it would climb over an out-jutting headland and shewould look down upon a bouldered beach a hundred feet below. 

It was on the crest of a headland that the car stopped. 

Here the road ran out in a semi-circle so that from where she sat shecould not see its continuation either before or behind. Ahead it slippedround the shoulder of a high and over-hanging mass of rock, throughwhich the road must have been cut. Behind it dipped down to a cove, hidden from sight. 

"There is the Lovers' Chair, mademoiselle, " said Mordon. 

Half a dozen feet beneath the road level was a broad shelf of rock. Afew stone steps led down and she followed them. The Lovers' Chair wascarved in the face of the rock and she sat down to view the beauty ofthe scene. The solitude, the stillness which only the lazy waves broke, the majesty of the setting, brought a strange peace to her. Beyond theedge of the ledge the cliff fell sheer to the water, and she shivered asshe stepped back from her inspection. 

Mordon did not see her go. He sat on the running board of his car, hispale face between his hands, a prey to his own gloomy thoughts. Theremust be a development, he told himself. He was beginning to get uneasy, and for the first time he doubted the sincerity of the woman who hadbeen to him as a goddess. 

He did not hear Mr. Briggerland, for the dark man was light of foot, when he came round the shoulder of the hill. Mordon's back was towardhim. Suddenly the chauffeur looked round. 

"M'sieur, " he stammered, and would have risen, but Briggerland laid hishand on his shoulder. 

"Do not rise, François, " he said pleasantly. "I am afraid I was hastylast night. "

"M'sieur, it was I who was hasty, " said Mordon huskily, "it wasunpardonable.... "

"Nonsense, " Briggerland patted the man's shoulder. "What is that boatout there--a man o' war, François?"

François Mordon turned his head toward the sea, and Briggerland pointedthe ivory-handled pistol he had held behind his back and shot him dead. 

The report of the revolver thrown down by the rocks came to Lydia like aclap of thunder. At first she thought it was a tyre burst and hurried upthe steps to see. 

Mr. Briggerland was standing with his back to the car. At his feet wasthe tumbled body of Mordon. 

"Mr. --Brig... !" she gasped, and saw the revolver in his hand. With a cryshe almost flung herself down the steps as the revolver exploded. Thebullet ripped her hat from her head, and she flung up her hands, thinking she had been struck. 

Then the dark face showed over the parapet and again the revolver waspresented. She stared for a second into his benevolent eyes, and thensomething hit her violently and she staggered back, and dropped over theedge of the shelf down, straight down into the sea below. 

Chapter XXXVII

Probably Jean Briggerland never gave a more perfect representation ofshocked surprise than when old Jaggs announced that he was Jack Glover. 

"Mr. Glover, " she said incredulously. 

"If you'll be kind enough to release my hands, " said Jack savagely, "Iwill convince you. "

Jean, all meekness, obeyed, and presently he stood up with a groan. 

"You've nearly blinded me, " he said, turning to the glass. 

"If I'd known it was you----"

"Don't make me laugh!" he snapped. "Of course you knew who it was!" Hetook off the wig and peeled the beard from his face. 

"Was that very painful?" she asked, sympathetically, and Jack snorted. 

"How was I to know that it was you?" she demanded, virtuously indignant, "I thought you were a wicked old man----"

"You thought nothing of the sort, Miss Briggerland, " said Jack. "Youknew who I was, and you guessed why I had taken on this disguise. I wasnot many yards from you when it suddenly dawned upon you that I couldnot sleep at Lydia Meredith's flat unless I went there in the guise ofan old man. "

"Why should you want to sleep at her flat at all?" she asked innocently. "It doesn't seem to me to be a very proper ambition. "

"That is an unnecessary question, and I'm wasting my time when I answeryou, " said Jack sternly. "I went there to save her life, to protect heragainst your murderous plots!"

"My murderous plots?" she repeated aghast. "You surely don't know whatyou're saying. "

"I know this, " and his face was not pleasant to see. "I have sufficientevidence to secure the arrest of your father, and possibly yourself. Formonths I have been working on that first providential accident ofyours--the rich Australian who died with such remarkable suddenness. Imay not get you in the Meredith case, and I may not be able to jail youfor your attacks on Mrs. Meredith, but I have enough evidence to hangyour father for the earlier crime. "

Her face was blank--expressionless. Never before had she been brought upshort with such a threat as the man was uttering, nor had she ever beenin danger of detection. And all the time she was eyeing him so steadily, not a muscle of her face moving, her mind was groping back into thepast, examining every detail of the crime he had mentioned, seeking forsome flaw in the carefully prepared plan which had brought a good man toa violent and untimely end. 

"That kind of bluff doesn't impress me, " she said at last. "You're in apoor way when you have to invent crimes to attach to me. "

"We'll go into that later. Where is Lydia?" he said shortly. 

"I tell you I don't know, except that she has gone out for a drive. Iexpect her back very soon. "

"Is your father with her?"

She shook her head. 

"No, father went out early. I don't know who gave you authority tocross-examine me. Why, Jack Glover, you have all the importance of aFrench examining magistrate, " she smiled. 

"You may learn how important they are soon, " he said significantly. "Where is your chauffeur, Mordon?"

"He is gone, too--in fact, he is driving Lydia. Why?" she asked with alittle tightening of heart. She had only just been in time, she thought. So they had associated Mordon with the forgery!

His first words confirmed this suspicion. 

"There is a warrant for Mordon which will be executed as soon as hereturns, " said Jack. "We have been able to trace him in London and alsothe woman who presented the cheque. We know his movements from the timehe left Nice by aeroplane for Paris to the time he returned to Nice. Thepeople who changed the money for him will swear to his identity. "

If he expected to startle her he was disappointed. She raised hereyebrows. 

"I can't believe it is possible. Mordon was such an honest man, " shesaid. "We trusted him implicitly, and never once did he betray ourtrust. Now, Mr. Glover, " she said coolly, "might I suggest that aninterview with a gentleman in my bedroom is not calculated to increasemy servants' respect for me? Will you go downstairs and wait until Icome?"

"You'll not attempt to leave this house?" he said, and she laughed. 

"Really, you're going on like one of those infallible detectives onereads about in the popular magazines, " she said a little contemptuously. "You have no authority whatever to keep me from leaving this house andnobody knows that better than you. But you needn't be afraid. Sit on thestairs if you like until I come down. "

When he had gone she rang the bell for her maid and handed her anenvelope. 

"I shall be in the saloon, talking to Mr. Glover, " she said in a lowvoice. "I want you to bring this in and say that you found it in thehall. "

"Yes, miss, " said the woman. 

Jean proceeded leisurely to her toilet. In the struggle her dress hadbeen torn, and she changed it for a pale green silk gown, and Jack, pacing in the hall below, was on the point of coming up to discover ifshe had made her escape, when she sailed serenely down the stairs. 

"I should like to know one thing, Mr. Glover, " she said as she went intothe saloon. "What do you intend doing? What is your immediate plan? Areyou going to spirit Lydia away from us? Of course, I know you're in lovewith her and all that sort of thing. "

His face went pink. 

"I am not in love with Mrs. Meredith, " he lied. 

"Don't be silly, " she said practically, "of course you're in love withher. "

"My first job is to get that money back, and you're going to help me, "he said. 

"Of course I'm going to help you, " she agreed. "If Mordon has been sucha scoundrel, he must suffer the consequence. I'm sure that you are tooclever to have made any mistake. Poor Mordon. I wonder what made him doit, because he is such a good friend of Lydia's, and seriously, Mr. Glover, I do think Lydia is being indiscreet. "

"You made that remark before, " he said quietly. "Now perhaps you'llexplain what you mean. "

She shrugged her shoulders. 

"They are always about together. I saw them strolling on the lawn lastnight till quite a late hour, and I was so scared lest Mrs. Cole-Mortimer noticed it too----"

"Which means that Mrs. Cole-Mortimer did not notice it. You're clever, Jean! Even as you invent you make preparations to refute any evidencethat the other side can produce. I don't believe a word you say. "

There was a knock at the door and the maid entered bearing a letter on asalver. 

"This was addressed to you, miss, " she said. "It was on the halltable--didn't you see it?"

"No, " said Jean in surprise. She took the letter, looked down at theaddress and opened it. 

He saw a look of amazement and horror come to her face. 

"Good God!" gasped Jean. 

"What is it?" he said, springing up. 

She stared at the letter again and from the letter to him. 

"Read it, " she said in a hollow voice. 

 "_Dear Mademoiselle_, "_I have returned from London and have confessed to Madame Meredith that I have forged her name and have drawn £100, 000 from her bank. And now I have learnt that Madame Meredith loves me. There is only one end to this--that which you see----_"

Jack read the letter twice. 

"It is in his writing, too, " he muttered. "It's impossible, incredible!I tell you I've had Mrs. Meredith under my eyes all the time she hasbeen here. Is there a letter from her?" he asked suddenly. "But no, itis impossible, impossible!"

"I haven't been into her room. Will you come up with me?"

He followed her up the stairs and into Lydia's big bedroom, and thefirst thing that caught his eye was a sealed letter on a table near thebed. He picked it up. It was addressed to him, in Lydia's handwriting, and feverishly he tore it open. 

His face, when he had finished reading, was as white as hers had been. 

"Where have they gone?" he asked. 

"They went to San Remo. "

"By car?"

"Of course. "

Without a word he turned and ran down the stairs out of the house. 

The taxi that had brought him in the role of Jaggs had gone, but downthe road, a dozen yards away, was the car he had hired on the day hecame to Monte Carlo. He gave instructions to the driver and jumped in. The car sped through Mentone, stopped only the briefest while at theCustoms barrier whilst Jack pursued his inquiries. 

Yes, a lady had passed, but she had not returned. 

How long ago?

Perhaps an hour; perhaps less. 

At top speed the big car thundered along the sea road, twisting andturning, diving into valleys and climbing steep headlands, and thenrounding a corner, Jack saw the car and a little crowd about it. Hisheart turned to stone as he leapt to the road. 

He saw the backs of two Italian gendarmes, and pushing aside the littleknot of idlers, he came into the centre of the group and stopped. Mordonlay on his face in a pool of blood, and one of the policemen was holdingan ivory-handled revolver. 

"It was with this that the crime was committed, " he said in floridItalian. "Three of the chambers are empty. Now, at whom were the othertwo discharged?"

Jack reeled and gripped the mud-guard of the car for support, then hiseyes strayed to the opening in the wall which ran on the seaward side ofthe road. 

He walked to the parapet and looked over, and the first thing he saw wasa torn hat and veil, and he knew it was Lydia's. 

Chapter XXXVIII

Mr. Briggerland, killing time on the quay at Monaco, saw the _JungleQueen_ come into harbour and watched Marcus land, carrying his lines inhis hand. 

As Marcus came abreast of him he called and Mr. Stepney looked roundwith a start. 

"Hello, Briggerland, " he said, swallowing something. 

"Well, have you been fishing?" asked Mr. Briggerland in his mostpaternal manner. 

"Yes, " admitted Marcus. 

"Did you catch anything?"

Stepney nodded. 

"Only one, " he said. 

"Hard luck, " said Mr. Briggerland, with a smile, "but where is Mrs. Meredith--I understood she was going out with you to-day?"

"She went to San Remo, " said Stepney shortly, and the other nodded. 

"To be sure, " he said. "I had forgotten that. "

Later he bought a copy of the _Nicoise_ and learnt of the tragedy on theSan Remo road. It brought him back to the house, a visibly agitatedman. 

"This is shocking news, my dear, " he panted into the saloon and stoodstock still at the sight of Mr. Jack Glover. 

"Come in, Briggerland, " said Jack, without ceremony. There was a manwith him, a tall, keen Frenchman whom Briggerland recognised as thechief detective of the Préfecture. "We want you to give an account ofyour actions. "

"My actions?" said Mr. Briggerland indignantly. "Do you associate mewith this dreadful tragedy? A tragedy, " he said, "which has stricken mealmost dumb with horror and remorse. Why did I ever allow that villaineven to speak to poor Lydia?"

"Nevertheless, m'sieur, " said the tall man quietly, "you must tell uswhere you have been. "

"That is easily explained. I went to San Remo. "

"By road?"

"Yes, by road, " said Mr. Briggerland, "on my motor-bicycle. "

"What time did you arrive in San Remo?"

"At midday, or it may have been a quarter of an hour before. "

"You know that the murder must have been committed at half-past eleven?"said Jack. 

"So the newspapers tell me. "

"Where did you go in San Remo?" asked the detective. 

"I went to a café and had a glass of wine, then I strolled about thetown and lunched at the Victoria. I caught the one o'clock train toMonte Carlo. "

"Did you hear nothing of the murder?"

"Not a word, " said Mr. Briggerland, "not a word. "

"Did you see the car?"

Mr. Briggerland shook his head. 

"I left some time before poor Lydia, " he said softly. 

"Did you know of any attachment between the chauffeur and your guest?"

"I had no idea such a thing existed. If I had, " said Mr. Briggerlandvirtuously, "I should have taken immediate steps to have brought poorLydia to her senses. "

"Your daughter says that they were frequently together. Did you noticethis?"

"Yes, I did notice it, but my daughter and I are very democratic. Wehave made a friend of Mordon and I suppose what would have seemedfamiliar to you, would pass unnoticed with us. Yes, I certainly doremember my poor friend and Mordon walking together in the garden. "

"Is this yours?" The detective took from behind a curtain an old Britishrifle. 

"Yes, that is mine, " admitted Briggerland without a moment's hesitation. "It is one I bought in Amiens, a souvenir of our gallant soldiers----"

"I know, I quite understand your patriotic motive in purchasing it, "said the detective dryly, "but will you tell us how this passed fromyour possession. "

"I haven't the slightest notion, " said Mr. Briggerland in surprise. "Ihad no idea it was lost--I'd lost sight of it for some weeks. Can it bethat Mordon--but no, I must not think so evilly of him. "

"What were you going to suggest?" asked Jack. "That Mordon fired at Mrs. Meredith when she was on the swimming raft? If you are, I can save youthe trouble of telling that lie. It was you who fired, and it was I whoknocked you out. "

Mr. Briggerland's face was a study. 

"I can't understand why you make such a wild and unfounded charge, " hesaid gently. "Perhaps, my dear, you could elucidate this mystery. "

Jean had not spoken since he entered. She sat bolt upright on a chair, her hands folded in her lap, her sad eyes fixed now upon Jack, now uponthe detective. She shook her head. 

"I know nothing about the rifle, and did not even know you possessedone, " she said. "But please answer all their questions, father. I am asanxious as you are to get to the bottom of this dreadful tragedy. Haveyou told my father about the letters which were discovered?"

The detective shook his head. 

"I have not seen your father until he arrived this moment, " he said. 

"Letters?" Mr. Briggerland looked at his daughter. "Did poor Lydia leavea letter?"

She nodded. 

"I think Mr. Glover will tell you, father, " she said. "Poor Lydia had anattachment for Mordon. It is very clear what happened. They went outto-day, never intending to return----"

"Mrs. Meredith had no intention of going to the Lovers' Chair until yousuggested the trip to her, " said Jack quietly. "Mrs. Cole-Mortimer isvery emphatic on that point. "

"Has the body been found?" asked Mr. Briggerland. 

"Nothing has been found but the chauffeur, " said the detective. 

After a few more questions he took Jack outside. 

"It looks very much to me as though it were one of those crimes ofpassion which are so frequent in this country, " he said. "Mordon was aFrenchman and I have been able to identify him by tattoo marks on hisarm, as a man who has been in the hands of the police many times. "

"You think there is no hope?"

The detective shrugged his shoulders. 

"We are dragging the pool. There is very deep water under the rock, butthe chances are that the body has been washed out to sea. There isclearly no evidence against these people, except yours. The lettersmight, of course, have been forged, but you say you are certain that thewriting is Mrs. Meredith's. "

Jack nodded. 

They were walking down the road towards the officers' waiting car, whenJack asked:

"May I see that letter again?"

The detective took it from his pocket book and Jack stopped and scannedit. 

"Yes, it is her writing, " he said and then uttered an exclamation. 

"Do you see that?"

He pointed eagerly to two little marks before the words "Dear friend. "

"Quotation marks, " said the detective, puzzled. "Why did she writethat?"

"I've got it, " said Jack. "The story! Mademoiselle Briggerland told meshe was writing a story, and I remember she said she had writer's cramp. Suppose she dictated a portion of the story to Mrs. Meredith, andsuppose in that story there occurred this letter: Lydia would have putthe quotation marks mechanically. "

The detective took the letter from his hand. 

"It is possible, " he said. "The writing is very even--it shows no signof agitation, and of course the character's initials might be 'L. M. ' Itis an ingenious hypothesis, and not wholly improbable, but if this werea part of the story, there would be other sheets. Would you like me tosearch the house?"

Jack shook his head. 

"She's much too clever to have them in the house, " he said. "More likelyshe's put them in the fire. "

"What fire?" asked the detective dryly. "These houses have no fires, they're central heated--unless she went to the kitchen. "

"Which she wouldn't do, " said Jack thoughtfully. "No, she'd burn them inthe garden. "

The detective nodded, and they returned to the house. 

Jean, deep in conversation with her father, saw them reappear, andwatched them as they walked slowly across the lawn toward the trees, their eyes fixed on the ground. 

"What are they looking for?" she asked with a frown. 

"I'll go and see, " said Briggerland, but she caught his arm. 

"Do you think they'll tell you?" she asked sarcastically. 

She ran up to her own room and watched them from behind a curtain. Presently they passed out of sight to the other side of the house, andshe went into Lydia's room and overlooked them from there. Suddenly shesaw the detective stoop and pick up something from the ground, and herteeth set. 

"The burnt story, " she said. "I never dreamt they'd look for that. "

It was only a scrap they found, but it was in Lydia's writing, and thepencil mark was clearly visible on the charred ashes. 

"'Laura Martin, '" read the detective. "'L. M. , ' and there are the words'tragic' and 'remorse'. "

From the remainder of the charred fragments they collected nothing ofimportance. Jean watched them disappear along the avenue, and went downto her father. 

"I had a fright, " she said. 

"You look as if you've still got it, " he said. He eyed her keenly. 

She shook her head. 

"Father, you must understand that this adventure may end disastrously. There are ninety-nine chances against the truth being known, but it isthe extra chance that is worrying me. We ought to have settled Lydiamore quietly, more naturally. There was too much melodrama and shooting, but I don't see how we could have done anything else--Mordon was verytiresome. "

"Where did Glover come from?" asked Mr. Briggerland. 

"He's been here all the time, " said the girl. 

"What?"

She nodded. 

"He was old Jaggs. I had an idea he was, but I was certain when Iremembered that he had stayed at Lydia's flat. "

He put down his tea cup and wiped his lips with a silk handkerchief. 

"I wish this business was over, " he said fretfully. "It looks as if weshall have trouble. "

"Of course we shall, " she said coldly. "You didn't expect to get afortune of six hundred thousand pounds without trouble, did you? I daresay we shall be suspected. But it takes a lot of suspicion to worry me. We'll be in calm water soon, for the rest of our lives. "

"I hope so, " he said without any great conviction. 

Mrs. Cole-Mortimer was prostrate and in bed, and Jean had no patience tosee her. 

She herself ordered the dinner, and they had finished when a visitor inthe shape of Mr. Marcus Stepney came in. 

It was unusual of Marcus to appear at the dinner hour, except in eveningdress, and she remarked the fact wonderingly. 

"Can I have a word with you, Jean?" he asked. 

"What is it, what is it?" asked Mr. Briggerland testily. "Haven't we hadenough mysteries?"

Marcus eyed him without favour. 

"We'll have another one, if you don't mind, " he said unpleasantly, andthe girl, whose every sense was alert, picked up a wrap and walked intothe garden, with Marcus following on her heels. 

Ten minutes passed and they did not return, a quarter of an hour wentby, and Mr. Briggerland grew uneasy. He got up from his chair, put downhis book, and was half-way across the room when the door opened and JackGlover came in, followed by the detective. 

It was the Frenchman who spoke. 

"M'sieur Briggerland, I have a warrant from the Préfect of the AlpesMaritimes for your arrest. "

"My arrest?" spluttered the dark man, his teeth chattering. "What--whatis the charge?"

"The wilful murder of François Mordon, " said the officer. 

"You lie--you lie, " screamed Briggerland. "I have no knowledge ofany----" his words sank into a throaty gurgle, and he stared past thedetective. Lydia Meredith was standing in the doorway. 

Chapter XXXIX

The morning for Mr. Stepney had been doubly disappointing; again andagain he drew up an empty line, and at last he flung the tackle into thewell of the launch. 

"Even the damn fish won't bite, " he said, and the humour of his remarkcheered him. He was ten miles from the shore, and the blue coast was adim, ragged line on the horizon. He pulled out a big luncheon basketfrom the cabin and eyed it with disfavour. It had cost him two hundredfrancs. He opened the basket, and at the sight of its contents, wasinclined to reconsider his earlier view that he had wasted his money, the more so since the _maître d'hôtel_ had thoughtfully included twoquart bottles of champagne. 

Mr. Marcus Stepney made a hearty meal, and by the time he had dropped anempty bottle into the sea, he was inclined to take a more cheerful viewof life. He threw over the debris of the lunch, pushed the basket underone of the seats of the cabin, pulled up his anchor and started theengines running. 

The sky was a brighter blue and the sea held a finer sparkle, and hewas inclined to take a view of even Jean Briggerland, more generous thanany he had held. 

"Little devil, " he smiled reminiscently, as he murmured the words. 

He opened the second bottle of champagne in her honour--Mr. MarcusStepney was usually an abstemious man--and drank solemnly, if notsoberly, her health and happiness. As the sun grew warmer he began tofeel an unaccountable sleepiness. He was sober enough to know that tofall asleep in the middle of the ocean was to ask for trouble, and heset the bow of the _Jungle Queen_ for the nearest beach, hoping to finda landing place. 

He found something better as he skirted the shore. The sea and theweather had scooped out a big hollow under a high cliff, a hollow justbig enough to take the _Jungle Queen_ and deep and still enough toensure her a safe anchorage. A rock barrier interposed between thebreakers and this deep pool which the waves had hollowed in the stonyfloor of the ocean. As he dropped his anchor he disturbed a school offish, and his angling instincts re-awoke. He let down his line over theside, seated himself comfortable in one of the two big basket chairs, and was dozing comfortably.... 

It was the sound of a shot that woke him. It was followed by another, and a third. Almost immediately something dropped from the cliff, andfell with a mighty splash into the water. 

Marcus was wide awake now, and almost sobered. He peered down into theclear depths, and saw a figure of a woman turning over and over. Then asit floated upwards it came on its back, and he saw the face. Without amoment's hesitation he dived into the water. 

He would have been wiser if he had waited until she floated to thesurface, for now he found a difficulty in regaining the boat. After agreat deal of trouble, he managed to reach into the launch and pull outa rope, which he fastened round the girl's waist and drew tight to asmall stanchion. Then he climbed into the boat himself, and pulled herafter him. 

He thought at first she was dead, but listening intently he heard thebeating of her heart, and searched the luncheon basket for a small flaskof liqueurs, which Alphonse, the head waiter, had packed. He put thebottle to her lips and poured a small quantity into her mouth. Shechoked convulsively, and presently opened her eyes. 

"You're amongst friends, " said Marcus unnecessarily. 

She sat up and covered her face with her hands. It all came back to herin a flash, and the horror of it froze her blood. 

"What has happened to you?" asked Marcus. 

"I don't know exactly, " she said faintly. And then: "Oh, it wasdreadful, dreadful!"

Marcus Stepney offered her the flask of liqueurs, and when she shook herhead, he helped himself liberally. 

Lydia was conscious of a pain in her left shoulder. The sleeve was torn, and across the thick of the arm there was an ugly raw weal. 

"It looks like a bullet mark to me, " said Marcus Stepney, suddenlygrave. "I heard a shot. Did somebody shoot at you?"

She nodded. 

"Who?"

She tried to frame the word, but no sound came, and then she burst intoa fit of weeping. 

"Not Jean?" he asked hoarsely. 

She shook her head. 

"Briggerland?"

She nodded. 

"Briggerland!" Mr. Stepney whistled, and as he whistled he shivered. "Let's get out of here, " he said. "We shall catch our death of cold. Thesun will warm us up. "

He started the engines going, and safely navigated the narrow passage tothe open sea. He had to get a long way out before he could catch aglimpse of the road, then he saw the car, and a cycling policemandismounting and bending over something. He put away his telescope andturned to the girl. 

"This is bad, Mrs. Meredith, " he said. "Thank God I wasn't in it. "

"Where are you taking me?" she asked. 

"I'm taking you out to sea, " said Marcus with a little smile. "Don't getscared, Mrs. Meredith. I want to hear that story of yours, and if it isanything like what I fear, then it would be better for you thatBriggerland thinks you are dead. "

She told the story as far as she knew it and he listened, notinterrupting, until she had finished. 

"Mordon dead, eh? That's bad. But how on earth are they going to explainit? I suppose, " he said with a smile, "you didn't write a letter sayingthat you were going to run away with the chauffeur?"

She sat up at this. 

"I did write a letter, " she said slowly. "It wasn't a real letter, itwas in a story which Jean was dictating. "

She closed her eyes. 

"How awful, " she said. "I can't believe it even now. "

"Tell me about the story, " said the man quickly. 

"It was a story she was writing for a London magazine, and her wristhurt, and I wrote it down as she dictated. Only about three pages, butone of the pages was a letter supposed to have been written by theheroine saying that she was going away, as she loved somebody who wasbeneath her socially. "

"Good God!" said Marcus, genuinely shocked. "Did Jean do that?"

He seemed absolutely crushed by the realisation of Jean Briggerland'sdeed, and he did not speak again for a long time. 

"I'm glad I know, " he said at last. 

"Do you really think that all this time she has been trying to kill me?"

He nodded. 

"She has used everybody, even me, " he said bitterly. "I don't want youto think badly of me, Mrs. Meredith, but I'm going to tell you thetruth. I'd provisioned this little yacht to-day for a twelve hundredmile trip, and you were to be my companion. "

"I?" she said incredulously. 

"It was Jean's idea, really, though I think she must have altered herview, or thought I had forgotten all she suggested. I intended takingyou out to sea and keeping you out there until you agreed----" he shookhis head. "I don't think I could have done it really, " he said, speakinghalf to himself. "I'm not really built for a conspirator. None of thatrough stuff ever appealed to me. Well, I didn't try, anyway. "

"No, Mr. Stepney, " she said quietly, "and I don't think, if you had, youwould have succeeded. "

He was in his frankest mood, and startled her later when he told her ofhis profession, without attempting to excuse or minimise the method bywhich he earned his livelihood. 

"I was in a pretty bad way, and I thought there was easy money coming, and that rather tempted me, " he said. "I know you will think I am adespicable cad, but you can't think too badly of me, really. "

He surveyed the shore. Ahead of them the green tongue of Cap Martinjutted out into the sea. 

"I think I'll take you to Nice, " he said. "We'll attract less attentionthere, and probably I'll be able to get into touch with your old Mr. Jaggs. You've no idea where I can find him? At any rate, I can go to theVilla Casa and discover what sort of a yarn is being told. "

"And probably I can get my clothes dry, " she said with a little grimace. "I wonder if you know how uncomfortable I am?"

"Pretty well, " he said calmly. "Every time I move a new stream of waterruns down my back. "

It was half-past three in the afternoon when they reached Nice, andMarcus saw the girl safely to an hotel, changed himself and brought theyacht back to Monaco, where Briggerland had seen him. 

For two hours Marcus Stepney wrestled with his love for a girl who wasplainly a murderess, and in the end love won. When darkness fell heprovisioned the _Jungle Queen_, loaded her with petrol, and heading herout to sea made the swimming cove of Cap Martin. It was to the boat thatJean flew. 

"What about my father?" she asked as she stepped aboard. 

"I think they've caught him, " said Marcus. 

"He'll hate prison, " said the girl complacently. "Hurry, Marcus, I'dhate it, too!"

Chapter XL

Lydia took up her quarters in a quiet hotel in Nice and Mrs. Cole-Mortimer agreed to stay on and chaperon her. 

Though she had felt no effects from her terrifying experience on thefirst day, she found herself a nervous wreck when she woke in themorning, and wisely decided to stay in bed. 

Jack, who had expected the relapse, called in a doctor, but Lydiarefused to see him. The next day she received the lawyer. 

She had only briefly outlined the part which Marcus Stepney had playedin her rescue, but she had said enough to make Jack call at Stepney'shotel to thank him in person. Mr. Stepney, however, was not at home--hehad not been home all night, but this information his discreet informantdid not volunteer. Nor was the disappearance of the _Jungle Queen_noticed for two days. It was Mrs. Cole-Mortimer, in settling up heraccounts with Jack, who mentioned the "yacht. "

"The _Jungle Queen_, " said Jack, "that's the motor-launch, isn't it?I've seen her lying in the harbour. I thought she was Stepney'sproperty. "

His suspicions aroused, he called again at Stepney's hotel, and thistime his inquiry was backed by the presence of a detective. Then it wasmade known that Mr. Stepney had not been seen since the night ofBriggerland's arrest. 

"That is where they've gone. Stepney was very keen on the girl, Ithink, " said Jack. 

The detective was annoyed. 

"If I'd known before we could have intercepted them. We have severaldestroyers in the harbour at Villafrance. Now I am afraid it is toolate. "

"Where would they make for?" asked Jack. 

The officer shrugged his shoulders. 

"God knows, " he said. "They could get into Italy or into Spain, possiblyBarcelona. I will telegraph the Chief of the Police there. "

But the Barcelona police had no information to give. The _Jungle Queen_had not been sighted. The weather was calm, the sea smooth, andeverything favourable for the escape. 

Inquiries elicited the fact that Mr. Stepney had bought large quantitiesof petrol a few days before his departure, and had augmented his supplythe evening he had left. Also he had bought provisions in considerablequantities. 

The murder was a week old, and Mr. Briggerland had undergone hispreliminary examination, when a wire came through from the Spanishpolice that a motor-boat answering the description of the _Jungle Queen_had called at Malaga, had provisioned, refilled, and put out to seaagain, before the police authorities, who had a description of the pair, had time to investigate. 

"You'll think I have a diseased mind, " said Lydia, "but I hope she getsaway. "

Jack laughed. 

"If you had been with her much longer, Lydia, she would have turned youinto a first-class criminal, " he said. "I hope you do not forget thatshe has exactly a hundred thousand pounds of yours--in other words, asixth of your fortune. "

Lydia shook her head. 

"That is almost a comforting thought, " she said. "I know she is what sheis, Jack, but her greatest crime is that she was born six hundred yearstoo late. If she had lived in the days of the Italian Renaissance shewould have made history. "

"Your sympathy is immoral, " said Jack. "By the way, Briggerland has beenhanded over to the Italian authorities. The crime was committed onItalian soil and that saves his head from falling into the basket. "

She shuddered. 

"What will they do to him?"

"He'll be imprisoned for life, " was the reply "and I rather think that'sa little worse than the guillotine. You say you worry for Jean--I'mrather sorry for old man Briggerland. If he hadn't tried to live up tohis daughter he might have been a most respectable member of society. "

They were strolling through the quaint, narrow streets of Grasse, andJack, who knew and loved the town, was showing her sights which made herforget that the Perfumerie Factory, the Mecca of the average tourist, had any existence. 

"I suppose I'll have to settle down now, " she said with an expression ofdistaste. 

"I suppose you will, " said Jack, "and you'll have to settle up, too;your legal expenses are something fierce. "

"Why do you say that?" she asked, stopping in her walk and looking athim gravely. 

"I am speaking as your mercenary lawyer, " said Jack. 

"You are trying to put your service on another level, " she corrected. "Iowe everything I have to you. My fortune is the least of these. I oweyou my life three times over. "

"Four, " he corrected, "and to Marcus Stepney once. "

"Why have you done so much for me? Were you interested?" she asked aftera pause. 

"Very, " he replied. "I was interested in you from the moment I saw youstep out of Mr. Mordon's taxi into the mud, but I was especiallyinterested in you----"

"When?" she asked. 

"When I sat outside your door night after night and discovered youdidn't snore, " he said shamelessly, and she went red. 

"I hope you'll never refer to your old Jaggs's adventures. It wasvery----"

"What?"

"I was going to say horrid, but I shouldn't be telling the truth, " sheadmitted frankly. "I liked having you there. Poor Mrs. Morgan will bedisconsolate when she discovers that we've lost our lodger. "

They walked into the cool of the ancient cathedral and sat down. 

"There's something very soothing about a church, isn't there?" hewhispered. "Look at that gorgeous window. If I were ever rich enough tomarry the woman I loved, I should be married in a cathedral like this, full of old tombs and statues and stained glass. "

"How rich would you have to be?" she asked. 

"As rich as she is. "

She bent over toward him, her lips against his ear. 

"Tell me how much money you have, " she whispered, "and I'll give awayall I have in excess of that amount. "

He caught her hand and held it fast, and they sat there before the altarof St. Catherine until the sun went down and the disapproving old womanwho acted as the cathedral's caretaker tapped them on the shoulder. 

Chapter XLI

"That is Gibraltar, " said Marcus Stepney, pointing ahead to a grey shapethat loomed up from the sea. 

He was unshaven for he had forgotten to bring his razor and he waspinched with the cold. His overcoat was turned up to his ears, in spiteof which he shivered. 

Jean did not seem to be affected by the sudden change of temperature. She sat on the top of the cabin, her chin in the palm of her hand, herelbow on her crossed knee. 

"You are not going into Gibraltar?" she asked. 

He shook his head. 

"I think not, " he said, "nor to Algeciras. Did you see that fellow onthe quay yelling for the craft to come back after we left Malaga? Thatwas a bad sign. I expect the police have instructions to detain thisboat, and most of the ports must have been notified. "

"How long can we run?"

"We've got enough gas and grub to reach Dacca, " he said. "That's roughlyan eight-days' journey. "

"On the African coast?"

He nodded, although she could not see him. 

"Where could we get a ship to take us to South America?" she asked, turning round. 

"Lisbon, " he said thoughtfully. "Yes, we could reach Lisbon, but thereare too many steamers about and we're certain to be sighted. We mightrun across to Las Palmas, most of the South American boats call there, but if I were you I should stick to Europe. Come and take this helm, Jean. "

She obeyed without question, and he continued the work which had beeninterrupted by a late meal, the painting of the boat's hull, a difficultbusiness, involving acrobatics, since it was necessary for him to leanover the side. He had bought the grey paint at Malaga, and happily therewas not much surface that required attention. The stumpy mast of the_Jungle Queen_ had already gone overboard--he had sawn it off with greatlabour the day after they had left Cap Martin. 

She watched him with a speculative eye as he worked, and thought he hadnever looked quite so unattractive as he did with an eight-days' growthof beard, his shirt stained with paint and petrol. His hands were grimyand nobody would have recognised in this scarecrow the elegant habituéof those fashionable resorts which smart society frequents. 

Yet she had reason to be grateful to him. His conduct toward her hadbeen irreproachable. Not one word of love had been spoken, nor, untilnow, had their future plans, for it affected them both, been discussed. 

"Suppose we reach South America safely?" she asked. "What happens then, Marcus?"

He looked round from his work in surprise. 

"We'll get married, " he said quietly, and she laughed. 

"And what happens to the present Mrs. Stepney?"

"She has divorced me, " said Stepney unexpectedly. "I got the papers theday we left. "

"I see, " said Jean softly. "We'll get married----" then stopped. 

He looked at her and frowned. 

"Isn't that your idea, too?" he asked. 

"Married? Yes, that's my idea, too. It seems a queer uninteresting wayof finishing things, doesn't it, and yet I suppose it isn't. "

He had resumed his work and was leaning far over the bow intent upon hislabour. Suddenly she spun the wheel round and the launch heeled over tostarboard. For a second it seemed that Marcus Stepney could not maintainhis balance against that unexpected impetus, but by a superhuman efforthe kicked himself back to safety, and stared at her with a blanchedface. 

"Why did you do that?" he asked hoarsely. "You nearly had me overboard. "

"There was a porpoise lying on the surface of the sea, asleep, Ithink, " she said quietly. "I'm very sorry, Marcus, but I didn't knowthat it would throw you off your balance. "

He looked round for the sleeping fish but it had disappeared. 

"You told me to avoid them, you know, " she said apologetically. "Did Ireally put you in any danger?"

He licked his dry lips, picked up the paint-pot, and threw it into thesea. 

"We'll leave this, " he said, "until we are beached. You gave me a scare, Jean. "

"I'm dreadfully sorry. Come here, and sit by me. "

She moved to allow him room, and he sat down by her, taking the wheelfrom her hand. 

On the horizon the high lands of northern Africa were showing theirsaw-edge outlines. 

"That is Morocco, " he pointed out to her. "I propose giving Gibraltar awide berth, and following the coast line to Tangier. "

"Tangier wouldn't be a bad place to land if there weren't two of us, " hewent on. "It is our being together in this yacht that is likely to causesuspicion. You could easily pretend that you'd come over from Gibraltar, and the port authorities there are pretty slack. "

"Or if we could land on the coast, " he suggested. "There's a goodlanding, and we could follow the beach down, and turn up in Tangier inthe morning--all sorts of oddments turn up in Tangier without excitingsuspicion. "

She was looking out over the sea with a queer expression in her face. 

"Morocco!" she said softly. "Morocco--I hadn't thought of that!"

They had a fright soon after. A grey shape came racing out of thedarkening east, and Stepney put his helm over as the destroyer smashedpast on her way to Gibraltar. 

He watched the stern light disappearing, then it suddenly turned andpresented its side to them. 

"They're looking for us, " said Marcus. 

The darkness had come down, and he headed straight for the east. 

There was no question that the destroyer was on an errand of discovery. A white beam of light shot out from her decks, and began to feel alongthe sea. And then when they thought it had missed them, it dropped onthe boat and held. A second later it missed them and began a search. Presently it lit the little boat, and it did something more--it revealeda thickening of the atmosphere. They were running into a sea fog, one ofthose thin white fogs that come down in the Mediterranean on windlessdays. The blinding glare of the searchlight blurred. 

"_Bang!_"

"That's the gun to signal us to stop, " said Marcus between his teeth. 

He turned the nose of the boat southward, a hazardous proceeding, for heran into clear water, and had only just got back into the shelter of theprovidential fog bank when the white beam came stealthily along the edgeof the mist. Presently it died out, and they saw it no more. 

"They're looking for us, " said Marcus again. 

"You said that before, " said the girl calmly. 

"They've probably warned them at Tangier. We dare not take the boat intothe bay, " said Stepney, whose nerves were now on edge. 

He turned again westward, edging toward the rocky coast of northernAfrica. They saw little clusters of lights on the shore, and he tried toremember what towns they were. 

"I think that big one is Cutra, the Spanish convict station, " he said. 

He slowed down the boat, and they felt their way gingerly along thecoast line, until the flick and flash of a lighthouse gave them an ideaof their position. 

"Cape Spartel, " he identified the light. "We can land very soon. I wasin Morocco for three months, and if I remember rightly the beach is goodwalking as far as Tangier. "

She went into the cabin and changed, and as the nose of the _JungleQueen_ slid gently up the sandy beach she was ready. 

He carried her ashore, and set her down, then he pushed off the nose ofthe boat, and manoeuvred it so that the stern was against the beach, resting in three feet of water. He jumped on board, lashed the helm, andstarted the engines going, then wading back to the shore he stoodstaring into the gloom as the little _Jungle Queen_ put out to sea. 

"That's that, " he said grimly. "Now my dear, we've got a ten mile walkbefore us. "

But he had made a slight miscalculation. The distance between himselfand Tangier was twenty-five miles, and involved several detours inlandinto country which was wholly uninhabited, save at that moment it heldthe camp of Muley Hafiz, who was engaged in negotiation with the SpanishGovernment for one of those "permanent peaces" which frequently last foryears. 

Muley Hafiz sat drinking his coffee at midnight, listening to thestrains of an ornate gramophone, which stood in a corner of his squaretent. 

A voice outside the silken fold of his tent greeted him, and he stoppedthe machine. 

"What is it?" he asked. 

"Lord, we have captured a man and a woman walking along by the sea. "

"They are Riffi people--let them go, " said Muley in Arabic. "We aremaking peace, my man, not war. "

"Lord, these are infidels; I think they are English. "

Muley Hafiz twisted his trim little beard. 

"Bring them, " he said. 

So they were brought to his presence, a dishevelled man and a girl atthe sight of whose face, he gasped. 

"My little friend of the Riviera, " he said wonderingly, and the smileshe gave him was like a ray of sunshine to his heart. 

He stood up, a magnificent figure of a man, and she eyed him admiringly. 

"I am sorry if my men have frightened you, " he said. "You have nothingto fear, madame. I will send my soldiers to escort you to Tangier. "

And then he frowned. "Where did you come from?"

She could not lie under the steady glance of those liquid eyes. 

"We landed on the shore from a boat. We lost our way, " she said. 

He nodded. 

"You must be she they are seeking, " he said. "One of my spies came to mefrom Tangier to-night, and told me that the Spanish and the Frenchpolice were waiting to arrest a lady who had committed some crime inFrance. I cannot believe it is you--or if it is, then I should say thecrime was pardonable. "

He glanced at Marcus. 

"Or perhaps, " he said slowly, "it is your companion they desire. "

Jean shook her head. 

"No, they do not want him, " she said, "it is I they want. "

He pointed to a cushion. 

"Sit down, " he said, and followed her example. 

Marcus alone remained standing, wondering how this strange situationwould develop. 

"What will you do? If you go into Tangier I fear I could not protectyou, but there is a city in the hills, " he waved his hand, "many milesfrom here, a city where the hills are green, mademoiselle, and wherebeautiful springs gush out of the ground, and there I am lord. "

She drew a long breath. 

"I will go to the city of the hills, " she said softly, "and this man, "she shrugged her shoulders, "I do not care what happens to him, " shesaid, with a smile of amusement at the pallid Marcus. 

"Then he shall go to Tangier alone. "

But Marcus Stepney did not go alone. For the last two miles of thejourney he had carried a bag containing the greater part of five millionfrancs that the girl had brought from the boat. Jean did not rememberthis until she was on her way to the city of the hills, and by that timemoney did not interest her. 

THE END. 

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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES. 

The following typographical errors in the text were corrected asdetailed here. 

In the text: "Had she known Mr. Marcus Stepney as well as Jean knew him... " the name "Joan" was corrected to "Jean. "

The words "mud-guard" and "taxi-cab" are inconsistently hyphenated inthe original. 

In the text: '"Poor soul, " said Jack dryly. "but ... "' the periodafter "dryly" was corrected to a comma. 

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