the angel of terror by edgar wallace. chapter ithe 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 beneaththe desk and brought out a small square of black silk and carefullylaid it over his white wig. then he spoke: "james meredith, you have been convicted aftera long and patient trial of the awful crime of wilful murder. withthe verdict of the jury i am in complete agreement. there is little doubt,after hearing the evidence of the unfortunate lady to whom you were engaged,and whose evidence you attempted in the most brutal manner to refute,that, instigated by your jealousy, you shot ferdinand bulford. theevidence of miss briggerland
that you had threatened this poor young man,and that you left her presence in a temper, is unshaken. by a terriblecoincidence, mr. bulford was in the street outside your fiancã©e'sdoor when you left, and maddened by your insane jealousy, you shothim dead. "to suggest, as you have through your counsel,that you called at miss briggerland's that night to break off yourengagement and that the interview was a mild one and unattended byrecriminations is to suggest that this lady has deliberately committedperjury in order to swear away your life, and when to that disgraceful chargeyou produce a motive,
namely that by your death or imprisonmentmiss briggerland, who is your cousin, would benefit to a considerable extent,you merely add to your infamy. nobody who saw the young girl in thebox, a pathetic, and if i may say, a beautiful figure, could acceptfor one moment your fantastic explanation. "who killed ferdinand bulford? a man withoutan enemy in the world. that tragedy cannot be explained away. it now onlyremains for me to pass the sentence which the law imposes. the jury'srecommendation to mercy will be forwarded to the proper quarter...."
he then proceeded to pass sentence of death,and the tall man in the dock listened without a muscle of his facemoving. so ended the great berkeley street murdertrial, and when a few days later it was announced that the sentence ofdeath had been commuted to one of penal servitude for life, there werenewspapers and people who hinted at mistaken leniency and suggestedthat james meredith would have been hanged if he were a poor man insteadof being, as he was, the master of vast wealth. "that's that," said jack glover between histeeth, as he came out of
court with the eminent king's counsel whohad defended his friend and client, "the little lady wins." his companion looked sideways at him and smiled. "honestly, glover, do you believe that poorgirl could do so dastardly a thing 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 alunatic; i am satisfied that all he told us about the interview he hadwith the girl was born of a
diseased imagination. i was terribly impressedwhen i saw jean briggerland in the box. she--by jove, thereis the lady!" they had reached the entrance of the court.a big car was standing by the kerb and one of the attendants was holdingopen the door for a girl dressed in black. they had a glimpse of apale, sad face of extraordinary beauty, and then she disappearedbehind the drawn blinds. the counsel drew a long sigh. "mad!" he said huskily. "he must be mad! ifever i saw a pure soul in a woman's face, it is in hers!"
"you've been in the sun, sir john--you'regetting sentimental," said jack glover brutally, and the eminent lawyerchoked indignantly. jack glover had a trick of saying rude thingsto his friends, even when those friends were twenty years his senior,and by every rule of professional etiquette entitled to respectfultreatment. "really!" said the outraged sir john. "thereare times, glover, when you are insufferable!" but by this time jack glover was swingingalong the old bailey, his hands in his pockets, his silk hat on theback of his head.
he found the grey-haired senior member ofthe firm of rennett, glover and simpson (there had been no simpson inthe firm for ten years) on the point of going home. mr. rennett sat down at the sight of his junior. "i heard the news by 'phone," he said. "ellberysays there is no ground for appeal, but i think the recommendationto mercy will save his life--besides it is a _crime passionelle_,and they don't hang for homicidal jealousy. i suppose it was the girl'sevidence that turned the trick?"
jack nodded. "and she looked like an angel just out ofthe refrigerator," he said despairingly. "ellbery did his poor best toshake her, but the old fool is half in love with her--i left him ravingabout her pure soul and her other celestial etceteras." mr. rennett stroked his iron grey beard. "she's won," he said, but the other turnedon him with a snarl. "not yet!" he said almost harshly. "she hasn'twon till jimmy meredith is 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 long way to help jimmy; i'd risk my practice andmy name." jack glover looked at his partner in astonishment. "you old sportsman!" he said admiringly. "ididn't know you were so fond of jimmy?" mr. rennett got up and began pulling on hisgloves. he seemed a little uncomfortable at the sensation he had created. "his father was my first client," he saidapologetically. "one of the
best fellows that ever lived. he married latein life, that was why he was such a crank over the question of marriage.you might say that old meredith founded our firm. your father andsimpson and i were nearly at our last gasp when meredith gave us his business.that was our turning point. your father--god rest him--was nevertired of talking about it. i wonder he never told you." "i think he did," said jack thoughtfully."and you really would go a long way--rennett--i mean, to help jim meredith?" "all the way," said old rennett shortly.
jack glover began whistling a long lugubrioustune. "i'm seeing the old boy to-morrow," he said."by the way, rennett, did you see that a fellow had been released fromprison to a nursing home for a minor operation the other day? therewas a question asked in parliament about it. is it usual?" "it can be arranged," said rennett. "why?" "do you think in a few months' time we couldget jim meredith into a nursing home for--say an appendix operation?" "has he appendicitis?" asked the other insurprise.
"he can fake it," said jack calmly. "it'sthe easiest thing in the world to fake." rennett looked at the other under his heavyeyebrows. "you're thinking of the 'or'?" he challenged,and jack nodded. "it can be done--if he's alive," said rennettafter a pause. "he'll be alive," prophesied his partner,"now the only thing is--where shall i find the girl?" chapter ii lydia beale gathered up the scraps of paperthat littered her table,
rolled them into a ball and tossed them intothe fire. there was a knock at the door, and she halfturned in her chair to meet with a smile her stout landlady who came incarrying a tray on which stood a large cup of tea and two thick andwholesome slices of bread and jam. "finished, miss beale?" asked the landladyanxiously. "for the day, yes," said the girl with a nod,and stood up stretching herself stiffly. she was slender, a head taller than the dumpymrs. morgan. the dark
violet eyes and the delicate spiritual faceshe owed to her celtic ancestors, the grace of her movements, noless than the perfect hands that rested on the drawing board, spoke eloquentlyof breed. "i'd like to see it, miss, if i may," saidmrs. morgan, wiping her hands on her apron in anticipation. lydia pulled open a drawer of the table andtook out a large sheet of windsor board. she had completed her pencilsketch and mrs. morgan gasped appreciatively. it was a picture ofa masked man holding a villainous crowd at bay at the point of apistol.
"that's wonderful, miss," she said in awe."i suppose those sort of things happen too?" the girl laughed as she put the drawing away. "they happen in stories which i illustrate,mrs. morgan," she said dryly. "the real brigands of life come inthe shape of lawyers' clerks with writs and summonses. it's a relief fromthose mad fashion plates i draw, anyway. do you know, mrs. morgan, thatthe sight of a dressmaker's shop window makes me positively ill!" mrs. morgan shook her head sympatheticallyand lydia changed the
subject. "has anybody been this afternoon?" she asked. "only the young man from spadd & newton,"replied the stout woman with a sigh. "i told 'im you was out, but i'm a badliar." the girl groaned. "i wonder if i shall ever get to the end ofthose debts," she said in despair. "i've enough writs in the drawerto paper the house, mrs. morgan." three years ago lydia beale's father had diedand she had lost the best
friend 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 seen her the day after the funeral and had madesome uncouth reference to the convenience of a death which had automaticallycancelled george beale's obligations. it needed only that to spur thegirl to an action which was as foolish as it was generous. she had writtento all the people to whom her father owed money and had assumed fullresponsibility for debts amounting to hundreds of pounds. it was the celt in her that drove her to shoulderthe burden which she
was ill-equipped to carry, but she had neverregretted her impetuous act. there were a few creditors who, realisingwhat had happened, did not bother her, and there were others.... she earned a fairly good salary on the staffof the _daily megaphone_, which made a feature of fashion, but she wouldhave had to have been the recipient of a cabinet minister's emolumentsto have met the demands which flowed in upon her a month after shehad accepted her father's obligations.
"are you going out to-night, miss?" askedthe woman. lydia roused herself from her unpleasant thoughts. "yes. i'm making some drawings of the dressesin curfew's new play. i'll be home somewhere around twelve." mrs. morgan was half-way across the room whenshe turned back. "one of these days you'll get out of all yourtroubles, miss, you see if you don't! i'll bet you'll marry a rich younggentleman." lydia, sitting on the edge of the table, laughed. "you'd lose your money, mrs. morgan," shesaid, "rich young gentlemen
only marry poor working girls in the kindof stories i illustrate. if i marry it will probably be a very poor younggentleman who will become an incurable invalid and want nursing. and ishall hate him so much that i can't be happy with him, and pity him so muchthat i can't run away from him." mrs. morgan sniffed her disagreement. "there are things that happen----" she began. "not to me--not miracles, anyway," said lydia,still smiling, "and i don't know that i want to get married. i'vegot to pay all these bills
first, and by the time they are settled i'llbe a grey-haired old lady in a mob cap." lydia had finished her tea and was standingsomewhat scantily attired in the middle of her bedroom, preparing for hertheatre engagement, when mrs. morgan returned. "i forgot to tell you, miss," she said, "therewas a gentleman and a lady called." "a gentleman and a lady? who were they?" "i don't know, miss beale. i was lying downat the time, and the girl
answered the door. i gave her strict ordersto say that you were out." "did they leave any name?" "no, miss. they just asked if miss beale livedhere, and could they see her." "h'm!" said lydia with a frown. "i wonderwhat we owe them!" she dismissed the matter from her mind, andthought no more of it until she stopped on her way to the theatre to learnfrom the office by telephone the number of drawings required. the chief sub-editor answered her.
"and, by the way," he added, "there was aninquiry for you at the office to-day--i found a note of it on my desk wheni came in to-night. some old friends of yours who want to see you.brand told them you were going to do a show at the erving theatre to-night,so you'll probably see them." "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, thoughshe looked round
interestedly, nor was she approached in anyof the _entr'actes_. in the row ahead of her, and a little to herright, were two people who regarded her curiously as she entered. theman was about fifty, very dark and bald--the skin of his head was almostcopper-coloured, though he was obviously a european, for the eyeswhich beamed benevolently upon her through powerful spectacles were blue,but so light a blue that by contrast with the mahogany skin of his clean-shavenface, they seemed almost white. the girl who sat with him was fair, and tolydia's artistic eye,
singularly lovely. her hair was a mop of finegold. the colour was natural, lydia was too sophisticated to makeany mistake about that. her features were regular and flawless. the youngartist thought she had never seen so perfect a "cupid" mouth in herlife. there was something so freshly, fragrantly innocent about thegirl that lydia's heart went out to her, and she could hardly keep hereyes on the stage. the unknown seemed to take almost as much interest inher, for twice lydia surprised her backward scrutiny. she found herself wonderingwho she was. the girl was beautifully dressed, and about her neckwas a platinum chain that
must have hung to her waist--a chain whichwas broken every few inches by a big emerald. it required something of an effort of concentrationto bring her mind back to the stage and her work. with a bookon her knee she sketched the somewhat bizarre costumes which had arouseda mild public interest in the play, and for the moment forgot herentrancing companion. she came through the vestibule at the endof the performance, and drew her worn cloak more closely about her slendershoulders, for the night was raw, and a sou'westerly wind blew thebig wet snowflakes under the
protecting glass awning into the lobby itself.the favoured playgoers minced daintily through the slush to theirwaiting cars, then taxis came into the procession of waiting vehicles, therewas a banging of cab doors, a babble of orders to the scurryingattendants, until something like order was evolved from the chaos. "cab, miss?" lydia shook her head. an omnibus would takeher to fleet street, but two had passed, packed with passengers, and shewas beginning to despair, when a particularly handsome taxi pulled upat the kerb.
the driver leant over the shining apron whichpartially protected him from the weather, and shouted: "is miss beale there?" the girl started in surprise, taking a steptoward the cab. "i am miss beale," she said. "your editor has sent me for you," said theman briskly. the editor of the _megaphone_ had been guiltyof many eccentric acts. he had expressed views on her drawing which sheshivered to recall. he had aroused her in the middle of the night tosketch dresses at a fancy
dress ball, but never before had he done anythingso human as to send a taxi for her. nevertheless, she would notlook at the gift cab too closely, and she stepped into the warm interior. the windows were veiled with the snow andthe sleet which had been falling all the time she had been in the theatre.she saw blurred lights flash past, and realised that the taxi wasgoing at a good pace. she rubbed the windows and tried to look out aftera while. then she endeavoured to lower one, but without success.suddenly she jumped up and tapped furiously at the window to attractthe driver's attention.
there was no mistaking the fact that theywere crossing a bridge and it was not necessary to cross a bridge to reachfleet street. if the driver heard he took no notice. thespeed of the car increased. she tapped at the window again furiously.she was not afraid, but she was angry. presently fear came. it was whenshe tried to open the door, and found that it was fastened from the outside,that she struck a match to discover that the windows had beenscrewed tight--the edge of the hole where the screw had gone in was rawlynew, and the screw's head was bright and shining.
she had no umbrella--she never carried oneto the theatre--and nothing more substantial in the shape of a weaponthan a fountain pen. she could smash the windows with her foot. she sat backin the seat, and discovered that it was not so easy an operationas she had thought. she hesitated even to make the attempt; and thenthe panic sense left her, and she was her own calm self again. she wasnot being abducted. these things did not happen in the twentieth century,except in sensational books. she frowned. she had said almost thesame thing to somebody that day--to mrs. morgan, who had hinted at a romanticmarriage. of course,
nothing was wrong. the driver had called herby name. probably the editor wanted to see her at his home, he livedsomewhere in south london, she remembered. that would explaineverything. and yet her instinct told her that something unusual washappening, that some unpleasant experience was imminent. she tried to put the thought out of her mind,but it was too vivid, too insistent. again she tried the door, and then, consciousof a faint reflected glow on the cloth-lined roof of the cab, she lookedbackward through the
peep-hole. she saw two great motor-car lampswithin a few yards of the cab. a car was following, she glimpsed theoutline of it as they ran past a street standard. they were in one of the roads of the outersuburbs. looking through the window over the driver's shoulder she sawtrees on one side of the road, and a long grey fence. it was while she wasso looking that the car behind shot suddenly past and ahead, and shesaw its tail lights moving away with a pang of hopelessness. then, beforeshe realised what had happened, the big car ahead slowed and swungsideways, blocking the
road, and the cab came to a jerky stop thatflung her against the window. she saw two figures in the dim lightof the taxi's head lamps, heard somebody speak, and the door was jerkedopen. "will you step out, miss beale," said a pleasantvoice, and though her legs seemed queerly weak, she obliged. thesecond man was standing by the side of the driver. he wore a long raincoat,the collar of which was turned up to the tip of his nose. "you may go back to your friends and tellthem that miss beale is in good hands," he was saying. "you may alsoburn a candle or two before
your favourite saint, in thanksgiving thatyou are alive." "i don't know what you're talking about,"said the driver sulkily. "i'm taking this young lady to her office." "since when has the _daily megaphone_ beenpublished in the ghastly suburbs?" asked the other politely. he saw the girl, and raised his hat. "come along, miss beale," he said. "i promiseyou a more comfortable ride--even if i cannot guarantee that theend will be less startling." chapter iii
the man who had opened the door was a short,stoutly built person of middle age. he took the girl's arm gently,and without questioning she accompanied him to the car ahead, the manin the raincoat following. no word was spoken, and lydia was too bewilderedto ask questions until the car was on its way. then the younger man chuckled. "clever, rennett!" he said. "i tell you, thosepeople are super-humanly brilliant!" "i'm not a great admirer of villainy," saidthe other gruffly, and the younger man, who was sitting opposite thegirl, laughed.
"you must take a detached interest, my dearchap. personally, i admire them. i admit they gave me a fright when irealised that miss beale had not called the cab, but that it had been carefullyplanted for her, but still i can admire them." "what does it mean?" asked the puzzled girl."i'm so confused--where are we going now? to the office?" "i fear you will not get to the office to-night,"said the young man calmly, "and it is impossible to explain toyou just why you were abducted."
"abducted?" said the girl incredulously. "doyou mean to say that man----" "he was carrying you into the country," saidthe other calmly. "he would probably have travelled all night and haveleft you stranded in some un-get-at-able place. i don't think he meantany harm--they never take unnecessary risks, and all they wanted wasto spirit you away for the night. how they came to know that we had chosenyou baffles me," he said. "can you advance any theory, rennett?" "chosen me?" repeated the startled girl. "really,i feel i'm entitled to
some explanation, and if you don't mind, iwould like you to take me back to my office. i have a job to keep,"she added grimly. "six pounds ten a week, and a few guineasextra for your illustrations," said the man in the raincoat. "believe me,miss beale, you'll never pay off your debts on that salary, not if youlive to be a hundred." she could only gasp. "you seem to know a great deal about my privateaffairs," she said, when she 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 gentle and apologetic that she could not take offence. "in the past twelve months you have had thirty-ninejudgments recorded against you, and in the previous year, twenty-seven.you are living on exactly thirty shillings a week, and all therest is going to your father's creditors." "you're very impertinent!" she said hotlyand, as she felt, foolishly. "i'm very pertinent, really. by the way, myname is glover--john glover, of the firm of rennett, glover and simpson.the gentleman at your side
is mr. charles rennett, my senior partner.we are a firm of solicitors, but how long we shall remain a firm," he addedpointedly, "depends rather upon you." "upon me?" said the girl in genuine astonishment."well, i can't say that i have so much love for lawyers----" "that i can well understand," murmured mr.glover. "but i certainly do not wish to dissolve yourpartnership," she went on. "it is rather more serious than that," saidmr. rennett, who was sitting by her side. "the fact is, miss beale, weare acting in a perfectly
illegal manner, and we are going to revealto you the particulars of an act we contemplate, which, if you pass onthe information to the police, will result in our professional ruin. so yousee this adventure is infinitely more important to us than at presentit is to you. and here we are!" he said, interrupting the girl'squestion. the car turned into a narrow drive, and proceededsome distance through an avenue of trees before it pulled up atthe pillared porch of a big house. rennett helped her to alight and ushered herthrough the door, which
opened almost as they stopped, into a largepanelled hall. "this is the way, let me show you," said theyounger man. he opened a door and she found herself ina big drawing-room, exquisitely furnished and lit by two silverelectroliers suspended from the carved roof. to her relief an elderly woman rose to greether. "this is my wife, miss beale," said rennett."i need hardly explain that this is also my home." "so you found the young lady," said the elderlylady, smiling her
welcome, "and what does miss beale think ofyour proposition?" the young man glover came in at that moment,and divested of his long raincoat and hat, he proved to be of a typethat the universities turn out by the hundred. he was good-looking too,lydia noticed with feminine inconsequence, and there was something inhis eyes that inspired trust. he nodded with a smile to mrs. rennett, thenturned to the girl. "now miss beale, i don't know whether i oughtto explain or whether my learned and distinguished friend prefers tosave me the trouble." "not me," said the elder man hastily. "mydear," he turned to his wife,
"i think we'll leave jack glover to talk tothis young lady." "doesn't she know?" asked mrs. rennett insurprise, and lydia laughed, although she was feeling far from amused. the possible loss of her employment, the disquietingadventure of the evening, and now this further mystery allcombined to set her nerves on edge. glover waited until the door closed on hispartner and his wife and seemed inclined to wait a little longer, forhe stood with his back to the fire, biting his lips and looking downthoughtfully at the carpet.
"i don't just know how to begin, miss beale,"he said. "and having seen you, my conscience is beginning to work overtime.but i might as well start at the beginning. i suppose you haveheard 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 explainall the circumstances," said jack glover, with a little grimace of distaste. "i only know," interrupted the girl, "thatmr. bulford was killed by a
mr. meredith, who was jealous of him, andthat mr. meredith, when he went into the witness-box, behaved disgracefullyto his fiancã©e." "exactly," nodded glover with a twinkle inhis eye. "in other words, he repudiated the suggestion that he was jealous,swore that he had already told miss briggerland that he could not marryher, and he did not even know that bulford was paying attention tothe lady." "he did that to save his life," said lydiaquietly. "miss briggerland swore in the witness-box that no such interviewhad occurred." glover nodded.
"what you do not know, miss beale," he saidgravely, "is that jean briggerland was meredith's cousin, and unlesscertain things happen, she will inherit the greater part of six hundredthousand pounds from meredith's estate. meredith, i might explain,is one of my best friends, and the fact that he is now serving out alife sentence does not make him any less a friend. i am as sure, as iam sure of your sitting there, that he no more killed bulford than i did.i believe the whole thing was a plot to secure his death or imprisonment.my partner thinks the same. the truth is that meredith was engagedto this girl; he discovered
certain things about her and her father whichare not greatly to their credit. he was never really in love with her,beautiful as she is, and he was trapped into the proposal. when hefound out how things were shaping and heard some of the queer storieswhich were told about briggerland and his daughter, he broke offthe engagement and went that night to tell her so." the girl had listened in some bewildermentto this recital. "i don't exactly see what all this is to dowith me," she said, and again jack glover nodded.
"i can quite understand," he said, "but iwill tell you yet another part of the story which is not public property.meredith's father was an eccentric man who believed in early marriages,and it was a condition of his will that if meredith was not marriedby his thirtieth birthday, the money should go to his sister, her heirs andsuccessors. his sister was mrs. briggerland, who is now dead. her heirsare her husband and jean briggerland." there was a silence. the girl stared thoughtfullyinto the fire. "how old is mr. meredith?"
"he is thirty next monday," said glover quietly,"and it is necessary that he should be married before next monday." "in prison?" she asked. he shook his head. "if such things are allowed that could havebeen arranged, but for some reason the home secretary refuses to exercisehis discretion in this matter, and has resolutely refused to allowsuch a marriage to take place. he objects on the ground of publicpolicy, and i dare say from his point of view he is right. meredith hasa twenty-years sentence to
serve." "then how----" began lydia. "let me tell this story more or less understandably,"said glover with that little smile of his. "believe me, missbeale, i'm not so keen upon the scheme as i was. if by chance," he spokedeliberately, "we could get james meredith into this house to-morrow morning,would you marry him?" "me?" she gasped. "marry a man i've not seen--amurderer?" "not a murderer," he said gently. "but it is preposterous, impossible!" sheprotested. "why me?"
he was silent for a moment. "when this scheme was mooted we looked roundfor some one to whom such a marriage would be of advantage," he said,speaking slowly. "it was rennett's idea that we should search the countycourt records of london to discover if there was a girl who was inurgent need of money. there is no surer way of unearthing financial skeletonsthan by searching county court records. we found four, onlyone of whom was eligible and that was you. don't interrupt me for a moment,please," he said, raising his hand warningly as she was about to speak."we have made thorough
inquiries about you, too thorough in fact,because the briggerlands have smelt a rat, and have been on our trail fora week. we know that you are not engaged to be married, we know that youhave a fairly heavy burden of debts, and we know, too, that you are unencumberedby relations or friends. what we offer you, miss beale, andbelieve me i feel rather a cad in being the medium through which theoffer is made, is five thousand pounds a year for the rest of yourlife, a sum of twenty thousand pounds down, and the assurance thatyou will not be troubled by your husband from the moment you are married."
lydia listened like one in a dream. it didnot seem real. she would wake up presently and find mrs. morgan with a cupof tea in her hand and a plate of her indigestible cakes. such thingsdid not happen, she told herself, and yet here was a young man, standingwith his back to the fire, explaining in the most commonplace conversationaltone, an offer which belonged strictly to the realm of romance,and not too convincing romance at that. "you've rather taken my breath away," shesaid after a while. "all this wants thinking about, and if mr. meredithis in prison----"
"mr. meredith is not in prison," said gloverquietly. "he was released two days ago to go to a nursing home for aslight operation. he escaped from the nursing home last night and at thisparticular moment is in this house." she could only stare at him open-mouthed,and he went on. "the briggerlands know he has escaped; theyprobably thought he was here, because we have had a police visitationthis afternoon, and the interior of the house and grounds have beensearched. they know, of course, that mr. rennett and i were his legaladvisers, and we expected
them to come. how he escaped their observationis neither here nor there. now, miss beale, what do you say?" "i don't know what to say," she said, shakingher head helplessly. "i know i'm dreaming, and if i had the moralcourage to pinch myself hard, i should wake up. somehow i don't want towake, it is so fascinatingly impossible." he smiled. "can i see mr. meredith?" "not till to-morrow. i might say that we'vemade every arrangement for
your wedding, the licence has been securedand at eight o'clock to-morrow morning--marriages before eightor after three are not legal in this country, by the way--a clergyman willattend and the ceremony will be performed." there was a long silence. lydia sat on the edge of her chair, her elbowson her knees, her face in her hands. glover looked down at her seriously, pityingly,cursing himself that he was the exponent of his own grotesque scheme.presently she looked up.
"i think i will," she said a little wearily."and you were wrong about the number of judgment summonses, there wereseventy-five in two years--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 andwhat explanation she would
give at the office. she was not particularlyin love with her work, and it would be no wrench for her to drop it andgive herself up to the serious study of art. five thousand poundsa year! she could live in italy, study under the best masters, havea car of her own--the possibilities seemed illimitable--and thedisadvantages? she shrugged her shoulders as she answeredthe question for the twentieth time. what disadvantages were there?she could not marry, but then she did not want to marry. she was notthe kind to fall in love, she told herself, she was too independent,too sophisticated, and
understood men and their weaknesses only toowell. "the lord designed me for an old maid," shesaid to herself. at seven o'clock in the morning--a grey, cheerlessmorning it was, thought lydia, looking out of the window--mrs.rennett came in with some tea. "i'm afraid you haven't slept, my dear," shesaid with a glance at the bed. "it's very trying for you." she laid her hand upon the girl's arm andsqueezed it gently. "and it's very trying for all of us," shesaid with a whimsical smile.
"i expect we shall all get into fearful trouble." that had occurred to the girl too, rememberingthe gloomy picture which glover had painted in the car. "won't this be very serious for you, if theauthorities find that you have connived at the escape?" she asked. "escape, my dear?" mrs. rennett's face becamea mask. "i have not heard anything of an escape. all that we know isthat poor mr. meredith, anticipating that the home office would allowhim to get married, had made arrangements for the marriage at thishouse. how mr. meredith comes
here 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 presentablefor the forthcoming ordeal. as a church clock struck eight, there cameanother tap on the door. it was mrs. rennett again. "they are waiting," she said. her face wasa little pale and her lips trembled. lydia, however, was calmness itself, as shewalked into the drawing-room
ahead of her hostess. there were four men. glover and rennett sheknew. a third man wearing a clerical collar she guessed was the officiatingpriest, and all her attention was concentrated upon the fourth.he was a gaunt, unshaven man, his hair cut short, his face and figurewasted, so that the clothes he wore hung on him. her first feeling wasone of revulsion. her second was an impulse of pity. james meredith, forshe guessed it was he, appeared wretchedly ill. he swung round asshe came in, and looked at her intently, then, walking quickly towardsher, he held out his thin
hand. "miss beale, isn't it?" he said. "i'm sorryto meet you under such unpleasant circumstances. glover has explainedeverything, has he not?" she nodded. his deep-set eyes had a magnetic quality thatfascinated her. "you understand the terms? glover has toldyou just why this marriage must take place?" he said, lowering his voice."believe me, i am deeply grateful to you for falling in with my wishes." without preliminary he walked over to wherethe parson stood.
"we will begin now," he said simply. the ceremony seemed so unreal to the girlthat she did not realise what it portended, not even when a ring (a loosely-fittingring, for jack glover had made the wildest guess at the size)was slipped over her finger. she knelt to receive the solemn benedictionand then got slowly to 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 carriedher to the sofa. she woke with a confused idea that somebody was tryingto hypnotise her, and she
opened her eyes to look upon the sombre faceof james meredith. "better?" he asked anxiously. "i'm afraidyou've had a trying time, and no sleep you said, mrs. rennett?" mrs. rennett shook her head. "well, you'll sleep to-night better than ishall," he smiled, and then he turned to rennett, a grave and anxiousman, who stood nervously stroking his little beard, watching the bridegroom."mr. rennett," he said, "i must tell you in the presence ofwitnesses, that i have escaped from a nursing home to which i had been sentby the clemency of the
secretary of state. when i informed you thati had received permission to come to your house this morning to getmarried, i told you that which was not true." "i'm sorry to hear that," said rennett politely."and, of course, it is my duty to hand you over to the police, mr.meredith." it was all part of the game. the girl watched the play, knowingthat this scene was carefully rehearsed, in order to absolve rennettand his partner from complicity in the escape. rennett had hardly spoken when there was aloud rat-tat at the front
door, and jack glover hastened into the hallto answer. but it was not the policeman he had expected. it was a girlin a big sable coat, muffled up to her eyes. she pushed past jack,crossed the hall, and walked straight into the drawing-room. lydia, standing shakily by mrs. rennett'sside, saw the visitor come in, and then, as she unfastened her coat, recognisedher with a gasp. it was the beautiful girl she had seen in thestalls of the theatre the night before! "and what can we do for you?" it was glover'svoice again, bland and
bantering. "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 arrivedjust 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 shelooked at lydia, and the blue eyes were expressionless. meredith had disappeared. lydia looked roundfor him in her distress,
but he had gone. she wondered if he had goneout to the police, to make his surrender, and she was still wonderingwhen there came the sound of a shot. it was from the outside of the house, andat the sound glover ran through the doorway, crossed the hall andflew into the open. it was still snowing, and there was no sign of anyhuman being. he raced along a path which ran parallel with the house,turned the corner and dived into a shrubbery. here the snow had not laid,and he followed the garden path that twisted and turned through the thicklaurel bushes and ended
at a roughly-built tool house. as he camein sight of the shed he stopped. 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 andran to the side of the fallen man. it was james meredith, and he was dead. chapter v jack glover heard footsteps coming down thepath, and turned to meet a
man who had "detective" written largely allover him. jack turned and looked down again at the body as the man cameup. "who is this?" asked the officer sharply. "it is james meredith," said jack simply. "dead?" said the officer, startled. "he hascommitted suicide!" jack did not reply, and watched the inspectoras he made his brief, quick examination of the body. a bullet hadentered just below the left temple, and there was a mark of powder nearthe face. "a very bad business, mr. glover," said thepolice officer seriously.
"can you account for this man being here?" "he came to get married," said jack listlessly."i dare say that startles you, but it is the fact. he was marriedless than ten minutes ago. if you will come up to the house i willexplain his presence here." the detective hesitated, but just then anotherof his comrades came on the scene, and jack led the way back to thehouse through a back door into rennett's study. the lawyer was waiting for them, and he wasalone. "if i'm not very much mistaken, you're inspectorcolhead, of scotland
yard," said glover. "that is my name," nodded the officer. "betweenourselves, mr. glover, i don't think i should make any statement whichyou are not prepared to verify publicly." jack noted the significance of the warningwith a little smile, and proceeded to tell the story of the wedding. "i can only tell you," he said in answer toa further inquiry, "that mr. meredith came into this house at a quarterto eight this morning, and surrendered himself to my partner. at eighto'clock exactly, as you are
well aware, mr. rennett telephoned to scotlandyard to say that mr. meredith was here. during the period of hiswaiting he was married." "did a parson happen to be staying here, sir?"asked the police officer sarcastically. "he happened to be staying here," said jackcalmly, "because i had arranged for him to be here. i knew that ifit was humanly possible, mr. meredith would come to this house, and thathis desire was to be married, for reasons which my partner willexplain." "did you help him to escape? that is askingyou a leading question,"
smiled the detective. jack shook his head. "i can answer you with perfect truth thati did not, any more than the home secretary helped him when he gave himpermission to go to a nursing home." soon after the detective returned to the shed,and jack and his partner were 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 of our share of the trouble, though it is goingto look a little black." they found the three women in the drawing-room.lydia, looking very
white, came to meet them. "what happened?" she asked, and then she guessedfrom his face. "he's not dead?" she gasped. jack nodded. all the time his eyes were onthe other girl. her beautiful lips were drooped a little. therewas a look of pain and sorrow in her eyes that caught his breath. "did he shoot himself?" she asked in a lowvoice. jack regarded her coldly. "the only thing that i am certain about,"and lydia winced at the
cruelty in his voice, "is that you did notshoot him, miss briggerland." "how dare you!" flamed jean briggerland. thequick flush that came to her cheek was the only other evidence of emotionshe betrayed. "i dare say a lot," said jack curtly. "youasked me if it is a case of suicide, and i tell you that it is not--itis a case of murder. james meredith was found with a revolver clutchedin his right hand. he was shot through the left temple, and if you'llexplain to me how any man, holding a pistol in a normal way, can performthat feat, i will accept your theory of suicide."
there was a dead silence. "besides," jack went on, with a little shrug,"poor jimmy had no pistol." jean briggerland had dropped her eyes, andstood there with downcast head and compressed lips. presently she lookedup. "i know how you feel, mr. glover," she saidgently. "i can well understand, believing such dreadful thingsabout me as you do, that you must hate me." her mouth quivered and her voice grew huskywith sorrow.
"i loved james meredith," she said, "and heloved me." "he loved you well enough to marry somebodyelse," said jack glover, and lydia was shocked. "mr. glover," she said reproachfully, "doyou think it is right to say these things, with poor mr. meredith lyingdead?" he turned slowly toward her, and she saw inhis humorous eyes a hardness that she had not seen before. "miss briggerland has told us that i hateher," he said in an even voice, "and she spoke nothing but the truth.i hate her perhaps beyond
understanding--mrs. meredith." he emphasisedthe words, and the girl winced. "and one day, if the circumstantialistsspare me----" "the circumstantialists," said jean briggerlandslowly. "i don't quite understand you." jack glover laughed, and it was not a pleasantlaugh. "perhaps you will," he said shortly. "as toyour loving poor jim--well, you know best. i am trying to be polite toyou, miss briggerland, and not to gloat over the fact that you arrivedtoo late to stop this wedding! and shall i tell you why you arrivedtoo late?" his eyes were
laughing again. "it was because i had arrangedwith the vicar of st. peter's to be here at nine o'clock this morning,well knowing that you and your little army of spies would discoverthe hour of the wedding, and would take care to be here before. andthen i secretly sent for an old oxford friend of mine to be here at eight--hewas here last night." still she stood regarding him without visibleevidence of the anger which lydia thought would have been justified. "i had no desire to stop the wedding," saidthe girl, in a low, soft voice. "if jim preferred to be married inthis way to somebody who does
not know him, i can only accept his choice."she turned to the girl and held out her hand. "i am very sorry that thistragedy has come to you, mrs. meredith," she said. "may i wish youa greater happiness than any you have found?" lydia was touched by the sincerity, hurt alittle by glover's uncouthness, and could only warmly grip thelittle hand that was held out to her. "i'm sorry too," she said a little unsteadily."for you more than for--anything else."
the girl lowered her eyes and again her lipsquivered, and then without a word she walked out of the room, pullingher sable wrap about her throat. it was noon before rennett's car depositedlydia meredith at the door of her lodging. she found mrs. morgan in a great state ofanxiety, and the stout little woman almost shed tears of joy at the sightof her. "oh, miss, you've no idea how worried i'vebeen," she babbled, "and they've been round here from your newspaperoffice 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 under the wheels of a dozen motor-buses, and mysoul has been in a hundred collisions." mrs. morgan gaped at her. she had no senseof metaphor. "it's all right, mrs. morgan," laughed herlodger over her shoulder as she went up the stairs. "i haven't reallyyou know, only i've had a worrying time--and by the way, my name ismeredith."
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 lydiagrimly. "you told me yesterday that i should be married romantically,but even in the wildest flights of your imagination, mrs. morgan,you could never have supposed that i should be married in such a violent,desperate way. i'm going to bed." she paused on the landing and lookeddown at the dumbfounded woman. "if anybody calls for me, i am notat home. oh, yes, you can tell the _megaphone_ that i came home very lateand 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, but somehow she could not raise any note of sorrow."and if that lawyer man comes, will you please tell him that i shallhave twenty thousand pounds in the morning," and with that last staggeringstatement, she went to her room, leaving her landlady speechless. chapter vi the police search of the house and groundsat dulwich grange, mr.
rennett's residence, occupied the whole ofthe morning, and neither rennett's nor jack's assistance was invitedor offered. before luncheon inspector colhead came tothe study. "we've had a good look round your place, mr.rennett," he said, "and i think 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 mymen discovered that you can pull up the whole of the floor, it works ona hinge and is balanced with
counter-weights." mr. rennett nodded. "i believe it was used as a wine cellar bya former tenant of the house," he said coolly. "we have no cellarsat the grange, you know. i do not drink wine, and i've never had occasionto use it." "that's where he was hidden. we found a blanket,and pillows, down there, and, as you say, it has obviously beena wine cellar, because there is a ventilating shaft leading up intothe bushes. we should never have found the trap, but one of my men feltone of the corners of the
floor give under his feet." the two men said nothing. "another thing," the detective went on slowly,"is that i'm inclined to agree that meredith did not commit suicide.we found footmarks, quite fresh, leading round to the back of the hut." "a big foot or a little foot?" asked jackquickly. "it is rather a big foot," said the detective,"and it has rubber heels. we traced it to a gate at the back of yourpremises, and the gate has been opened recently--probably by mr. meredithwhen he came to the
house. it's a queer case, mr. rennett." "what is the pistol?" "that's new too," said colhead. "belgian makeand impossible to trace, i should imagine. you can't keep track of thesebelgian weapons. you can buy them in any shop in any town in ostendor brussels, and i don't think it is the practice for the sellers tokeep any record of the numbers." "in fact," said jack quietly, "it is the samekind of pistol that killed bulford."
colhead raised his eyebrows. "so it was, but wasn't it established thatthat was mr. meredith's own weapon?" "the only thing that was established was thathe had seen the body and he picked up the pistol which was lying nearthe dead man. the shot was fired as he opened the door of mr. briggerland'shouse. then he saw the figure on the pavement and picked up the pistol.he was in that position when miss briggerland, who testified againsthim, came out of the house and saw him."
the detective nodded. "i had nothing to do with the case," he said,"but i remember seeing the weapon, and it was identical with this. i'lltalk to the chief and let you know what he says about the whole affair.you'll have to give evidence at the inquest of course." when he had gone the two men looked at oneanother. "well, rennett, do you think we're going toget into hot water, or are we going to perjure our way to safety?" "there's no need for perjury, not seriousperjury," said the other
carefully. "by the way, jack, where was briggerlandthe night bulford was murdered?" "when miss jean briggerland had recoveredfrom her horror, she went upstairs and aroused her father, who, despitethe early hour, was in bed and asleep. when the police came, or rather,when the detective in charge of the case arrived, which must havebeen some time after the policeman on point duty put in an appearance,mr. briggerland was discovered in a picturesque dressing gownand, i presume, no less picturesque pyjamas."
"horrified, too, i suppose," said rennettdryly. jack was silent for a long time. then: "rennett,"he said, "do you know i am more rattled about this girl than i amabout any consequences to ourselves." "which girl are you talking about?" "about mrs. meredith. whilst poor meredithwas alive she was in no particular danger. but do you realise thatwhat were advantages from our point of view, namely, the fact that she hadno relations in the world, are to-day a source of considerable perilto this unfortunate lady?"
"i had forgotten that," said rennett thoughtfully."what makes matters a little more complicated, is the will whichmeredith made this morning before 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 halfan hour. well, he insisted upon writing out a will and my wife and bolton,the butler, witnessed it."
"and he has left his money----?" "to his wife absolutely," replied the other."the poor old chap was so frantically keen on keeping the money outof the briggerland exchequer, that he was prepared to entrust the wholeof his money to a girl he had not seen." jack was serious now. "and the briggerlands are her heirs? do yourealise that, rennett--there's going to be hell!" "i thought that too," he said quietly.
jack sank down in a seat, his face screwedup into a hideous frown, and the elder man did not interrupt his thoughts.suddenly jack's face cleared and he smiled. "jaggs!" he said softly. "jaggs?" repeated his puzzled partner. "jaggs," said jack, nodding, "he's the fellow.we've got to meet strategy with strategy, rennett, and jaggsis 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 ideahe'll have the time of hislife." chapter vii miss jean briggerland reached her home inberkeley street soon after nine o'clock. she did not ring, but let herselfin with a key and went straight to the dining-room, where her fathersat eating his breakfast, with a newspaper propped up before him. he was the dark-skinned man whom lydia hadseen at the theatre, and he
looked up over his gold-rimmed spectaclesas the girl came in. "you have been out very early," he said. she did not reply, but slowly divesting herselfof her sable coat she threw it on to a chair, took off the toquethat graced her shapely head, and flung it after the coat. then she drewout a chair, and sat down at the table, her chin on her palms, her blueeyes fixed upon her parent. nature had so favoured her that her face neededno artificial embellishment--the skin was clear and fineof texture, and the cold morning had brought only a faint pink to thebeautiful face.
"well, my dear," mr. briggerland looked upand beamed through his glasses, "so poor meredith has committed suicide?" she did not speak, keeping her eyes fixedon him. "very sad, very sad," mr. briggerland shookhis head. "how did it happen?" she asked quietly. mr. briggerland shrugged his shoulders. "i suppose at the sight of you he bolted backto his hiding place where--er--had been located by--er--interestedpersons during the night, then seeing me by the shed--he committed therash and fatal act. somehow
i thought he would run back to his dug-out." "and you were prepared for him?" she said. "a clear case of suicide, my dear," he said. "shot through the left temple, and the pistolwas found in his right hand," 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 theirattention to the fact," said the girl. mr. briggerland took off his glasses and wipedthem. "it was done in such a hurry--i had to getback through the garden gate to join the police. when i got there, i foundthey'd been attracted by the shot and had entered the house. still,nobody would know i was in the garden, and anyway my association withthe capture of an escaped convict would not get into the newspapers." "but a case of suicide would," said the girl."though i don't suppose
the police will give away the person who informedthem that james meredith would be at dulwich grange." mr. briggerland sat back in his chair, histhick lips pursed, and he was not a beautiful sight. "one can't remember everything," he grumbled. he rose from his chair, went to the door,and locked it. then he crossed to a bureau, pulled open a drawer and tookout a small revolver. he threw out the cylinder, glanced along thebarrel and the chambers to make sure it was not loaded, then clickedit back in position, and
standing before a glass, he endeavoured, thepistol in his right hand, to bring the muzzle to bear on his left temple.he found this impossible, and signified his annoyance witha grunt. then he tried the pistol with his thumb on the trigger and hishand clasping the back of the butt. here he was more successful. "that's it," he said with satisfaction. "itcould have been done that way." she did not shudder at the dreadful sight,but watched him with the keenest interest, her chin still in the palmof her hand. he might have
been explaining a new way of serving a tennisball, for all the emotion he evoked. mr. briggerland came back to the table, toyedwith a piece of toast and buttered it leisurely. "everybody is going to cannes this year,"he said, "but i think i shall stick to monte carlo. there is a quiet aboutmonte carlo which is very restful, especially if one can get a villaon the hill away from the railway. i told morden yesterday to take thenew car across and meet us at boulogne. he says that the new body isexquisite. there is a
micraphonic attachment for telephoning tothe driver, the electrical heating apparatus is splendid and----" "meredith was married." if she had thrown a bomb at him she couldnot have produced a more tremendous sensation. he gaped at her, andpushed himself back from the table. "married?" his voice was a squeak. "it's a lie," he roared. all his suavity droppedaway from him, his face was distorted and puckered with anger andgrew a shade darker. "married,
you lying little beast! he couldn't have beenmarried! it was only a few minutes after eight, and the parson didn'tcome till nine. i'll break your neck if you try to scare me! i've toldyou about that before...." he raved on, and she listened unmoved. "he was married at eight o'clock by a manthey brought down from oxford, and who stayed the night in the house,"she repeated with great calmness. "there's no sense in lashing yourselfinto a rage. i've seen the bride, and spoken to the clergyman." from the bullying, raging madman, he becamea whimpering, pitiable
thing. his chin trembled, the big hands helaid on the tablecloth shook with a fever. "what are we going to do?" he wailed. "mygod, jean, what are we going to do?" she rose and went to the sideboard, pouredout a stiff dose of brandy from a decanter and brought it across to himwithout a word. she was used to these tantrums, and to their inevitableending. she was neither hurt, surprised, nor disgusted. this pale,ethereal being was the dominant partner of the combination. nervesshe did not possess, fears
she did not know. she had acquired the precisesense of a great surgeon in whom pity was a detached emotion, and onewhich never intruded itself into the operating chamber. she was no morephenomenal than they, save that she did not feel bound by the conventionsand laws which govern them as members of an ordered society. itrequires no greater nerve to slay than to cure. she had had that matterout with herself, and had settled it to her own satisfaction. "you will have to put off your trip to montecarlo," she said, as he drank the brandy greedily.
"we've lost everything now," he stuttered,"everything." "this girl has no relations," said the daughtersteadily. "her heirs-at-law are ourselves." he put down the glass, and looked at her,and became almost immediately his old self. "my dear," he said admiringly, "you are reallywonderful. of course, it was 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 thefootbell, and soon after the
faded woman who attended her came into theroom. "hart," she said, "i want you to find my emeraldring, the small one, the little pearl necklet, and the diamondscarf pin. pack them carefully in a box with cotton wool." "yes, madam," said the woman, and went out. "now what are you going to do, jean?" askedher father. "i am returning them to mrs. meredith," saidthe girl coolly. "they were presents given to me by her husband, and ifeel after this tragic ending of my dream that i can no longer bear thesight of them."
"he didn't give you those things, he gaveyou the chain. besides, you are throwing away good money?" "i know he never gave them to me, and i amnot throwing away good money," she said patiently. "mrs. meredithwill return them, and she will give me an opportunity of throwing alittle light upon james meredith, an opportunity which i very muchdesire." later she went up to her pretty little sitting-roomon the first floor, and wrote a letter. "_dear mrs. meredith.--i am sending you thefew trinkets which
james gave to me in happier days. they areall that i have of his, and you, as a woman, will realise thatwhilst the possession of them brings me many unhappymemories, yet they have been a certain comfort to me. i wishi could dispose of memory as easily as i send these to you (fori feel they are really your property) but more do i wish thati could recall and obliterate the occasion which has mademr. glover so bitter an enemy of mine._ "_thinking over the past, i see that i wasat fault, but i know
that you will sympathise with me when thetruth is revealed to you. a young girl, unused to the ways of men,perhaps i attached too much importance to mr. glover'sattentions, and resented them too crudely. in those days ithought it was unpardonable that a man who professed to bepoor james's best friend, should make love to his fiancã©e,though i suppose that such things happen, and are endured by themodern girl. a man does not readily forgive a woman for makinghim feel a fool--it is the one unpardonable offence that a girlcan commit.
therefore, i do not resent his enmity as muchas you might think. believe me, i feel for you very muchin these trying days. let me say again that i hope your futurewill be bright._" she blotted the letter, put it in an envelope,and addressed it, and taking down a book from one of the well-stockedshelves, drew her chair to the fire, and began reading. mr. briggerland came in an hour after, lookedover her shoulder at the title, and made a sound of disapproval.
"i can't understand your liking for that kindof book," he said. the book was one of the two volumes of "chroniclesof crime," and she looked up with a smile. "can't you? it's very easily explained. itis the most encouraging work in my collection. sit down for a minute." "a record of vulgar criminals," he growled."their infernal last dying speeches, their processions to tyburn--phaugh!" she smiled again, and looked down at the book.the wide margins were covered with pencilled notes in her writing.
"they're a splendid mental exercise," shesaid. "in every case i have written down how the criminal might have escapedarrest, but they were all so vulgar, and so stupid. really the policeof the time deserve no credit for catching them. it is the same withmodern criminals...." she went to the shelf, and took down two largescrap-books, carried them across to the fire, and opened one on herknees. "vulgar and stupid, every one of them," sherepeated, as she turned the leaves rapidly. "the clever ones get caught at times," saidbriggerland gloomily.
"never," she said, and closed the book witha snap. "in england, in france, in america, and in almost every civilisedcountry, there are murderers walking about to-day, respectedby their fellow citizens. murderers, of whose crimes the police areignorant. look at these." she opened the book again. "here is the case ofrell, who poisons a troublesome creditor with weed-killer. everybodyin the town knew he bought the weed-killer; everybody knew thathe was in debt to this man. what chance had he of escaping? here's jewelville--hekills his wife, buries her in the cellar, and then calls attentionto himself by running
away. here's morden, who kills his sister-in-lawfor the sake of her insurance money, and who also buys the poisonin broad daylight, and is found with a bottle in his pocket. such peopledeserve hanging." "i wish to heaven you wouldn't talk abouthanging," said briggerland tremulously, "you're inhuman, jean, by god--" "i'm an angel," she smiled, "and i have presscuttings to prove it! the _daily recorder_ had half a column on my appearancein the box at jim's trial." he looked over toward the writing-table, sawthe letter, and picked it
up. "so you've written to the lady. are you sendingher the jewels?" he looked at her quickly. "you haven't been up to any funny businesswith them, have you?" he asked suspiciously, and she smiled. "my dear parent," drawled jean briggerland,"after my lecture on the stupidity of the average criminal, do youimagine i should do anything so _gauche_?" chapter viii
"and now, mrs. meredith," said jack glover,"what are you going to do?" he had spent the greater part of the morningwith the new heiress, and lydia had listened, speechless, as he reciteda long and meaningless list of securities, of estates, of groundrents, balances and the like, which she had inherited. "what am i going to do?" she said, shakingher head, hopelessly. "i don't know. i haven't the slightest idea,mr. glover. it is so bewildering. do i understand that all thisproperty is mine?" "not yet," said jack with a smile, "but itis so much yours that on the
strength of the will we are willing to advanceyou money to almost any extent. the will has to be proved, and probatemust be taken, but when these legal formalities are settled, and wehave paid the very heavy death duties, you will be entitled to disposeof your fortune as you wish. as a matter of fact," he added, "youcould do that now. at any rate, you cannot live here in brinksome street,and i have taken the liberty of hiring a furnished flat on yourbehalf. one of our clients has gone away to the continent and left theflat for me to dispose of. the rent is very low, about twenty guineasa week."
"twenty guineas a week!" gasped the horrifiedgirl, "why, i can't----" and then she realised that she "could." twenty guineas a week was as nothing to her.this fact more than anything else, brought her to an understandingof her fortune. "i suppose i had better move," she said dubiously."mrs. morgan is giving up this house, and she asked me whetheri had any plans. i think she'd be willing to come as my housekeeper." "excellent," nodded jack. "you'll want a maidas 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 have somebody on hand i can rely on, sleeping inyour flat at night. i dare say you think i am an old woman," he saidas he saw her smile, "and that my fears are groundless, but you will agreethat your own experience of last week will support the theory that anythingmay happen in london." "but really, mr. glover, you don't mean thati am in any serious danger--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. "shecertainly is poorer than she expected to be." "nonsense," scoffed the girl. she was irritated,which was unusual in her. "my dear mr. glover, why do you pursueyour vendetta against her? do you think it is playing the game, honestlynow? isn't it a case of wounded vanity on your part?" he stared at her in astonishment.
"wounded vanity? do you mean pique?" "why should i be piqued?" he asked slowly. "you know best," replied lydia, and then alight dawned on him. "have i been making love to miss briggerlandby any chance?" he asked. "you know best," she repeated. "good lord!" and then he began to laugh, andshe thought he would never stop. "i suppose i made love to her, and she wasangry because i dared to commit such an act of treachery to her fiancã©!yes, that was it. i made
love to her behind poor jim's back, and she'ticked me off,' and that's why 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'spower of invention," said jack. "doesn't it strike you, mrs. meredith,that if i had made love to that young lady, i should not be seen hereto-day?" "what do you mean?" she asked. "i mean," said jack glover soberly, "thatit would not have been bulford, but i, who would have been luredfrom his club by a telephone
message, and told to wait outside the doorin berkeley street. it would have been i, who would have been shot deadby miss briggerland's father from the drawing-room window." the girl looked at him in amazement. "what a preposterous charge to make!" shesaid at last indignantly. "do you suggest that this girl has connived ata murder?" "i not only suggest that she connived at it,but i stake my life that she planned it," said jack carefully. "but the pistol was found near mr. bulford'sbody," said lydia almost
triumphantly, as she conceived this unanswerableargument. "from bulford's body to the drawing-room windowwas exactly nine feet. it was possible to pitch the pistol so thatit fell near him. bulford was waiting there by the instructions of jeanbriggerland. we have traced the telephone call that came throughto him from the club--it came from the briggerlands' house in berkeleystreet, and the attendant at the club was sure it was a woman's voice.we didn't find that out till after the trial. poor meredith was inthe hall when the shot was fired. the signal was given when he turnedthe handle to let himself
out. he heard the shot, rushed down the stepsand saw the body. whether he picked up the pistol or not, i do not know.jean briggerland swears he had it in his hand, but, of course, jeanbriggerland is a hopeless liar!" "you can't know what you're saying," saidlydia in a low voice. "it is a dreadful charge to make, dreadful, againsta girl whose very face refutes such an accusation." "her face is her fortune," snapped jack, andthen penitently, "i'm sorry i'm rude, but somehow the very mention ofjean briggerland arouses all
that is worst in me. now, you will acceptjaggs, won't you?" "who is he?" she asked. "he is an old army pensioner. a weird bird,as shrewd as the dickens, in spite 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 his right arm, and he's a bit groggy in one ofhis ankles as the result of a boer bullet." she laughed in spite of herself.
"he doesn't sound a very attractive kind ofguardian. he's a perfectly clean old bird, though i confess he doesn'tlook it, and he won't bother you or your servants. you can give him a roomwhere he can sit, and you can give him a bit of bread and cheese, anda glass of beer, and he'll not bother you." lydia was amused now. it was absurd that jackglover should imagine she needed a guardian at all, but if he insisted,as he did, it would be better to have somebody as harmless as theunattractive jaggs. "what time will he come?"
"at about ten o'clock every night, and he'llleave you at about seven in the morning. unless you wish, you need neversee him," said jack. "how did you come to know him?" she askedcuriously. "i know everybody," said the boastful youngman, "you mustn't forget that i am a lawyer and have to meet very queerpeople." he gathered up his papers and put them intohis little bag. "and now what are your plans for to-day?"he demanded. she resented the self-imposed guardianshipwhich he had undertaken, yet she could not forget what she owed him.
by some extraordinary means he had kept herout of the meredith case and she had not been called as a witness at theinquest. incidentally, in as mysterious a way he had managed to whitewashhis partner and himself, although the law society were holding an inquiryof their own (this the girl did not know) it seemed likely that hewould escape the consequence of an act which was a flagrant breach of thelaw. "i am going to mrs. cole-mortimer's to tea,"she said. "mrs. cole-mortimer?" he said quickly. "howdo you come to know that lady?"
"really, mr. glover, you are almost impertinent,"she smiled in spite of her annoyance. "she came to call on me twoor three days after that dreadful morning. she knew mr. meredith andwas an old friend of the family's." "as a matter of fact," said jack icily, "shedid not know meredith, except to say 'how-do-you-do' to him, andshe was certainly not a friend of the family. she is, however, a friend ofjean briggerland." "jean briggerland!" said the exasperated girl."can't you forget her? you are like the man in dickens's books--she'syour king charles's head!
really, for a respectable and a responsiblelawyer, you're simply eaten up with prejudices. of course, she was a friendof mr. meredith's. why, she brought me a photograph of him taken whenhe was at eton." "supplied by jean briggerland," said the unperturbedjack calmly, "and if she'd brought you a pair of socks he worewhen he was a baby i suppose you would have accepted those too." "now you are being really abominable," saidthe girl, "and i've got a lot to do." he paused at the door.
"don't forget you can move into cavendishmansions to-morrow. i'll send the key round, and the day you move in, jaggswill turn up for duty, bright and smiling. he doesn't talk a greatdeal----" "i don't suppose you ever give the poor mana chance," she said cuttingly. chapter ix mrs. cole-mortimer was a representative ofa numerous class of women who live so close to the border-line which separatesgood society from society which is not quite as good, that themembers of either set
thought she was in the other. she had a smallhouse where she gave big parties, and nobody quite knew how this widowof an indian colonel made both ends meet. it was the fact that her menagewas an expensive one to maintain; she had a car, she entertained inlondon in the season, and disappeared from the metropolis when it wasthe correct thing to disappear, a season of exile which comes betweenthe goodwood race meeting in the south and the doncaster racemeeting in the north. lydia had been surprised to receive a visitfrom this elegant lady, and had readily accepted the story of her friendshipwith james meredith.
mrs. cole-mortimer's invitation she had welcomed.she needed some distraction, something which would smoothout the ravelled threads of life which were now even more tangled thanshe had ever expected they could be. mr. rennett had handed to her a thousand poundsthe day after the wedding, and when she had recovered from theshock of possessing such a large sum, she hired a taxicab and indulgedherself in a wild orgy of shopping. the relief she experienced when he informedher he was taking charge of
her affairs and settling the debts which hadworried her for three years was so great that she felt as though a heavyweight had been lifted from her heart. it was in one of her new frocks that lydia,feeling more confident than usual, made her call. she had expected tofind a crowd at the house in hyde park crescent, and she was surprisedwhen she was ushered into the drawing-room to find only four people present. mrs. cole-mortimer was a chirpy, pale littlewoman of forty-something. it would be ungallant to say how much that"something" represented. she
came toward lydia with outstretched hands. "my dear," she said with extravagant pleasure,"i am glad you were able to come. you know miss briggerland and mr.briggerland?" lydia looked up at the tall figure of theman she had seen in the stalls the night before her wedding and recognisedhim instantly. "mr. marcus stepney, i don't think you havemet." lydia bowed to a smart looking man of thirty,immaculately attired. he was very handsome, she thought, in a darkway, but he was just a little too "new" to please her. she did not likefashion-plate men, and
although the most captious of critics couldnot have found fault with his correct attire, he gave her the impressionof being over-dressed. lydia had not expected to meet miss briggerlandand her father, although she had a dim recollection that mrs. cole-mortimerhad mentioned her name. then in a flash she recalled the suspicionsof jack glover, which she had covered with ridicule. the associationmade her feel a little uncomfortable, and jean briggerland, whoseintuition was a little short of uncanny, must have read the doubt in herface. "mrs. meredith expected to see us, didn'tshe, margaret?" she said,
addressing the twittering hostess. "surelyyou told her we were great friends?" "of course i did, my dear. knowing your dearcousin and his dear father, it was not remarkable that i should know thewhole of the family," and she 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 and the merediths were related. she found herself talking in a corner of theroom with the girl, and
fell to studying her face anew. a closer inspectionmerely consolidated her earlier judgment. she smiled inwardlyas she remembered jack glover's ridiculous warning. it was like killinga butterfly with a steam hammer, to loose so much vengeance againstthis frail piece of china. "and how do you feel now that you're veryrich?" asked jean kindly. "i haven't realised it yet," smiled lydia. jean nodded. "i suppose you have yet to settle with thelawyers. who are they? oh
yes, of course mr. glover was poor jim's solicitor."she sighed. "i dislike lawyers," she said with a shiver,"they are so heavily paternal! they feel that they and they only are qualifiedto direct your life and your actions. i suppose it is second naturewith them. then, of course, they make an awful lot of money out of commissionsand fees, though i'm sure jack glover wouldn't worry about that.he's really a nice boy," she said earnestly, "and i don't think you couldhave a better friend." lydia glowed at the generosity of this girlwhom the man had so maligned.
"he has been very good to me," she said, "although,of course, he is a little fussy." jean's lips twitched with amusement. "has he warned you against me?" she askedsolemnly. "has he told you what a terrible ogre i am?" and then withoutwaiting for a reply: "i sometimes think poor jack is just a little--well,i wouldn't say mad, but a little queer. his dislikes are so violent.he positively loathes margaret, though why i have never been ableto understand." "he doesn't hate me," laughed lydia, and jeanlooked at her strangely.
"no, i suppose not," she said. "i can't imagineanybody 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," repeatedthe girl thoughtfully. "and, of course, jack wouldn't hate you becauseyou're his client--a very rich and attractive client too, my dear."she tapped the girl's cheek and lydia, for some reason, felt foolish. but as though unconscious of the embarrassmentshe had caused, jean went on.
"i don't really blame him, either. i've ashrewd suspicion that all these warnings against me and against otherpossible enemies will furnish a very excellent excuse for seeingyou every day and acting as your personal bodyguard!" lydia shook her head. "that part of it he has relegated already,"she said, giving smile for smile. "he has appointed mr. jaggs as my bodyguard." "mr. jaggs?" the tone was even, the note ofinquiry was not strained. "he's an old gentleman in whom mr. gloveris interested, an old army
pensioner. beyond the fact that he hasn'tthe use of his right arm, and limps with his left leg, and that he likesbeer and cheese, he seems an admirable watch dog," said lydia humorously. "jaggs?" repeated the girl. "i wonder wherei've heard that name before. is he a detective?" "no, i don't think so. but mr. glover thinksi ought to have some sort of man sleeping in my new flat and jaggs wasduly engaged." soon after this mr. marcus stepney came overand lydia found him rather uninteresting. less boring was briggerland,for he had a fund of stories
and experiences to relate, and he had, too,one of those soft soothing voices that are so rare in men. it was dark when she came out with mr. andmiss briggerland, and she felt that the afternoon had not been unprofitablyspent. for she had a clearer conception of the girl'scharacter, and was getting jack glover's interest into betterperspective. the mercenary part of it made her just a little sick. therewas something so mysterious, so ugly in his outlook on life,and there might not be a little self-interest in his care for her.
she stood on the step of the house talkingto the girl, whilst mr. briggerland lit a cigarette with a patentlighter. hyde park crescent was deserted save for a man who stood nearthe railings which protected the area of mrs. cole-mortimer's house. hewas apparently tying his shoe laces. they went down on the sidewalk, and mr. briggerlandlooked for his car. "i'd like to take you home. my chauffeur promisedto be here at four o'clock. these men are most untrustworthy." from the other end of the crescent appearedthe lights of a car. at
first lydia thought it might be mr. briggerland's,and she was going to make her excuses for she wanted to go homealone. the car was coming too, at a tremendous pace. she watched itas it came furiously toward her, and she did not notice that mr. briggerlandand his daughter had left her standing alone on the sidewalk andhad withdrawn a few paces. suddenly the car made a swerve, mounted thesidewalk and dashed upon her. it seemed that nothing could save her,and she stood fascinated with horror, waiting for death. then an arm gripped her waist, a powerfularm that lifted her from her
feet and flung her back against the railings,as the car flashed past, the mud-guard missing her by an inch. themachine pulled up with a jerk, and the white-faced girl saw briggerland andjean running toward her. "i should never have forgiven myself if anythinghad happened. i think my chauffeur must be drunk," said briggerlandin an agitated voice. she had no words. she could only nod, andthen she remembered her preserver, and she turned to meet the solemneyes of a bent old man, whose pointed, white beard and bristling whiteeyebrows gave him a hawk-like appearance. his right hand was thrustinto his pocket. he was
touching his battered hat with the other. "beg pardon, miss," he said raucously, "nameof jaggs! and i have reported for dooty!" chapter x jack glover listened gravely to the storywhich the girl told. he had called at her lodgings on the following morningto secure her signature to some documents, and breathlessly and alittle shamefacedly, she told him what had happened. "of course it was an accident," she insisted,"in fact, mr. and miss
briggerland were almost knocked down by thecar. but you don't know how thankful i am your mr. jaggs was on the spot." "where is he now?" asked jack. "i don't know," replied the girl. "he justlimped away without another word and i did not see him again, though ithought i caught a glimpse of him as i came into this house last night.how did he come to be on the spot?" she asked curiously. "that is easily explained," replied jack."i told the old boy not to let you 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 tobe very angry," she said, shaking her head reprovingly. "of course itwas an accident!" "i disagree with you," said jack. "did youcatch a glimpse of the chauffeur?" "no," she said in surprise. "i didn't thinkof looking at him." "if you had, you would probably have seenan old friend, namely, the gentleman who carried you off from the ervingtheatre," he said quietly.
it was difficult for lydia to analyse herown feelings. she knew that jack glover was wrong, monstrously wrong.she was perfectly confident that his fantastic theory had no foundation,and yet she could not get away from his sincerity. remembering jean'sdescription of him as "a little queer" she tried to fit that descriptioninto her knowledge of him, only to admit to herself that he hadbeen exceptionally normal as far as she was concerned. the suggestion thathis object was mercenary, and that he looked upon her as a profitablematch for himself, she dismissed without consideration.
"anyway, i like your mr. jaggs," she said. "better than you like me, i gather from yourtone," smiled jack. "he's not a bad old boy." "he is a very strong old boy," she said. "helifted me as though i were a feather--i don't know now how i escaped.the steering gear went wrong," she explained unnecessarily. "dear me," said jack politely, "and it wentright again in time to enable the chauffeur to keep clear of briggerlandand his angel daughter!"
she gave a gesture of despair. "you're hopeless," she said. "these thingshappened in the dark ages; men and women do not assassinate one anotherin the twentieth century." "who told you that?" he demanded. "human naturehasn't changed for two thousand years. the instinct to kill is asstrong as ever, or wars would be impossible. if any man or woman could commitone cold-blooded murder, there is no reason why he or she should notcommit a hundred. in england, america, and france fifty cold-bloodedmurders are detected every year. twice that number are undetected.it does not make the crime
more impossible because the criminal is goodlooking." "you're hopeless," she said again, and jackmade no further attempt to convince her. on the thursday of that week she exchangedher lodgings for a handsome flat in cavendish place, and mrs. morgan hadpromised to join her a week later, when she had settled up her own businessaffairs. lydia was fortunate enough to get two maidsfrom 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 toplace a room at the disposal
of the aged mr. jaggs. if he was awake allnight as she presumed he would be, and slept in the day, he might havebeen accommodated in the kitchen, and she hinted as much to jack. toher surprise the lawyer had turned down that idea. "you don't want your servants to know thatyou have a watchman." "what do you imagine they will think he is?"she asked scornfully. "how can i have an old gentleman in the flat withoutexplaining why he is there?" "your explanation could be that he did theboots."
"it wouldn't take him all night to do theboots. of course, i'm too grateful 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 hadnot yet got used to her new magnificence, came out into the hall to meethim. he was certainly not a prepossessing object,and lydia discovered that, in addition to his other misfortunes, he hada slight squint. "i hadn't an opportunity of thanking you theother day, mr. jaggs," she said. "i think you saved my life."
"that's all right, miss," he said, in hishoarse voice. "dooty is dooty!" she thought he was looking past her, tillshe realised that his curious slanting 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, openedthe door of a small room which had been prepared for him, and switched onthe light. "too much light for me, miss," said the oldman, shaking his head. "i like to sit in the dark and listen, that'swhat i like, to sit in the
dark and listen." "but you can't sit in the dark, you'll wantto read, won't you?" "can't read, miss," said jaggs cheerfully."can't write, either. i don't know 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 witha hoarse chuckle. "don't you worry about me. i'll just sit here and havea big think." if she was uncomfortable before, she was reallyembarrassed now. the
very sight of the door behind which old jaggssat having his "big think" was an irritation to her. she could not sleepfor a long time that night for thinking of him sitting in the darkness,and "listening" as he put it, and had firmly resolved on endinga condition of affairs which was particularly distasteful to her,when she fell asleep. she woke when the maid brought her tea, tolearn that jaggs had gone. the maid, too, had her views on the "old gentleman."she hadn't slept all night for the thought of him, she said,though probably this was an exaggeration.
the arrangement must end, thought lydia, andshe called at jack glover's office that afternoon to tell him so. jacklistened without comment until she had finished. "i'm sorry he is worrying you, but you'llget used to him in time, and i should be obliged if you kept him for a month.you would relieve me of a lot 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 easilyconvinced.
"i don't like it, miss," she said, "he's justlike an old tramp, and i'm sure we shall be murdered in our beds." "how cheerful you are, lucy," laughed lydia."of course, there is no danger from mr. jaggs, and he really was veryuseful to me." the girl grumbled and assented a little sulkily,and lydia had a feeling that she was going to lose a goodservant. in this she was not mistaken. old jaggs called at half-past nine that night,and was admitted by the maid, who stalked in front of him and openedhis door.
"there's your room," she snapped, "and i'drather have your room than your company." "would you, miss?" wheezed jaggs, and lydia,attracted by the sound of voices, came to the door and listened withsome amusement. "lord, bless me life, it ain't a bad room,either. put the light out, my dear, i don't like light. i like 'em dark,like them little cells in holloway prison, where you were took two yearsago for robbing your missus." lydia's smile left her face. she heard thegirl gasp.
"you old liar!" she hissed. "lucy jones you call yourself--you used tobe mary welch in them days," chuckled old jaggs. "i'm not going to be insulted," almost screamedlucy, though there was a note of fear in her strident voice. "i'm goingto leave to-night." "no you ain't, my dear," said old jaggs complacently."you're going to sleep here to-night, and you're going to leavein the morning. if you try to get out of that door before i let you,you'll be pinched." "they've got nothing against me," the girlwas betrayed into saying.
"false characters, my dear. pretending tocome from the agency, when you didn't. that's another crime. lord bless yourheart, i've got enough against 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 younglady." "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 thedoor and locked it. the next morning when lydia woke, the flatwas empty, save for herself. but she had hardly finished dressing whenthere came a knock at the door, and a trim, fresh-looking country girl,with an expansive smile and a look of good cheer that warmed lydia'sheart, appeared. "you're the lady that wants a maid, ma'am,aren't you?" "yes," said lydia in surprise. "but who sentyou?" "i was telegraphed for yesterday, ma'am, fromthe country."
"come in," said lydia helplessly. "isn't it right?" asked the girl a littledisappointedly. "they sent me my fare. i came up by the first train." "it is quite all right," said lydia, "onlyi'm wondering who is running this flat, me or mr. jaggs?" chapter xi jean briggerland had spent a very busy afternoon.there had been a string of callers at the handsome house inberkeley street. mr. briggerland was of a philanthropic bent,and had instituted a club
in the east end of london which was intendedto raise the moral tone of limehouse, wapping, poplar and the adjacentdistricts. it was started without ostentation with a man named faireas general manager. mr. faire had had in his lifetime several hectic contestswith the police, in which he had been invariably the loser. andit was in his role as a reformed character that he undertook the managementof this social uplift club. well-meaning police officials had warned mr.briggerland that faire had a bad character. mr. briggerland listened,was grateful for the warning,
but explained that faire had come under theinfluence of the new uplift movement, and from henceforward he would bean exemplary citizen. later, the police had occasion to extend their warningto its founder. the club was being used by known criminal characters;men who had already been in jail and were qualifying for a return visit. again mr. briggerland pointed to the objectof the institution which was to bring bad men into the society of goodmen and women, and to arouse in them a desire for better things. he quoteda famous text with great effect. but still the police were unconvinced.
it was the practice of miss jean briggerlandto receive selected members of the club and to entertain them at tea inberkeley street. her friends thought it was very "sweet" and very "daring,"and wondered whether she wasn't afraid of catching some kind of diseasepeculiar to the east end of london. but jean did not worry about suchthings. on this afternoon, after the last of her callers had gone, shewent down to the little morning-room where such entertainments occurredand found two men, who rose awkwardly as she entered. the gentle influence of the club had not madethem look anything but
what they were. "jail-bird" was written allover them. "i'm very glad you men have come," said jeansweetly. "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 the teapot, "especially men who have had so bada time as you have. you have only just come out of prison, haven'tyou, mr. hoggins?" she asked innocently.
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 witha smile of sympathy, "and really if you were guilty i don't think youmen are so much to blame. look what a bad time you have! what disadvantagesyou suffer, whilst here in the west end people are wasting moneythat really ought to go to your wives and children." "that's right," said mr. hoggins. "there's a girl i know who is tremendouslyrich," jean prattled on. "she
lives at 84, cavendish mansions, just on thetop floor, and, of course, she's very foolish to sleep with her windowsopen, especially as people could get down from the roof--there is a fireescape there. she always has a lot of jewellery--keeps it under herpillow i think, and there is generally a few hundred pounds scattered aboutthe bedroom. now that is what i call putting temptation in the wayof the weak." she lifted her blue eyes, saw the glitterin the man's eyes and went on. "i've told her lots of times that there isdanger, but she only laughs. there is an old man who sleeps in the house--quitea feeble old man who
has only the use of one arm. of course, ifshe cried out, i suppose he would come to her rescue, but then a realburglar wouldn't let her cry out, would he?" she asked. the two men looked at one another. "no," breathed one. "especially as they could get clean away ifthey were clever," said jean, "and it isn't likely that they wouldleave her in a condition to betray 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 blamethe poor man to whom a thousand pounds would be a fortune becausehe comes and takes it. personally, i should not like to live at 84,cavendish mansions." "84, cavendish mansions," murmured mr. hogginsabsent-mindedly. his last sentence had been one of ten years'penal servitude. his next sentence would be for life. nobody knew thisbetter than jean briggerland as she went on to talk of theclub and of the wonderful work
which it was doing. she dismissed her visitors and went back toher sitting-room. as she turned to go up the stairway her maid interceptedher. "mary is in your room, miss," she said ina low voice. jean frowned but made no reply. the woman who stood awkwardly in the centreof the room awaiting the girl, greeted her with an apologetic smile. "i'm sorry, miss," she said, "but i lost myjob this morning. that old man spotted me. he's a split--a detective."
jean briggerland regarded her with an unmovedface save that her beautiful mouth took on the pathetic littledroop which had excited the pity of a judge and an army of lawyers. "when did this happen?" she asked. "last night, miss. he came and i got a bitcheeky to him, and he turned on me, the old devil, and told me my realname and that i'd got the job by forging recommendations." jean sat down slowly in the padded venetianchair before her writing "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 thenafter a moment's reflection, "we shall be in paris next week. you had bettergo by the night train and wait for us at the flat." she gave the maid some money and after shehad gone, sat for an hour before the fire looking into its red depths.
she rose at last a little stiffly, pulledthe heavy silken curtain across the windows and switched on the light,and there was a smile on her face that was very beautiful to see. forin that hour came an inspiration. she sought her father in his study and toldhim her plan, and he blanched and shivered with the very horrorof it. chapter xii mr. briggerland, it seemed, had some otherobject in life than the regeneration of the criminal classes. he wasa sociologist--a loose
title which covers a great deal of inquisitiveinvestigation into other people's affairs. moreover, he had publisheda book on the subject. his name was on the title page and the book hadbeen reviewed to his credit; though in truth he did no more than suggestthe title, the work in question having been carried out by a writeron the subject who, for a consideration, had allowed mr. briggerlandto adopt the child of his brain. on a morning when pale yellow sunlight brightenedhis dining-room, mr. briggerland put down his newspaper and lookedacross the table at his
daughter. he had a club in the east end oflondon and his manager had telephoned that morning sending a somewhatunhappy 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 hoggins were engaged in some nefarious plan and thatin making an attempt to enter--as, of course, they had no right toenter--a block of flats in cavendish place, poor talmot slipped and fellfrom the fourth floor
window-sill, breaking his leg. hoggins hadto carry him to hospital." the girl reached for bacon from the hot plate. "he should have broken his neck," she saidcalmly. "i suppose now the police are making tender inquiries?" "no, no," mr. briggerland hastened to assureher. "nobody knows anything about it, not even the--er--fortunate occupantof the flat they were evidently trying to burgle. i only learntof it because the manager of the club, who gets information of this character,thought i would be interested."
"anyway i'm glad they didn't succeed," saidjean after a while. "the possibility of their trying rather worriedme. the hoggins type is such a bungler that it was almost certain theywould fail." it was a curious fact that whilst her fathermade the most guarded references to all their exploits and clothedthem with garments of euphemism, his daughter never attempted anysuch disguise. the psychologist would find in mr. briggerland'sreticence the embryo of a once dominant rectitude, no trace of whichremained in his daughter's moral equipment.
"i have been trying to place this man jaggs,"she went on with a little puzzled frown, "and he completely bafflesme. he arrives every night in a taxicab, sometimes from st. pancras, sometimesfrom euston, sometimes from london bridge station." "do you think he is a detective?" "i don't know," she said thoughtfully. "ifhe is, he has been imported from the provinces. he is not a scotland yardman. he may, of course, be an old police pensioner, and i have been tryingto trace him from that source."
"it should not be difficult to find out allabout him," said mr. briggerland easily. "a man with his afflictionsshould be pretty well-known." he looked at his watch. "my appointment at norwood is at eleven o'clock,"he said. he made a little grimace of disgust. "would you rather i went?" asked the girl. mr. briggerland would much rather that shehad undertaken the disagreeable experience which lay before him,but he dare not confess as
much. "you, my dear? of course not! i would notallow you to have such an experience. no, no, i don't mind it a bit." nevertheless, he tossed down two long glassesof brandy before he left. his car set him down before the iron gatesof a squat and ugly stucco building, surrounded by high walls, and theuniformed attendant, having examined his credentials, admitted him. hehad to wait a little while before a second attendant arrived to conducthim to the medical superintendent, an elderly man who did notseem overwhelmed with joy at
the honour mr. briggerland was paying him. "i'm sorry i shan't be able to show you round,mr. briggerland," he said. "i have an engagement in town, but myassistant, dr. carew, will conduct you over the asylum and give you allthe information you require. this, of course, as you know, isa private institution. i should have thought you would have got morematerial for your book in one of the big public asylums. the peoplewho are sent to norwood, you know, are not the mild cases, and you willsee some rather terrible sights. you are prepared for that?"
mr. briggerland nodded. he was prepared tothe extent of two full noggins of brandy. moreover, he was well awarethat norwood was the asylum to which the more dangerous of lunaticswere transferred. dr. carew proved to be a young and enthusiasticalienist whose heart and soul 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-vaultedcorridor. he opened a steel gate, the bars of whichwere encased with thick layers of rubber, crossed a grassy plot (there wereno stone-flagged paths at
norwood) and entered one of the three buildingswhich constituted the asylum proper. it was a harrowing, heart-breaking, and tosome extent, a disappointing experience for mr. briggerland. true, hisheart did not break, because it was made of infrangible material, and hisdisappointment was counter-balanced by a certain vague relief. at the end of two hours' inspection they werestanding out on the big playing fields, watching the less violentof the patients wandering aimlessly about. except one, they were unattendedby keepers, but in the
case of this one man, two stalwart uniformedmen walked on either side of him. "who is he?" asked briggerland. "that is rather a sad case," said the alienistcheerfully. he had pointed out many "sad cases" in the same brightmanner. "he's a doctor and a genuine homicide. luckily they detectedhim before he did any mischief 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 insurprise. "no. you see, an
insane asylum is not like a prison; to makea good get-away from prison you have to have outside assistance. nobodywants to help a lunatic escape, otherwise it would be easier thangetting out of prison, because we have no patrols in the grounds, the wardscan be opened from the outside without a key and the night patrolwho visits the wards every half-hour has no time for any other observation.would you like to talk to dr. thun?" mr. briggerland hesitated only for a second. "yes," he said huskily.
there was nothing in the appearance of thepatient to suggest that he was in any way dangerous. a fair, beardedman, with pale blue eyes, he held out his hand impulsively to the visitor,and after a momentary hesitation, mr. briggerland took it and foundhis hand in a grip like a vice. the two attendants exchanged glanceswith the asylum doctor and strolled off. "i think you can talk to him without fear,"said the doctor in a low voice, not so low, however, that the patientdid not hear it, for he laughed.
"without fear, favour or prejudice, eh? yes,that was how they swore the officers at my court martial." "the doctor was the general who was responsiblefor the losses at caperetto," explained dr. carew. "that waswhere the italians lost so heavily." thun nodded. "of course, i was perfectly innocent," heexplained to briggerland seriously, and taking the visitor's arm hestrolled across the field, the doctor and the two attendants followingat a distance. mr.
briggerland breathed a little more quicklyas he felt the strength of the patient's biceps. "my conviction," said dr. thun seriously,"was due to the fact that women were sitting on the court martial, whichis, of course, against all regulations." "certainly," murmured mr. briggerland. "keeping me here," thun went on, "is partof the plot of the italian government. naturally, they do not wish meto get at my enemies, who i have 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 where they are." "really?" said the other easily, and thena cloud passed over his face and he shook his head. "they are safe from my vengeance," he saida little sadly. "as long as they keep me in this place pretending thati am mad, there is no possible chance for me." the visitor looked round and saw that thethree men who were following
were out of ear shot. "suppose i came to-morrow night," he said,lowering his voice, "and helped 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. "you will come to-morrow night--no. 6, thefirst cubicle on the left," he whispered, "you will not fail me? if ithought you'd fail me----" his eyes lit up again. "i shall not fail you," said mr. briggerlandhastily. "when the clock
strikes twelve you may expect me." "you must be marshal foch," murmured thun,and then with all a madman's cunning, changed the conversation as the doctorand attendants, who had noticed his excitement, drew nearer. "believeme, mr. briggerland," he went on airily, "the strategy of the allieswas at fault until i took up the command of the army...." ten minutes later mr. briggerland was in hiscar driving homeward, a little breathless, more than a little terrifiedat the unpleasant task he had set himself; jubilant, too, at hisamazing success.
jean had said he might have to visit a dozenasylums before he found his opportunity and the right man, and he hadsucceeded at the first attempt. yet--he shuddered at the picturehe conjured--that climb over the high wall (he had already located theward, for he had followed the general and the attendants and had seen himsafely put away), the midnight association with a madman.... he burst in upon jean with his news. "at the first attempt, my dear, what do youthink of that?" his dark face glowed with almost childish pride, andshe looked at him with a
half-smile. "i thought you would," she said quietly. "that'sthe rough work done, at any rate." "the rough work!" he said indignantly. "half the difficulty is going to be to coverup your visit to the asylum, because this man is certain to mentionyour name, and it will not all be dismissed as the imagination ofa madman. now i think i will make my promised call upon mrs. meredith." chapter xiii
there was one thing which rather puzzled andalmost piqued lydia meredith, and that was the failure of jeanbriggerland's prophecy to materialise. jean had said half jestinglythat jack glover would be a frequent visitor at the flat; in point offact, he did not come at all. even when she visited the offices of rennett,glover and simpson, it was mr. rennett who attended to her, and jackwas invisible. mr. rennett sometimes explained that he was at the courts,for jack did all the court work, sometimes that he had gone home. she caught a glimpse of him once as she wasdriving past the law courts
in the strand. he was standing on the pavementtalking to a be-wigged counsel, so possibly mr. rennett had not statedmore than the truth when he said that the young man's time was mostlyoccupied by the processes of litigation. she was curious enough to look through thetelephone directory to discover where he lived. there were aboutfifty glovers, and ten of these were john glovers, and she was enoughof a woman to call up six of the most likely only to discover that hermr. glover was not amongst them. she did not know till later that hisfull name was bertram john
glover, or she might have found his addresswithout difficulty. mrs. morgan had now arrived, to lydia's infiniterelief, and had taken control of the household affairs. the newmaid was as perfect as a new maid could be, and but for the nightly intrusionof the taciturn jaggs, to whom, for some reason, mrs. morgan tooka liking, the current of her domestic life ran smoothly. she was already becoming accustomed to thepossession of wealth. the habit of being rich is one of the easiestacquired, and she found herself negotiating for a little house incurzon street and a more
pretentious establishment in somerset, witha sangfroid which astonished and frightened her. the purchase and arrival of her first car,and the engagement of her chauffeur had been a thrilling experience.it was incredible, too, that her new bankers should, without hesitation,deliver to her enormous sums of money at the mere affixing of her signatureto an oblong slip of paper. she had even got over the panic feeling whichcame to her on her first few visits to the bank. on these earlier occasionsshe had felt rather
like an inexpert forger, who was endeavouringto get money by false pretence, and it was both a relief and a wonderto her when the nonchalant cashier thrust thick wads of bank-notesunder the grille, without so much as sending for a policeman. "it's a lovely flat," said jean briggerland,looking round the pink drawing-room approvingly, "but of course,my dear, this is one that was already furnished for you. i'm dying to seewhat you will make of your own home when you get one." she had telephoned that morning to lydia sayingthat she was paying a
call, asking if it was convenient, and thetwo girls were alone. "it _is_ a nice flat, and i shall be sorryto leave it," agreed lydia. "it is so extraordinarily quiet. i sleep likea top. there is no noise to disturb one, except that there was ratheran unpleasant happening the other morning." "what was that?" asked jean, stirring hertea. "i don't know really what happened," saidlydia. "i heard an awful groaning very early in the morning and i gotup and looked out of the window. there were two men in the courtyard.one, i think, had hurt
himself very badly. i never discovered whathappened." "they must have been workmen, i should think,"said jean, "or else they were drunk. personally, i have never likedtaking furnished flats," she went on. "one always breaks things, and there'ssuch a big bill to pay at the end. and then i always lose the keys.one usually has two or three. you should be very careful about that,my dear, they make an enormous charge for lost keys," she prattledon. "i think the house agent gave me three," saidlydia. she walked to her little secretaire, opened it and pulled outa drawer.
"yes, three," she said, "there is one here,one i carry, and mrs. morgan has one." "have you seen jack glover lately?" jean never pursued an enquiry too far, byso much as one syllable. "no, i haven't seen him," smiled lydia, "youweren't a good prophet." "i expect he is busy," said the girl carelessly."i think i could like jack awfully--if he hadn't such a passionfor ordering people about. how careless of me!" she had tipped over her teacupand its contents were running across the little tea table. she pulledout her handkerchief
quickly and tried to stop the flow. "oh, please, please don't spoil your beautifulhandkerchief," said lydia, rising hurriedly, "i will get a duster." she ran out of the room and was back almostimmediately, to find jean standing with her back to the secretaire examiningthe ruins of her late handkerchief with a smile. "let me put your handkerchief in water orit will be stained," said lydia, putting out her hand. "i would rather do it myself," laughed jeanbriggerland, and pushed the
handkerchief into her bag. there were many reasons why lydia should nothandle that flimsy piece of cambric and lace, the most important of whichwas the key which jean had taken from the secretaire in lydia's absence,and had rolled inside the tea-stained handkerchief. a few days later mr. bertram john glover intervieweda high official at scotland yard, and the interview was not aparticularly satisfactory one to the lawyer. it might have been worse, hadnot the police commissioner been a friend of jack's partner.
the official listened patiently whilst thelawyer, with professional skill, marshalled all his facts, attachingto them the suspicions which had matured to convictions. "i have sat in this chair for twenty-fiveyears," said the head of the c.i.d., "and i have heard stories which beatthe best and the worst of detective stories hollow. i have listenedto cranks, amateur detectives, crooks, parsons and expert fictionists, butnever in my experience have i ever heard anything quite so improbableas your theory. it happens that i have met briggerland and i've met hisdaughter too, and a more
beautiful girl i don't think it has been mypleasure to meet." jack groaned. "aren't you feeling well?" asked the chiefunpleasantly. "i'm all right, sir," said jack, "only i'mso tired of hearing about jean briggerland's beauty. it doesn't seema very good argument to oppose to the facts--" "facts!" said the other scornfully. "whatfacts have you given us?" "the fact of the briggerlands' history," saidjack desperately. "briggerland was broke when he married missmeredith under the
impression that he would get a fortune withhis wife. he has lived by his wits all his life, and until this girlwas about fifteen, they were existing in a state of poverty. they livedin a tiny house in ealing, the rent of which was always in arrears, andthen briggerland became acquainted with a rich australian of middleage who was crazy about his daughter. the rich australian died suddenly." "from an overdose of veronal," said the chief."it was established at the inquest--i got all the documents out afteri received your letter--that he was in the habit of takingveronal. you suggest he was
murdered. if he was, for what? he left thegirl about six thousand pounds." "briggerland thought she was going to getit all," said jack. "that is conjecture," interrupted the chief."go on." "briggerland moved up west," jack went on,"and when the girl was seventeen she made the acquaintance of a mannamed gunnesbury, who went just as mad about her. gunnesbury was a midlandmerchant with a wife and family. he was so infatuated with her thathe collected all the loose money he could lay his hands on--some twenty-fivethousand pounds--and
bolted to the continent. the girl was supposedto have gone on ahead, and he was to join her at calais. he neverreached calais. the theory was that he jumped overboard. his body wasfound and brought in to dover, but there was none of the money inhis possession that he had drawn from the midland bank." "that is a theory, too," said the chief, shakinghis head. "the identity of the girl was never established. it wasknown that she was a friend of gunnesbury's, but there was proof that shewas in london on the night of his death. it was a clear case of suicide."
"a year later," jack went on, "she forceda meeting with meredith, her cousin. his father had just died--jim hadcome back from central africa to put things in order. he was not a woman'sman, and was a grave, retiring sort of fellow, who had no otherinterest in life than his shooting. the story of meredith you know." "and is that all?" asked the chief politely. "all the facts i can gather. there must beother cases which are beyond the 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 saidfrankly. "you are not exactly supporting my views with enthusiasm." the chief rose, a signal that the interviewwas at an end. "i'd like to help you if you had any realneed for help," he said. "but when you come to me and tell me that missbriggerland, a girl whose innocence shows in her face, is a heartlesscriminal and murderess, and a conspirator--why, mr. glover, what do youexpect me to say?" "i expect you to give adequate protectionto mrs. meredith," said jack
sharply. "i expect you, sir, to remember thati've warned you that mrs. meredith may die one of those accidental deathsin which mr. and miss briggerland specialise. i'm going to put mywarning in black and white, and if anything happens to lydia meredith,there is going to be serious trouble on the thames embankment." the chief touched a bell, and a constablecame in. "show mr. glover the way out," he said stiffly. jack had calmed down considerably by the timehe reached the thames embankment, and was inclined to be annoyedwith himself for losing his
temper. he stopped a newsboy, took a paper from hishand, and, hailing a cab, drove to his office. there was little in the early edition savethe sporting news, but on the front page a paragraph arrested his eye. "dangerous lunatic at large." "the medical superintendent at norwood asylumreports that dr. algernon john thun, an inmate of the asylum,escaped last night, and is believed to be at large in theneighbourhood.
search parties have been organised, but notrace of the man has been found. he is known to have homicidaltendencies, a fact which renders his immediate recapture a veryurgent necessity." there followed a description of the wantedman. jack turned to another part of the paper, and dismissed the paragraphfrom his mind. his partner, however, was to bring the matterup at lunch. norwood asylum was near dulwich, and mr. rennett waspardonably concerned. "the womenfolk at my house are scared to death,"he said at lunch. "they won't go out at night, and they keep all thedoors locked. how did your
interview with the commissioner go on?" "we parted the worst of friends," said jack,"and, rennett, the next man who talks to me about jean briggerland's beautifulface is going to be killed dead through it, even though i haveto take a leaf from her book and employ the grisly jaggs to do it." chapter xiv that night the "grisly jaggs" was later thanusual. lydia heard him shuffling along the passage, and presentlythe door of his room closed with a click. she was sitting at the piano,and had stopped playing at
the sound of his knock, and when mrs. morgancame in to announce his arrival, she closed the piano and swung roundon the music stool, a look of determination on her delicate face. "he's come, miss." "and for the last time," said lydia ominously."mrs. morgan, i can't stand that weird old gentleman any longer.he has got on my nerves so that 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 is
perfectly blameless," said lydia determinedly,"but i have written a note to mr. glover to tell him that i reallymust dispense with his services." "what's he here for, miss?" asked mrs. morgan. her curiosity had been aroused, but this wasthe first time she had given it expression. "he's here because----" lydia hesitated, "well,because mr. glover thinks i ought to have a man in the houseto 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 senseof restraint. she was being "school-marmed" she thought. no girl likesthe ostentatious protection of the big brother or the head mistress. thesoul of the schoolgirl yearns to break from the "crocodile" in whichshe is marched to church and to school, and this sensation of beingmarshalled and ordered about, and of living her life according to a thirdperson's programme, and that third person a man, irked her horribly. old jaggs was the outward and visible signof jack glover's unwarranted
authority, and slowly there was creeping intoher mind a suspicion that jean briggerland might not have been mistakenwhen she spoke of jack's penchant for "ordering people about." life was growing bigger for her. she had brokendown the barriers which had confined her to a narrow promenade betweenoffice and home. the hours which she had had to devote to workwere now entirely free, and she could sketch or paint whenever the fancytook her--which was not very often, though she promised herself aperiod of hard work when once she was settled down.
toward the good-looking young lawyer her pointof view had shifted. she hardly knew herself how she regarded him.he irritated, and yet in some indefinable way, pleased her. his sincerity--?she did not doubt his sincerity. she admitted to herself that shewished he would call a little more frequently than he did. he mighthave persuaded her that jaggs was a necessary evil, but he hadn'teven taken the trouble to come. therefore--but this she did not admit--jaggsmust go. "i don't think the old gentleman's quite rightin his head, you know, sometimes," said mrs. morgan.
"why ever not, mrs. morgan?" asked the girlin surprise. "i often hear him sniggering to himself asi go past his door. i suppose he stays in his room all night, miss?" "he doesn't," said the girl emphatically,"and that's why he's going. i heard him in the passage at two o'clock thismorning; i'm getting into such a state of nerves that the slightestsound awakens me. he had his boots off and was creeping about in his stockings,and when i went out and switched the light on he bolted back tohis room. i can't have that sort of thing going on, and i won't! it'saltogether too creepy!"
mrs. morgan agreed. lydia had not been out in the evening forseveral days, she remembered, as she began to undress for the night. theweather had been unpleasant, and to stay in the warm, comfortable flatwas no great hardship. even if she had gone out, jaggs would have accompaniedher, she thought ironically. and then she had a little twinge of conscience,remembering that jaggs's presence on a memorable afternoon had savedher from destruction. she wondered for the twentieth time what wasold jaggs's history, and
where jack had found him. once she had beentempted to ask jaggs himself, but the old man had fenced with thequestion, and had talked vaguely of having worked in the country, andshe was as wise as she had been before. but she must get rid of old jaggs, she thought,as she switched off the light and kicked out the innumerable water-bottles,with which mrs. morgan, in mistaken kindness, had encumberedthe bed ... old jaggs must go ... he was a nuisance.... she woke with a start from a dreamless sleep.the clock in the hall was
striking three. she realised this subconsciously.her eyes were fixed on the window, which was open at the bottom.mrs. morgan had pulled it down 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 have believed that she could have thought of thatold man with such a warm glow of thankfulness. there was nothing tobe seen. the storm of the early night had passed over, and a faint lightcame into the room from the waning moon. and then she saw the curtainsmove, and opened her mouth to scream, but fear had paralysed hervoice, and she lay staring
at the hangings, incapable of movement orsound. as she watched the curtain she saw it move again, and a shapeappeared faintly against the gloomy background. the spell was broken. she swung herself outof the opposite side of the bed, and raced to the door, but the man wasbefore her. before she could scream, a big hand gripped her throat andflung her back against the rail of the bed. horrified she stared into the cruel face thatleered down at her, and felt the grip tighten. and then as she lookedinto the face she saw a
sudden grimace, and sensed the terror in hiseyes. the hand relaxed; he bubbled something thickly and fell sidewaysagainst the bed. and now she saw. a man had come through the doorway, atall man, with a fair beard and eyes that danced with insane joy. he came slowly toward her, wiping on his cuffthe long-handled knife that had sent her assailant to the floor. he was mad. she knew it instinctively, andremembered in a hazy, confused way, a paragraph she had read aboutan escaped lunatic. she tried to dash past him to the open door, buthe caught her in the crook
of his left arm, and pressed her to him, toweringhead and shoulders over her. "you have no right to sit on a court martial,madam," he said with uncanny politeness, and at that moment thelight in the room was switched on and jaggs appeared in the doorway,his bearded lips parted in an ugly grin, a long-barrelled pistol inhis left hand. "drop your knife," he said, "or i'll dropyou." the mad doctor turned his head slowly andfrowned at the intruder. "good morning, general," he said calmly. "youcame in time," and he
threw the knife on to the ground. "we willtry her according to regulations!" chapter xv a tragic affair in the west end. mad doctor wounds a burglar in a society woman'sbedroom. "there was an extraordinary and tragic sequelto the escape of dr. thun from norwood asylum, particularsof which appeared in our early edition of yesterday. this morningat four o'clock, in answer to a telephone call, detective-sergeantmiller,
accompanied by another officer, went to 84,cavendish mansions, a flat occupied by mrs. meredith, and therefound and took into custody dr. algernon thun, who had escapedfrom norwood asylum. in the room was also found a man named hoggins,a person well known to the police. it appears that hogginshad effected an entrance into mrs. meredith's flat, descendingfrom the roof by means of a rope, making his way into the premisesthrough the window of mrs. meredith's bedroom. whilstthere he was detected by mrs. meredith, who would undoubtedly havebeen murdered had
not dr. thun, who, in some mysterious manner,had gained admission to the flat, intervened. in thestruggle that followed the doctor, who is suffering fromthe delusion of persecution, severely wounded the man, whois not expected to live. he then turned his attention to thelady. happily an old man who works at the flat, who was sleepingon the premises at the time, was roused by the sound of the struggle,and succeeded in releasing the lady from the maniacalgrasp of the intruder. the wounded burglar was removedto hospital and the
lunatic was taken to the police station andwas afterwards sent under a strong guard to the asylum from whencehe had escaped. he made a rambling statement to the policeto the effect that general foch had assisted his escape and haddirected him to the home of his persecutors." jean briggerland put down the paper and laughed. "it is nothing to snigger about," growledbriggerland savagely. "if i didn't laugh i should do something moreemotional," said the girl coolly. "to think that that fool should goback and make the attempt
single-handed. i never imagined that." "faire tells me that he's not expected tolive," said mr. briggerland. he rubbed his bald head irritably. "i wonderif that lunatic is going to talk?" "what does it matter if he does?" said thegirl impatiently. "you said the other day----" he began. "the other day it mattered, my dear father.to-day nothing matters very much. i think we have got well out of it.i ignored all the lessons which my textbook teaches when i entrustedwork to other hands. jaggs,"
she said softly. "eh?" said the father. "i'm repeating a well-beloved name," she smiledand rose, folding her serviette. "i am going for a long run in thecountry. would you like to come? mordon is very enthusiastic about thenew car, the bill for which, by the way, came in this morning. have weany money?" "a few thousands," said her father, rubbinghis chin. "jean, we shall have to sell something unless things brighten." jean's lips twitched, but she said nothing.
on her way to the open road she called atcavendish mansions, and was neither surprised nor discomfited to discoverthat jack glover was there. "my dear," she said, warmly clasping boththe girl's hands in hers, "i was so shocked when i read the news! how terribleit must have been for you." lydia was looking pale, and there were darkshadows under her eyes, but she treated the matter cheerfully. "i've just been trying to explain to mr. gloverwhat happened.
unfortunately, the wonderful jaggs is nothere. he knows more about it than i, for i collapsed in the most feminineway." "how did he get in--i mean this madman?" askedthe girl. "through the door." it was jack who answered. "it is the last way in the world a lunaticwould enter a flat, isn't it? he came in with a key, and he was broughthere by somebody who struck a match to make sure it was the right number." "he might have struck the match himself,"said jean, "but you're so
clever that you would not say a thing likethat unless you had proof." "we found two matches in the hall outside,"said jack, "and when dr. thun was searched no matches were found onhim, and i have since learnt that, like most homicidal lunatics, he hada horror of fire in any form. the doctor to whom i have been talking isabsolutely sure that he would not have struck the match himself. oh, bythe way, miss briggerland, your father met this unfortunate man. i understandhe paid a visit to the asylum a few days ago?" "yes, he did," she answered without hesitation."he was talking about
him this morning. you see, father has beenmaking a tour of the asylums. he is writing a book about such things. fatherwas horrified when he heard the man had escaped, because the doctortold him that he was a particularly dangerous lunatic. but who wouldhave imagined he would have turned up here?" her big, sad eyes were fixed on jack as sheshook her head in wonder. "if one had read that in a book one wouldnever have believed it, would one?" "and the man hoggins," said jack, who didnot share her wonder. "he was
by way of being an acquaintance of yours,a member of your father's club, wasn't he?" she knit her brows. "i don't remember the name, but if he is avery bad character," she said with a little smile, "i should say distinctlythat he was a member of father's club! poor daddy, i don't think hewill ever regenerate the east end." "i don't think he will," agreed jack heartily."the question is, whether the east end will ever regenerate him."
a slow smile dawned on her face. "how unkind!" she said, mockery in her eyesnow. "i wonder why you dislike him so. he is so very harmless, really.my dear," she turned to the girl with a gesture of helplessness. "iam afraid that even in this affair mr. glover is seeing my sinister influence!" "you're the most un-sinister person i haveever met, jean," laughed lydia, "and mr. glover doesn't really thinkall these horrid things." "doesn't he?" said jean softly, and jack sawthat she was shaking with laughter.
there was a certain deadly humour in the situationwhich tickled him too, and he grinned. "i wish to heaven you'd get married and settledown, miss briggerland," he said incautiously. it was her chance. she shook her head, thelips drooped, the eyes again grew moist with the pain she could call tothem at will. "i wish i could," she said in a tone a littleabove a whisper, "but, jack, i could never marry you, never!" she left jack glover bereft of speech, totallyincapable of arousing so
much as a moan. lydia, returning from escorting her visitorto the door, saw his embarrassment and checked his impulsive explanationa little coldly. "i--i believed you when you said it wasn'ttrue, mr. glover," she said, and there was a reproach in her tone for whichshe hated herself afterwards. chapter xvi lydia had promised to go to the theatre thatnight with mrs. cole-mortimer, and she was glad of the excuseto leave her tragic home.
mrs. cole-mortimer, who was not lavish inthe matter of entertainments that cost money, had a box, and although lydiahad seen the piece before (it was in fact the very play she had attendedto sketch dresses on the night of her adventure) it was a relief tosit in silence, which her hostess, with singular discretion, did notattempt to disturb. it was during the last act that mrs. cole-mortimergave her an invitation which she accepted joyfully. "i've got a house at cap martin," said mrs.cole-mortimer. "it is only a tiny place, but i think you would rather likeit. i hate going to the
riviera alone, so if you care to come as myguest, i shall be most happy to chaperon you. they are bringing my yachtdown to monaco, so we ought to have a really good time." lydia accepted the yacht and the house asshe had accepted the invitation--without question. that the yachthad been chartered that morning and the house hired by telegram onthe previous day, she could not be expected to guess. for all she knew,mrs. cole-mortimer might be a very wealthy woman, and in her wildest dreamsshe did not imagine that jean briggerland had provided the money forboth.
it had not been a delicate negotiation, becausemrs. cole-mortimer had the skin of a pachyderm. years later lydia discovered that the womanlived on borrowed money, money which never could and never would berepaid, and which the borrower had no intention of refunding. a hint dropped by jean that there was somebodyon the riviera whom she desired to meet, without her father's knowledge,accompanied by the plain statement that she would pay all expenses,was quite sufficient for mrs. cole-mortimer, and she had fallenin with her patron's views as
readily as she had agreed to pose as a friendof meredith's. to do her justice, she had the faculty of believingin her own invention, and she was quite satisfied that james meredith hadbeen a great personal friend of hers, just as she would believe that thehouse on the riviera and the little steam-yacht had been procured out ofher own purse. it was harder for her, however, to explainthe great system which she was going to work in monte carlo and whichwas to make everybody's fortune. lydia, who was no gambler and only mildlyinterested in games of chance,
displayed so little evidence of interest inthe scheme that mrs. cole-mortimer groaned her despair, not knowingthat she was expected to do no more than stir the soil for the cropwhich jean briggerland would plant and reap. they went on to supper at one of the clubs,and lydia thought with amusement of poor old jaggs, who apparentlytook his job very seriously indeed. again her angle of vision had shifted, andher respect for the old man had overcome any annoyance his uncouth presencebrought to her.
as she alighted at the door of the club shelooked round, half expecting to see him. the club entrance was up a sidestreet off leicester square, an ill-lit thoroughfare which favoured mr.jaggs's retiring methods, but there was no sign of him, and she did notwait in the drizzling night to make any closer inspection. mrs. cole-mortimer had not disguised the possibilityof jean briggerland being at the club, and they found her witha gay party of young people, sitting in one of the recesses. jean madea place for the girl by her side and introduced her to half a dozen peoplewhose names lydia did not
catch, and never afterwards remembered. mr. marcus stepney, however, that sleek, darkman, who bowed over her hand and seemed as though he were going tokiss it, she had met before, and her second impression of him was evenless favourable than the first. "do you dance?" asked jean. a jazz band was playing an infectious two-step.at the girl's nod jean beckoned one of her party, a tall, handsomeboy who throughout the subsequent dance babbled into lydia's earan incessant pã¦an in praise of
jean briggerland. lydia was amused. "of course she is very beautiful," she saidin answer to the interminable repetition of his question. "ithink she's lovely." "that's what i say," said the young man, whomshe discovered was lord stoker. "the most amazingly beautiful creatureon the earth, i think." "of course you're awfully good-looking, too,"he blundered, and lydia laughed aloud. "but she's got enemies," said the young manviciously, "and if ever i
meet that infernal cad, glover, he'll be sorry." the smile left lydia's face. "mr. glover is a friend of mine," she saida little quickly. "sorry," he mumbled, "but----" "does miss briggerland say he is so very bad?" "of course not. she never says a word againsthim really." his lordship hastened to exonerate his idol. "she justsays she doesn't know how long she's going to stand his persecutions. itbreaks one's heart to see how sad this--your friend makes her."
lydia was a very thoughtful girl for the restof the evening; she was beginning in a hazy way to see things whichshe had not seen before. of course jean never said anything against jackglover. and yet she had succeeded in arousing this youth to fury againstthe lawyer, and lydia realised, with a sense of amazement, thatjean had also made her feel bad about jack. and yet she had said nothingbut sweet things. when she got back to the flat that night shefound that mr. jaggs had not been there all the evening. he came ina few minutes after her, wrapped up in an old army coat, and from hisappearance she gathered
that he had been standing out in the rainand sleet the whole of the evening. "why, jaggs," she said impulsively, "whereverhave you been?" "just dodging round, miss," he grunted. "havinga look at the little ducks in the pond." "you've been outside the theatre, and you'vebeen waiting outside niro's club," she said accusingly. "don't know it, miss," he said. "one theayteris as much like another one 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 with stripping his sodden great coat. he disappeared into his dark room, there toruminate upon such matters as appeared of interest to him. a bed hadbeen placed for him, but only once had he slept on it. after the flat grew still and the last clickof the switch told that the last light had been extinguished, he openedthe door softly, and, carrying a chair in his hand, he placed thisgently with its back to the
front door, and there he sat and dozed throughoutthe night. when lydia woke the next morning he was gone as usual. chapter xvii lydia had plenty to occupy her days. the housein curzon street had been bought and she had been a round of furnishers,paper-hangers and fitters of all variety. the trip to the riviera came at the rightmoment. she could leave mrs. morgan in charge and come back to her newhome, which was to be ready in two months.
amongst other things, the problem of the watchfulmr. jaggs would be settled automatically. she spoke to him that night when he came. "by the way, mr. jaggs, i am going to thesouth of france next week." "a pretty place by all accounts," volunteeredmr. jaggs. "a lovely place--by all accounts," repeatedlydia with a smile. "and you're going to have a holiday, mr. jaggs.by the way, what am i to pay you?" "the gentleman pays me, miss," said mr. jaggswith a sniff. "the lawyer
gentleman." "well, he must continue paying you whilsti am away," said the girl. "i am very grateful to you and i want to giveyou a little present before i go. is there anything you would like, mr.jaggs?" mr. jaggs rubbed his beard, scratched hishead and thought he would like a pipe. "though bless you, miss, i don't want anypresent." "you shall have the best pipe i can buy,"said the girl. "it seems very inadequate."
"i'd rather have a briar, miss," said oldjaggs mistakenly. he was on duty until the morning she left,and although she rose early he had gone. she was disappointed, for shehad not given him the handsome case of pipes she had bought, andshe wanted to thank him. she felt she had acted rather meanly towards him.she owed her life to him twice. "didn't you see him go?" she asked mrs. morgan. "no, miss," the stout housekeeper shook herhead. "i was up at six and he'd gone then, but he'd left his chair inthe passage--i've got an idea
that's where he slept, miss, if he slept atall." "poor old man," said the girl gently. "i haven'tbeen very kind to him, have i? and i do owe him such a lot." "maybe he'll turn up again," said mrs. morganhopefully. she had the mother feeling for the old, which is one ofthe beauties of her class, and she regretted lydia's absence probablyas much because it would entail the disappearance of old jaggs as forthe loss of her mistress. but old jaggs did not turn up. lydia hopedto see him at the station, hovering on the outskirts of the crowd inhis furtive way, but she was
disappointed. she left by the eleven o'clock train, joiningmrs. cole-mortimer on the station. that lady had arranged to spend aday in paris, and the girl was not sorry, after a somewhat bad crossingof the english channel, that she had not to continue her journey throughthe night. the south of france was to be a revelationto her. she had no conception of the extraordinary change of climate andvegetation that could be experienced in one country. she passed from a drizzly, bedraggled parisinto a land of sunshine and
gentle breezes; from the bare sullen landsof the champagne, into a country where flowers grew by the side ofthe railway, and that in february; to a semi-tropic land, fragrantwith flowers, to white beaches by a blue, lazy sea and a sky over all unfleckedby clouds. it took her breath away, the beauty of it;and the sense and genial warmth of it. the trees laden with lemons,the wisteria on the walls, the white dust on the road, and the gloryof the golden mimosa that scented the air with its rare and lovely perfume. they left the train at nice and drove alongthe grande corniche. mrs.
cole-mortimer had a call to make in montecarlo and the girl sat back in the car and drank in the beauty of this deliciousspot, whilst her hostess interviewed the house agent. surely the place must be kept under glass.it looked so fresh and clean and free from stain. the casino disappointed her--it was a placeof plaster and stucco, and did not seem built for permanent use. they drove back part of the way they had come,on to the peninsula of cap martin and she had a glimpse of beautifulvillas between the pines
and queer little roads that led into mysteriousdells. presently the car drew up before a good looking house (evenmrs. cole-mortimer was surprised into an expression of her satisfactionat the sight of it). lydia, who thought that this was mrs. cole-mortimer'sown demesne, was delighted. "you are lucky to have a beautiful home likethis, mrs. cole-mortimer," she said, "it must be heavenly living here." the habit of wealth had not been so well acquiredthat she could realise that she also could have a beautiful houseif she wished--she thought of
that later. nor did she expect to find jeanbriggerland there, and mr. briggerland too, sitting on a big cane chairon the veranda overlooking the sea and smoking a cigar of peace. mrs. cole-mortimer had been very careful toavoid all mention of jean on the journey. "didn't i tell you they would be here?" shesaid in careless amazement. "why, of course, dear jean left two days beforewe did. it makes such a nice little party. do you play bridge?" lydia did not play bridge, but was willingto be taught.
she spent the remaining hour of daylight exploringthe grounds which led down to the road which fringed the sea. she could look across at the lights alreadybeginning to twinkle at monte carlo, to the white yachts lying offmonaco, and farther along the coast to a little cluster of lights that stoodfor beaulieu. "it is glorious," she said, drawing a longbreath. mrs. cole-mortimer, who had accompanied herin her stroll, purred the purr of the pleased patron whose protã©gã©ehas been thankful for favours received.
dinner was a gay meal, for jean was in herbrightest mood. she had a keen sense of fun and her sly little sallies,sometimes aimed at her father, sometimes at lydia's expense, butmore often directed at people in the social world, whose names were householdwords, kept lydia in a constant gurgle of laughter. mrs. cole-mortimer alone was nervous and illat ease. she had learnt unpleasant news and was not sure whether sheshould tell the company or keep her secret to herself. in such dilemma,weak people take the most sensational course, and presently she droppedher bombshell.
"celeste says that the gardener's little boyhas malignant smallpox," she almost wailed. jean was telling a funny story to the girlwho sat by her, and did not pause for so much as a second in her narrative.the effect on mr. briggerland was, however, wholly satisfactoryto mrs. cole-mortimer. he pushed back his chair and blinked at his "hostess." "smallpox?" he said in horror, "here--in capmartin? good god, did you hear that, jean?" "did i hear what?" she asked lazily, "aboutthe gardener's little boy?
oh, yes. there has been quite an epidemicon the italian riviera, in fact they closed the frontier last week." "but--but here!" spluttered briggerland. lydia could only look at him in open-eyedamazement. the big man's terror was pitiably apparent. the copper skinhad turned a dirty grey, his lower lip was trembling like a frightenedchild's. "why not here?" said jean coolly, "there isnothing to be scared about. have you been vaccinated recently?" she turnedto the girl, and lydia shook her head.
"not since i was a baby--and then i believethe operation was not a success." "anyway, the child is isolated in the cottageand they are taking him to nice to-night," said jean. "poor little fellow!even his own mother has deserted him. are you going to the casino?"she asked. "i don't know," replied lydia. "i'm very tiredbut i should love to go." "take her, father--and you go, margaret. bythe time you return the infection will be removed." "won't you come too?" asked lydia.
"no, i'll stay at home to-night. i turnedmy ankle to-day and it is rather stiff. father!" this time her voice was sharp, menacing almost,thought lydia, and mr. briggerland made an heroic attempt to recoverhis self-possession. "cer--certainly, my dear--i shall be delighted--er--delighted." he saw her alone whilst lydia was changingin her lovely big dressing-room, overlooking the sea. "why didn't you tell me there was smallpoxin cap martin?" he demanded fretfully.
"because i didn't know till margaret relievedher mind at our expense," said his daughter coolly. "i had to say something.besides, i'd heard one of the maids say that somebody's motherhad deserted him--i fitted it in. what a funk you are, father!" "i hate the very thought of disease," he growled."why aren't you coming with us--there is nothing the matter withyour ankle?" "because i prefer to stay at home." he looked at her suspiciously. "jean," he said in a milder voice, "hadn'twe better let up on the girl
for a bit--until that lunatic doctor affairhas blown over?" she reached out and took a gold case fromhis waistcoat pocket, extracted a cigarette and replaced the casebefore she spoke. "we can't afford to 'let up' as you call it,for a single hour. do you realise that any day her lawyer may persuadeher to make a will leaving her money to a--a home for cats, or somethingequally untouchable? if there was no jack glover we could afford towait months. and i'm less troubled about him than i am about the manjaggs. father, you will be glad to learn that i am almost afraid of thatfreakish old man."
"neither of them are here--" he began. "exactly," said jean, "neither are here--lydiahad a telegram from him just before dinner asking if he could cometo see her next week." at this moment lydia returned and jean briggerlandeyed her critically. "my dear, you look lovely," she said and kissedher. mr. briggerland's nose wrinkled, as it alwaysdid when his daughter shocked him. chapter xviii jean briggerland waited until she heard thesound of the departing car
sink to a faint hum, then she went up to herroom, opened the bureau and took out a long and tightly fitting dust-coatthat she wore when she was motoring. she had seen a large bottle of peroxidein mrs. cole-mortimer's room. it probably contributedto the dazzling glories of mrs. cole-mortimer's hair, but it was alsoa powerful germicide. she soaked a big silk handkerchief in a basinof water, to which she added a generous quantity of the drug, and squeezingthe handkerchief nearly dry, she knotted it loosely about her neck.a rubber bathing cap she pulled down over her head, and smiled at herqueer reflection in the
glass. then she found a pair of kid glovesand drew them on. she turned out the light and went softly downthe carpeted stairs. the servants were at their dinner, and she openedthe front door and crossed the lawn into a belt of trees, beyond whichshe knew, for she had been in the house two days, was the gardener'scottage. a dim light burnt in one of the two roomsand the window was uncurtained. she saw the bed and its tinyoccupant, but nobody else was in the room. the maid had said that the motherhad deserted the little sufferer, but this was not quite true. thedoctor had ordered the mother
into isolation, and had sent a nurse fromthe infection hospital to take her place. that lady, at the moment, was waitingat the end of the avenue for the ambulance to arrive. jean opened the door and stepped in, pullingup the saturated handkerchief until it covered nose and mouth.the place was deserted, and, without a moment's hesitation, she liftedthe child, wrapped a blanket about it and crossed the lawn again.she went quietly up the stairs straight to lydia's room. there wasenough light from the dressing-room to see the bed, and unwrappingthe blanket she pulled back
the covers and laid him gently in the bed.the child was unconscious. the hideous marks of the disease had developedwith remarkable rapidity and he made no sound. she sat down in a chair, waiting. her almostinhuman calm was not ruffled by so much as a second's apprehension.she had provided for every contingency and was ready with a completeexplanation, whatever happened. half an hour passed, and then rising, shewrapped the child in the blanket and carried him back to the cottage.she heard the purr of the
motor and footsteps as she flitted back throughthe trees. first she went to lydia's room and straightenedthe bed, spraying the room with the faint perfume which she foundon the dressing table; then she went back again into the garden, strippedoff the dust coat, cap and handkerchief, rolling them into a bundle,which she thrust through the bars of an open window which she knew ventilateda cellar. last of all she stripped her gloves and sent them afterthe bundle. she heard the voices of the nurse and attendantas they carried the child to the ambulance.
"poor little kid," she murmured, "i hope hegets better." and, strangely enough, she meant it. * * * * * it had been a thrilling evening for lydia,and she returned to the house at cap martin very tired, but very happy.she was seeing a new world, a world the like of which had never been revealedto her, and though she could have slept, and her head did nod inthe car, she roused herself to talk it all over again with the sympatheticjean. mrs. cole-mortimer retired early. mr. briggerlandhad gone up to bed the
moment he returned, and lydia would have beenglad to have ended her conversation; since her head reeled with weariness,but jean was very talkative, until---- "my dear, if i don't go to bed i shall sleepon the table," smiled lydia, rising and suppressing a yawn. "i'm so sorry," said the penitent jean. she accompanied the girl upstairs, her armabout her waist, and left her at the door of her dressing-room. a maid had laid out her night things on abig settee (a little to
lydia's surprise) and she undressed quickly. she opened the door of her bedroom, her handwas on a switch, when she was conscious of a faint and not unpleasantodour. it was a clean, pungent smell. "disinfectant," said her brainmechanically. she turned on the light, wondering where it came from.and then as she crossed the room she came in sight of her bed and stopped,for it was saturated with water--water that dropped from the hangingcoverlet, and made little pools on the floor. from the head of the bedto the foot there was not one dry place. whosoever had done the workwas thorough. blankets,
sheets, pillows were soddened, and from thesoaked mass came a faint acrid aroma which she recognised, even beforeshe saw on the floor an empty bottle labelled "peroxide of hydrogen." she could only stand and stare. it was toolate to arouse the household, and she remembered that there was a very comfortablesettee in the dressing-room with a rug and a pillow, andshe went back. a few minutes later she was fast asleep. notso miss briggerland, who was sitting up in bed, a cigarette betweenher lips, a heavy volume on her knees, reading:
"such malignant cases are almost without exceptionrapidly fatal, sometimes so early that no sign of the characteristicsymptoms appear at all," she read and, dropping the book on thefloor, extinguished her cigarette on an alabaster tray, and settledherself to sleep. she was dozing when she remembered that she had forgottento say her prayers. "oh, damn!" said jean, getting out reluctantlyto kneel on the cold floor by the side of the bed. chapter xix her
maid woke jean briggerland at eight o'clockthe next morning. "oh, miss," she said, as she drew up the tablefor the chocolate, "have you heard about mrs. meredith?" jean blinked open her eyes, slipped into herdressing jacket and sat up with 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?" sheasked.
"why, miss, somebody played a practical jokeon her. her bed's sopping." "sopping?" frowned the girl. "yes, miss," the woman nodded. "they musthave poured buckets of water over it, and used up all mrs. cole-mortimer'speroxide, what she uses for keeping her hands nice." jean swung out of her bed and sat lookingdown at her tiny white feet. "where did mrs. meredith sleep? why didn'tshe wake us up?" "she slept in the dressing-room, miss. i don'tsuppose the young lady liked making a fuss."
"who did it?" "i don't know who did it. it's a silly kindof practical joke, and i know none of the maids would have dared, notthe french ones." jean put her feet into her slippers, exchangedher jacket for a gown, and went on a tour of inspection. lydia was dressing in her room, and the soundof her fresh, young voice, as she carolled out of sheer love of life,came to the girl before she turned into the room. one glance at the bed was sufficient. it wasstill wet, and the empty
peroxide bottle told its own story. jean glanced at it thoughtfully as she crossedinto the dressing-room. "whatever happened last night, lydia?" lydia turned at the voice. "oh, the bed you mean," she made a littleface. "heaven knows. it occurred to me this morning that some person,out of mistaken kindness, had started to disinfect the room--it wasonly this morning that i recalled the little boy who was ill--and hadoverdone it." "they've certainly overdone it," said jeangrimly. "i wonder what poor
mrs. cole-mortimer will say. you haven't theslightest idea----" "not the slightest idea," said lydia, answeringthe unspoken question. "i'll see mrs. cole-mortimer and get her tochange your bed--there's another room you could have," suggested jean. she went back to her own apartment, bathedand dressed leisurely. she found her father in the garden readingthe _nicoise_, under the shade of a bush, for the sun was not warm,but at that hour, blinding. "i've changed my plans," she said withoutpreliminary. he looked up over his glasses.
"i didn't know you had any," he said withheavy humour. "i intended going back to london and takingyou with me," she said unexpectedly. "back to london?" he said incredulously. "ithought you were staying on for a month." "i probably shall now," she said, pullingup a basket-chair and sitting by his side. "give me a cigarette." "you're smoking a lot lately," he said ashe handed his case to her. "i know i am."
"have your nerves gone wrong?" she looked at him out of the corner of hereye and her lips curled. "it wouldn't be remarkable if i inheriteda little of your yellow streak," she said coolly, and he growled somethingunder his breath. "no, my nerves are all right, but a cigarettehelps me to think." "a yellow streak, have i?" mr. briggerlandwas annoyed. "and i've been out since five o'clock this morning----" hestopped. "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 upand get back to london? lord stoker is pretty keen on you." "i'm not pretty keen on him," she said decidedly."he has his regimental pay and â£500 a year, two estates, mortgaged,no brains and a title--what is the use of his title to me? as much useas a coat of paint! beside which, 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. he has all the moral qualities which one admiresso much in the abstract. i could love jack myself." "could he love you?" bantered her father. "he couldn't," she said shortly. "jack wouldbe a happy man if he saw
me stand in jim meredith's place in the oldbailey. no, i have no illusion about jack's affections." "he's after lydia's money i suppose," saidmr. briggerland, stroking his bald head. "don't be a fool," was the calm reply. "thatkind of man doesn't worry about 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, astatement which amused her.
"you're such a half-and-half man," she saidwith a note of contempt in her voice. "you were quite willing to benefitby jim meredith's death; you killed him as cold-bloodedly as you killedpoor little bulford, and yet you must whine and snivel whenever yourdeeds are put into plain language. what does it matter if lydia diesnow or in fifty years time?" she asked. "it would be different if she wereimmortal. you people attach so much importance to human life--theancients, and the japanese amongst the modern, are the only people whohave the matter in true perspective. it is no more cruel to kill ahuman being than it is to cut
the throat of a pig to provide you with bacon.there's hardly a dish at your table which doesn't represent wilfulmurder, and yet you never think of it, but because the man animal cantalk and dresses himself or herself in queer animal and vegetable fabrics,and decorates the body with bits of metal and pieces of glitteringquartz, you give its life a value which you deny to the cattle withinyour gates! killing is a matter of expediency. permissible if you callit war, terrible if you call it murder. to me it is just killing.if you are caught in the act of killing they kill you, and people say itis right to do so. the
sacredness of human life is a slogan inventedby cowards who fear death--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 work for a callous, leering employer, and strap-hangingin a crowded tube on my way home to one miserable room and thecold mutton of yesterday. i fear getting up and making my own bed andwashing my own handkerchiefs and blouses, and renovating last year's hatsto make them look like this year's. i fear a poor husband and a processionof children, and doing
the housework with an incompetent maid, ormaybe without any at all. those are the things i fear, mr. briggerland." she dusted the ash from her dress and gotup. "i haven't forgotten the life we lived atealing," she said significantly. she looked across the bay to monte carlo glitteringin the morning sunlight, to the green-capped head of cap-d'ail,to beaulieu, a jewel set in greystone and shook her head. "'it is written'," she quoted sombrely andleft him in the midst of the
question he was asking. she strolled backto the house and joined lydia who was looking radiantly beautiful in a newdress of silver grey charmeuse. chapter xx "have you solved the mystery of the submergedbed?" 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 owneiderdown!"
this was the first hint lydia had receivedthat the house was rented furnished. they drove into nice that morning, and lydia,remembering jack glover's remarks, looked closely at the chauffeur,and was startled to see a resemblance between him and the man who haddriven the taxicab on the night she had been carried off from the theatre.it is true that the taxi-driver had a moustache and that thisman was clean-shaven, and moreover, had tiny side whiskers, but therewas a resemblance. "have you had your driver long?" she askedas they were running through
monte carlo, along the sea road. "mordon? yes, we have had him six or sevenyears," said jean carelessly. "he drives us when we are on thecontinent, you know. he speaks french perfectly and is an excellentdriver. father has tried to persuade him to come to england, but he hateslondon--he was telling me the other day that he hadn't been there forten years." that disposed of the resemblance, thoughtlydia, and yet--she could remember his voice, she thought, and whenthey alighted on the promenade des anglaise she spoke to him. he repliedin french, and it is
impossible to detect points of resemblancein a voice that speaks one language and the same voice when it speaksanother. the promenade was crowded with saunterers.a band was playing by the jetty and although the wind was colder thanit had been at cap martin the sun was warm enough to necessitate theopening of a parasol. it was a race week, and the two girls lunchedat the negrito. they were in the midst of their meal when a man cametoward them and lydia recognised mr. marcus stepney. this dark,suave man was no favourite of hers, though why she could not have explained.his manners were always
perfect and, towards her, deferential. as usual, he was dressed with the precisionof a fashion-plate. mr. marcus stepney was a man, a considerable portionof whose time was taken up every morning by the choice of cravatsand socks and shirts. though lydia did not know this, his smartness,plus a certain dexterity with cards, was his stock in trade. no breathof scandal had touched him, he moved in a good set and was alwaysat the right place at the proper season. when aix was full he was certain to be foundat the palace, in the
deauville week you would find him at the casinopunting mildly at the baccarat table. and after the rooms were closed,and even the sports club at monte carlo had shut its doors, therewas always a little game to be had in the hotels and in marcus stepney'sprivate sitting-room. and it cannot be denied that mr. stepney waslucky. he won sufficient at these out-of-hour games to support him noblythrough the trials and vicissitudes which the public tables inflictupon their votaries. "going to the races," he said, "how very fortunate!will you come along with me? i can give you three good winners."
"i have no money to gamble," said jean, "iam a poor woman. lydia, who is rolling in wealth, can afford to take yourtips, marcus." marcus looked at lydia with a speculativeeye. "if you haven't any money with you, don'tworry. i have plenty and you can pay me afterwards. i could make you amillion francs to-day." "thank you," said jean coolly, "but mrs. meredithdoes not bet so her tone was a clear intimation to the manof wits that he was impinging upon somebody else's preserves and he grinnedamiably. nevertheless, it was a profitable afternoonfor lydia. she came back to
cap martin twenty thousand francs richer thanshe had been when she started 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 was laying ground bait. she did not know whathorses he had backed until after the race was run, when he invariablyappeared with a few _mille_ notes and lydia's pleasure was pathetic. ofcourse she didn't win anything. the twenty thousand francs was asprat--he's coming to-night to see how the whales are blowing!"
mr. marcus stepney arrived punctually, and,to mr. briggerland's disgust, was dressed for dinner, a fact whichnecessitated the older man's hurried retreat and reappearance inconventional evening wear. marcus stepney's behaviour at dinner was faultless.he devoted himself in the main to mrs. cole-mortimer and jean,who apparently never looked at him and yet observed his every movement,knew that he was merely waiting his opportunity. it came when the dinner was over and the partyadjourned to the big stoep facing the sea. the night was chillyand mr. stepney found wraps
and furs for the ladies, and so manoeuvredthe arrangement of the chairs that lydia and he were detached from the remainderof the party, not by any great distance, but sufficient, as theexperienced marcus knew, to remove a murmured conversation from the sharpesteavesdropper. jean, who was carrying on a three-corneredconversation with her father and mrs. cole-mortimer, did not stir, untilshe saw, by the light of a shaded lamp in the roof, the dark head ofmr. marcus stepney droop more confidently towards his companion. then sherose and strolled across. marcus did not curse her because he did notexpress his inmost thoughts
aloud. 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 wonderfulracing coup to be made to-morrow. isn't it rather thrilling,jean? he says it will be quite possible for me to make five millionfrancs without any risk at
all." "except the risk of a million, i suppose,"smiled jean. "well, are you going to do it?" lydia shook her head. "i haven't a million francs in france, forone thing," she said, "and i wouldn't risk it if i had." and jean smiled again at the discomfiturewhich mr. marcus stepney strove manfully to hide. later she took his arm and led him into thegarden. "marcus," she said when they were out of rangeof the house, "i think
you are several kinds of a fool." "why?" asked the other, who was not in thebest humour. "it was so crude," she said scornfully, "socheap and confidence-trickish. a miserable million francs--twentythousand pounds. apart from the fact that your name would bemud in london if it were known that you had robbed a girl----" "there's no question of robbery," he saidhotly, "i tell you valdau is a certainty for the prix." "it would not be a certainty if her moneywere on," said jean dryly. "it
would finish an artistic second and you wouldbe full of apologies, and poor lydia would be a million francs to thebad. no, marcus, that is cheap." "i'm nearly broke," he said shortly. he made no disguise of his profession, norof his nefarious plan. between the two there was a queer kind ofcamaraderie. though he may not have been privy to the more tremendous ofher crimes, yet he seemed to accept her as one of those who lived on thefrontiers of illegality. "i was thinking about you, as you sat theretelling her the story," said
jean thoughtfully. "marcus, why don't youmarry her?" he stopped in his stride and looked down atthe girl. "marry her, jean; are you mad? she wouldn'tmarry me." "why not?" she asked. "of course she'd marryyou, you silly fool, if you went the right way about it." he was silent. "she is worth six hundred thousand pounds,and i happen to know that she has nearly two hundred thousand pounds incash on deposit at the bank," said jean.
"why do you want me to marry her?" he askedsignificantly. "is there a rake-off for you?" "a big rake-off," she said. "the two hundredthousand on deposit should be easily get-at-able, marcus, and she'd evengive you more----" "why?" he asked. "to agree to a separation," she said coolly."i know you. no woman could live 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. itis my experience that the greedy people get into bad trouble. the manor woman who 'wants it all' usually gets the dressing-case the 'all' waskept in. no, i'd like to take a half." he sat down on a garden seat and she followedhis example. "what is there to be?" he asked. "an agreementbetween 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. "ifi help you in this--and i
will if you will do all that i tell you todo--i will trust you to give me my share." mr. marcus stepney fingered his collar a littleimportantly. "i've never let a pal down in my life," hesaid with a cough. "i'm as straight as they make 'em, to people who playthe game with me." "and you are wise, so far as i am concerned,"said the gentle jean. "for if you double-crossed me, i should hand thepolice the name and address of your other wife who is still living." his jaw dropped.
"wha--what?" he stammered. "let us join the ladies," mocked jean, asshe rose and put her arm in his. it pleased her immensely to feel this bigman trembling. chapter xxi it seemed to lydia that she had been abroad foryears, though in reality she had been three days in cap martin, whenmr. marcus stepney became a regular caller.
even the most objectionable people improveon acquaintance, and give the lie to first impressions. mr. stepney never bored her. he had an inexhaustiblestore of anecdotes and reminiscences, none of which was in theslightest degree offensive. he was something of a sportsman, too, andhe called by arrangement the next morning, after his introduction to thecap martin household, and conducting her to a sheltered cove, containingtwo bathing huts, he introduced her to the exhilarating mediterranean. sea bathing is not permitted in monte carlountil may, and the water was
much colder than lydia had expected. theyswam out to a floating platform when mr. briggerland and jean putin an appearance. jean had come straight from the house in her bathing-gown,over which she wore a light wrap. lydia watched her with amazement,for the girl was an expert swimmer. she could dive from almostany height and could remain under water an alarming time. "i never thought you had so much energy andstrength in your little body," said lydia, as jean, with a shriekof enjoyment, drew herself on the raft and wiped the water from her eyes.
"there's a man up there looking at us throughglasses," said briggerland suddenly. "i saw the flash of the sun on them." he pointed to the rising ground beyond theseashore, but they could see nothing. presently there was a glitter of light amongstthe green, and lydia pointed. "i thought that sort of thing was never doneexcept in comic newspapers," she said, but jean did not smile.her eyes were focused on the point where the unseen observer lay orsat, and she shaded her eyes.
"some visitor from monte carlo, i expect.people at cap martin are much too 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 wayto the shore. "father is going to investigate," said jean,"and the water really is the warmest place," and with that she fellsideways into the blue sea like a seal, dived down into its depths, andpresently lydia saw her walking along the white floor of the ocean,her little hands keeping up an almost imperceptible motion. presentlyshe shot up again, shook her
head and looked round, only to dive again. in the meantime, though lydia, who was fascinatedby the manoeuvre of the girl, did not notice the fact, mr. briggerlandhad reached the shore, pulled on a pair of rubber shoes, andwith his mackintosh buttoned over his bathing dress, had begunto climb through the underbrush towards the spot where the glasseshad glistened. when lydia looked up he had disappeared. "where is your father?" she asked the girl. "he went into the bushes." mr. stepney volunteeredthe information. "i
suppose he's looking for the paul pry." mr. stepney had been unusually glum and silent,for he was piqued by the tactless appearance of the briggerlands. "come into the water, marcus," said jean peremptorily,as she put her foot against the edge of the raft, and pushedherself backward, "i want to see mrs. meredith dive." "me?" said lydia in surprise. "good heavens,no! after watching you i don't intend making an exhibition of myself." "i want to show you the proper way to dive,"said jean. "stand up on the
edge of the raft." lydia obeyed. "straight up," said jean. "now put both yourarms out wide. now----" there was a sharp crack from the shore; somethingwhistled past lydia's head, struck an upright post, splinteringthe edge, and with a whine went ricochetting into the sea. lydia's face went white. "what--what was that?" she gasped. she hadhardly spoken before there was another shot. this time the bullet musthave gone very high, and
immediately afterwards came a yell of painfrom the shore. jean did not wait. she struck out for thebeach, swimming furiously. it was not the shot, but the cry which had alarmedher, and without waiting to put on coat or sandals, she ran up thelittle road where her father had gone, following the path through the undergrowth.presently she came to a grassy plot, in the centre of which twotall pines grew side by side, and lying against one of the trees wasthe huddled figure of briggerland. she turned him over. he was breathingheavily and was unconscious. an ugly wound gaped at the backof his head, and his
mackintosh and bathing dress were smotheredwith blood. she looked round quickly for his assailant,but there was nobody in sight, and nothing to indicate the presenceof a third person but two shining brass cartridges which lay on thegrass. chapter xxii lydia meredith only remembered swooning twicein her life, and both these occasions had happened within a fewweeks. she never felt quite so unprepared to carryon as she did when, with an effort she threw herself into the water atmarcus stepney's side and
swam slowly toward the shore. she dare not let her mind dwell upon the narrownessof her escape. whoever had fired that shot had done so deliberately,and with the intention of killing her. she had felt thewind of the bullet in her face. "what do you suppose it was?" asked marcusstepney as he assisted her up the 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'll
run up and see what has happened." he wrapped himself in the dressing gown hehad brought with him, and followed jean's trail, coming up with heras mr. briggerland opened his eyes and stared round. "help me to hold him, marcus," said jean. "wait a moment," said mr. stepney, feelingin his pocket and producing a silk handkerchief, "bandage him with that." "he's lost all the blood he's going to lose,"she said quietly, "and i don't think there's a fracture. i felt theskull very carefully with my
finger." 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 wincedwith the pain of it. "i don't know," he moaned. "help me up, stepney." with the man's assistance he rose unsteadilyto his feet. "what happened?" asked stepney. "don't ask him any questions now," said thegirl sharply. "help him back
to the house." a doctor was summoned and stitched the wound.he gave an encouraging report, and was not too inquisitive as tohow the injury had occurred. foreign visitors get extraordinary thingsin the regions of monte carlo, and medical men lose nothing by their discretion. it was not until that afternoon, propped upwith pillows in a chair, the centre of a sympathetic audience, thatmr. briggerland told his story. "i had a feeling that something was wrong,"he said, "and i went up to
investigate. i heard a shot fired, almostwithin a few yards of me, and dashing through the bushes, i saw the fellowtaking aim for the second time, and seized him. you remember the secondshot went high." "what sort of a man was he?" asked stepney. "he was an italian, i should think," answeredmr. briggerland. "at any rate, he caught me an awful whack with theback of his rifle, and i knew no more until jean found me." "do you think he was firing at me?" askedlydia in horror. "i am certain of it," said briggerland. "irealised it the moment i saw
the fellow." "how am i to thank you?" said the girl impulsively."really, it was wonderful of you to tackle an armed man withyour bare hands." mr. briggerland closed his eyes and sighed. "it was nothing," he said modestly. before dinner he and his daughter were leftalone for the first time since the accident. "what happened?" she asked. "it was going to be a little surprise foryou," he said. "a little
scheme of my own, my dear; you're always callingme a funk, and i wanted to prove----" "what happened?" she asked tersely. "well, i went out yesterday morning and fixedit all. i bought the rifle, an old english rifle, at amiens froma peasant. i thought it might come in handy, especially as the manthrew in a packet of ammunition. yesterday morning, lying awakebefore daybreak, i thought it out. i went up to the hill--the land belongsto an empty house, by the way--and i located the spot, put the riflewhere i could find it easily,
and fixed a pair of glass goggles on to oneof the bushes, where the sun would catch it. the whole scheme was not withoutits merit as a piece of strategy, my dear," he said complacently. "and then----?" she said. "i thought we'd go bathing yesterday, butwe didn't, but to-day--it was a long time before anybody spotted the glasses,but once i had the excuse for going ashore and investigating,the rest was easy." "so that was why you asked me to keep heron the raft, and make her stand up?"
"well----?" she demanded. "i went up to the spot, got the rifle andtook aim. i've always been a pretty good shot----" "you didn't advertise it to-day," she saidsardonically. "then i suppose somebody hit you on the head?" he nodded and made a grimace, but any movementof his injured cranium was excessively painful. "who was it?" she asked. he shrugged his shoulders.
"don't ask fool questions," he said petulantly."i know nothing. i didn't even feel the blow. i just remembertaking aim, and then everything went dark." "and how would you have explained it all,supposing you had succeeded?" "that was easy," he said. "i should have saidthat i went in search of the man we had seen, i heard a shot and rushedforward and found nothing but the rifle." she was silent, pinching her lips absently. "and you took the risk of some peasant orvisitor seeing you--took the
risk of bringing the police to the spot andturning what might have easily been a case of accidental death intoan obvious case of wilful murder. 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 appals me, and heaven knows, i never expected thati should be in a position to call you foolhardy." and with this she left him to bask in thehero-worship which the approaching mrs. cole-mortimer would lavishupon him.
the "accident" kept them at home that night,and lydia was not sorry. a settee is not a very comfortable sleepingplace, and she was ready for a real bed that night. mr. stepney found heryawning surreptitiously, and went home early in disgust. the night was warmer than the morning hadbeen. the _fã¶hn_ wind was blowing and she found her room with its radiatora little oppressive. she opened the long french windows, and steppedout on to the balcony. the last quarter of the moon was high in thesky, and though the light was faint, it gave shadows to trees and aneerie illumination to the
lawn. she leant her arms on the rail and lookedacross the sea to the lights of monte carlo glistening in the purple night.her eyes wandered idly to the grounds and she started. she could havesworn she had seen a figure moving in the shadow of the tree, nor wasshe mistaken. presently it left the tree belt, and steppedcautiously across the lawn, halting now and again to look around. shethought at first that it was marcus stepney who had returned, but somethingabout the walk of the man seemed familiar. presently he stopped directlyunder the balcony and
looked up and she uttered an exclamation,as the faint light revealed the iron-grey hair and the grisly eyebrowsof the intruder. "all right, miss," he said in a hoarse whisper,"it's only old jaggs." "what are you doing?" she answered in thesame tone. "just lookin' round," he said, "just lookin'round," and limped again into the darkness. chapter xxiii so old jaggs was in monte carlo! whateverwas he doing, and how was he getting on with these people who spoke nothingbut french, she wondered!
she had something to think about before shewent to sleep. she opened her eyes singularly awake as thedawn was coming up over the grey sea. she looked at her watch; it wasa quarter to six. why she had wakened so thoroughly she could not tell,but remembered with a little shiver another occasion she had wakened, thistime before the dawn, to face death in a most terrifying shape. she got up out of bed, put on a heavy coatand opened the wire doors that led to the balcony. the morning was colderthan she imagined, and she was glad to retreat to the neighbourhoodof the warm radiator.
the fresh clean hours of the dawn, when themind is clear, and there is neither sound nor movement to distract thethoughts, are favourable to sane thinking. lydia reviewed the past few weeks in her life,and realised, for the first time, the miracle which had happened.it was like a legend of old--the slave had been lifted from the king'santeroom--the struggling artist was now a rich woman. she twiddledthe gold ring on her hand absent-mindedly--and she was married ... anda widow! she had an uncomfortable feeling that, in spite of herriches, she had not yet
found her niche. she was an odd quantity,as yet. the cole-mortimers and the briggerlands did not belong to her idealworld, and she could find no place where she fitted. she tried, in this state of mind so favourableto the consideration of such a problem, to analyse jack glover's antagonismtoward jean briggerland and her father. it seemed unnatural that a healthy young manshould maintain so bitter a feud with a girl whose beauty was almost ofa transcendant quality and all because she had rejected him.
jack glover was a public school boy, a manwith a keen sense of honour. she could not imagine him being guilty ofa mean action. and such men did not pursue vendettas without good reason.if they were rejected by a woman, they accepted their _congã©_ with agood grace, and it was almost unthinkable that jack should have no otherreason for his hatred. yet she could not bring herself even to considerthe possibility that the reason was the one he had advanced. she cameagain to the dead end of conjecture. she could believe in jack's judgmentup to a point--beyond that she could not go.
she had her bath, dressed, and was in thegarden when the eastern horizon was golden with the light of the risingsun. nobody was about, the most energetic of the servants had notyet risen, and she strolled through the avenue to the main road. as shestood there looking up and down a man came out from the trees that fringedthe road and began walking rapidly in the direction of montecarlo. "mr. jaggs!" she called. he took no notice, but seemed to increasehis limping pace, and after a moment's hesitation, she went flying downthe road after him. he turned
at the sound of her footsteps and in his furtiveway drew into the shadow of a bush. he looked more than usuallygrimy; on his hands were an odd pair of gloves and a soft slouch hatthat had seen better days, covered his head. "good-morning, miss," he wheezed. "why were you running away, mr. jaggs?" sheasked, a little out of breath. "not runnin' away, miss," he said, glancingat her sharply from under his heavy white eyebrows. "just havin' a lookround!"
"do you spend all your nights looking round?"she smiled at him. at that moment a cyclist gendarme came intoview. he slowed down as he approached 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 himcoming out of your house every morning?" "oh, yes," said lydia hastily, "he's my----" she was at a loss to describe him, but oldjaggs saved her the trouble. "i'm madame's courier," he said, and to lydia'samazement he spoke in
perfect french, "i am also the watchman ofthe house." "yes, yes," said lydia, after she had recoveredfrom her surprise. "m'sieur is the watchman, also." "_bien_, madame," said the gendarme. "forgivemy asking, but we have so many strangers here." they watched the gendarme out of sight. thenold jaggs chuckled. "pretty good french, miss, wasn't it?" hesaid, and without another word, turned and limped in the trail of thepolice. she looked after him in bewilderment. so hespent every night in the
grounds, or somewhere about the house? theknowledge gave her a queer sense of comfort and safety. when she went back to the villa she foundthe servants were up. jean did not put in an appearance until breakfast,and lydia had an opportunity of talking to the french housekeeper whommrs. cole-mortimer had engaged when she took the villa. from her she learnta bit of news, which she passed on to jean almost as soon as she putin an appearance. "the gardener's little boy is going to getwell, jean." "i know," she said. "i telephoned to the hospitalyesterday."
it was so unlike her conception of the girl,that lydia stared. "the mother is in isolation," lydia went on,"and madame souviet says that the poor woman has no money and no friends.i thought of going down to the hospital to-day to see if i could doanything for her." "you'd better not, my dear," warned mrs. cole-mortimernervously. "let us be thankful we've got the little brat outof the neighbourhood without our catching the disease. one doesn'twant to seek trouble. keep away from the hospital." "rubbish!" said jean briskly. "if lydia wantsto go, there is no reason
why she shouldn't. the isolation people arenever allowed to come into contact with visitors, so there is reallyno danger." "i agree with mrs. cole-mortimer," grumbledbriggerland. "it is very foolish to ask for trouble. you take my advice,my dear, and keep away." "i had a talk with a gendarme this morning,"said lydia to change the subject. "when he stopped and got off hisbicycle i thought he was going to speak about the shooting. i suppose itwas reported to the police?" "er--yes," said mr. briggerland, not lookingup from his plate, "of
course. have you been into monte carlo?" "no, i couldn't sleep, and i was taking awalk along the road when he passed." she said nothing about mr. jaggs."the police at monaco are very sociable." mr. briggerland sniffed. "very," he said. "have they any theories?" she asked. in herinnocence she was persisting in a subject which was wholly distastefulto mr. briggerland. "about the shooting i mean?"
"yes, they have theories, but my dear, i shouldadvise you not to discuss the matter with the police. the factis," invented mr. briggerland, "i told them that you were unawareof the fact that you had been shot at, and if you discussed it withthe police, you would make me look rather foolish." when lydia and mrs. cole-mortimer had gone,jean seized an opportunity which the absence of the maid offered. "i hope you are beginning to see how perfectlyinsane your scheme was," she said. "you have to support your act witha whole series of bungling
lies. possibly marcus, like a fool, has mentionedit in monte carlo, and we shall have the detectives out here askingwhy you have not reported the matter." "if i were as clever as you----" he growled. "you're not," said jean, rolling her serviette."you're the most un-clever man i know." chapter xxiv lydia went up to her bedroom to put away herclothes and found the maid making the bed.
"oh, madame," said the girl, "i forgot tospeak to you about a matter--i hope madame will not be angry." "i'm hardly likely to be angry on a morninglike this," said lydia. "it is because of this matter," said the girl.she groped in her pocket and brought out a small shining object, andlydia took it from her hand. "this matter" was a tiny silver cross, sosmall that a five-franc piece would have covered it easily. it was brightlypolished and apparently had seen service. "when we took your bed, after the atrociousand mysterious happening,"
said the maid rapidly, "this was found inthe sheets. it was not thought that it could possibly be madame's, becauseit was so poor, until this morning when it was suggested that it mightbe a souvenir that madame values." "you found it in the sheets?" asked lydiain surprise. "yes, madame." "it doesn't belong to me," said lydia. "perhapsit belongs to madame cole-mortimer. i will show it to her." mrs. cole-mortimer was a devout catholic andit might easily be some
cherished keep-sake of hers. the girl carried the cross to the window;an "x" had been scrawled by some sharp-pointed instrument at the junctionof the bars. there was no other mark to identify the trinket. she put the cross in her bag, and when shesaw mrs. cole-mortimer again she forgot to ask her about it. the car drove her into nice alone. jean didnot feel inclined to make the journey and lydia rather enjoyed the solitude. the isolation hospital was at the top of thehill and she found some
difficulty in obtaining admission at thishour. the arrival of the chief medical officer, however, saved her from makingthe journey in vain. the report he gave about the child was very satisfactory;the mother was in the isolation ward. "can she be seen?" "yes, madame," said the urbane frenchman incharge. "you understand, you will not be able to get near her? it willbe rather like interviewing a prisoner, for she will be behind one set ofbars and you behind another."
lydia was taken to a room which was, she imagined,very much like a room in which prisoners interviewed their distressedrelations. there were not exactly bars, but two large mesh netsof steel separated the visitor from the patient under observation. aftera time a nun brought in the gardener's wife, a tall, gaunt woman, whowas a native of marseilles, and spoke the confusing patois of that citywith great rapidity. it was some time before lydia could accustom herear to the queer dialect. her boy was getting well, she said, but sheherself was in terrible trouble. she had no money for the extra foodshe required. her husband
who was away in paris when the child had beentaken, had not troubled to write to her. it was terrible being in a placeamongst other fever cases, and she was certain that her days werenumbered.... lydia pushed a five-hundred franc note throughthe grating to the nun, to settle her material needs. "and, oh, madame," wailed the gardener's wife,"my poor little boy has lost the gift of the reverend mother of sansurplice! his own cross which has been blessed by his holiness thepope! it is because i left his cross in his little shirt that he is gettingbetter, but now it is
lost and i am sure these thieving doctorshave taken it." "a cross?" said lydia. "what sort of a cross?" "it was a silver cross, madame; the valuein money was nothing--it was priceless. little xavier----" "xavier?" repeated lydia, remembering the"x" on the trinket that had been found in her bed. "wait a moment, madame."she opened her bag and took out the tiny silver symbol, and at thesight of it the woman burst into a volley of joyful thanks. "it is the same, the same, madame! it hasa small 'x' which the reverend
mother scratched with her own blessed scissors!" lydia pushed the cross through the net andthe nun handed it to the woman. "it is the same, it is the same!" she cried."oh, thank you, madame! now my heart is glad...." lydia came out of the hospital and walkedthrough the gardens by the doctor's side. but she was not listening towhat he was saying--her mind was fully occupied with the mystery of thesilver cross. it was little xavier's ... it had been tuckedinside his bed when he
lay, as his mother thought, dying ... andit had been found in her bed! then little xavier had been in her bed! herfoot was on the step of the car when it came to her--the meaning of thatdrenched couch and the empty bottle of peroxide. xavier had beenput there, and somebody who knew that the bed was infected had so soakedit with water that she could not sleep in it. but who? old jaggs! she got into the car slowly, and went backto cap martin along the grande corniche. who had put the child there? he could nothave walked from the cottage;
that was impossible. she was half-way home when she noticed a parcellying on the floor of the car, and she let down the front windowand spoke to the chauffeur. it was not mordon, but a man whom she hadhired with the car. "it came from the hospital, madame," he said."the porter asked me if i came from villa casa. it was something sentto the hospital to be disinfected. there was a charge of seven francsfor the service, madame, and this i paid." she picked up the parcel--it was addressedto "mademoiselle jean
briggerland" and bore the label of the hospital. lydia sat back in the car with her eyes closed,tired of turning over this problem, yet determined to get to thebottom of the mystery. jean was out when she got back and she carriedthe parcel to her own room. she was trying to keep out of her mindthe very possibility that such a hideous crime could have been conceivedas that which all the evidence indicated had been attempted. veryresolutely she refused to believe that such a thing could have happened.there must be some explanation for the presence of the crossin her bed. possibly it had
been found after the wet sheets had been takento the servants' part of the house. she rang the bell, and the maid who had givenher the trinket came. "tell me," said lydia, "where was this crossfound?" "in your bed, mademoiselle." "but where? was it before the clothing wasremoved from this room or after?" "it was before, madame," said the maid. "whenthe sheets were turned back we found it lying exactly in the middleof the bed."
lydia's heart sank. "thank you, that will do," she said. "i havefound the owner of the cross and have restored it." should she tell jean? her first impulse wasto take the girl into her confidence, and reveal the state of her mind.her second thought was to seek out old jaggs, but where could he befound? he evidently lived somewhere in monte carlo, but his name washardly likely to be in the visitors' list. she was still undecided whenmarcus stepney called to take her to lunch at the cafã© de paris.
the whole thing was so amazingly improbable.it belonged to a world of unreality, but then, she told herself, shealso was living in an unreal world, and had been so for weeks. chapter xxv mr. stepney had become more bearable. a weekago she would have shrunk from taking luncheon with him, but now sucha prospect had no terrors. his views of things and people were more generousthan she had expected. she had anticipated his attitude would bea little cynical, but to her surprise he oozed loving-kindness. had sheknown mr. marcus stepney as
well as jean knew him, she would have realisedthat he adapted his mental attitude to his audience. he was aman whose stock-in-trade was a knowledge of human nature, and the abilityto please. he would no more have attempted to shock or frighten her, thana first-class salesman would shock or annoy a possible customer. he had goods to sell, and it was his businessto see that they satisfied the buyer. in this case the goods were representedby sixty-nine inches of good-looking, well-dressed man, and itwas rather important that he should present the best face of the articleto the purchaser. it was
almost as important that the sale should bea quick one. mr. stepney lived from week to week. what might happennext year seldom interested him, therefore his courting must be rapid. he told the story of his life at lunch, astory liable to move a tender-hearted woman to at least a sympatheticinterest. the story of his life varied also with the audience. inthis case, it was designed for one whom he knew had had a hard struggle,whose father had been heavily in debt, and who had tasted some ofthe bitterness of defeat. jean had given him a very precise story ofthe girl's career, and mr.
marcus stepney adapted it for his own purpose. "why, your life has almost run parallel withmine," said lydia. "i hope it may continue," said mr. stepneynot without a touch of sadness in his voice. "i am a very lonelyman--i have no friends except the acquaintances one can pick up at nightclubs, and the places where the smart people go in the season, and thereis an artificiality about society friends which rather depresses me." "i feel that, too," said the sympathetic lydia. "if i could only settle down!" he said, shakinghis head. "a little
house in the country, a few horses, a fewcows, a woman who understood me...." a false move this. "and a few pet chickens to follow you about?"she laughed. "no, it doesn't sound quite like you, mr. stepney." he lowered his eyes. "i am sorry you think that," he said. "allthe world thinks that i'm a gadabout, an idler, with no interest in existence,except the pleasure i can extract."
"and a jolly good existence, too," said lydiabriskly. she had detected a note of sentiment creeping into the conversation,and had slain it with the most effective weapon in woman'sarmoury. "and now tell me all about the great moorishpretender who is staying at your hotel--i caught a glimpse of him on thepromenade--and there was a lot about him in the paper." mr. stepney sighed and related all that heknew of the redoubtable muley hafiz on the way to the rooms. muley hafizwas being lionised in france just then, to the annoyance of the spanishauthorities, who had put a
price on his head. lydia showed much more interest in the moorishpretender than she did in the pretender who walked by her side. he was not in the best of tempers when hebrought her back to the villa casa, and jean, who entertained him whilstlydia was changing, saw that his first advances had not met with a veryencouraging result. "there will be no wedding bells, jean," hesaid. "you take a rebuff very easily," said thegirl, but he shook his head. "my dear jean, i know women as well as i knowthe back of my hand, and i
tell you that there's nothing doing with thisgirl. 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 make a mistake about that sort of thing. i'm afraidyou'll have to do something more romantic." "what do you mean?" he asked. "you'll have to run away with her; and likethe knights of old carry off the lady of your choice." "the knights of old didn't have to go beforea judge and jury and serve
seven years at dartmoor for their sins," hesaid unpleasantly. she was sitting on a low chair overlookingthe sea, whittling a twig with a silver-handled knife she had takenfrom her bag--a favourite occupation of hers in moments of cogitation. "all the ladies of old didn't go to the police,"she said. "some of them were quite happy with their powerful lords,especially delicate-minded ladies who shrank from advertising their misfortuneto the readers of the sunday press. i think most women liketo be wooed in the cave-man fashion, marcus."
"is that the kind of treatment you'd like,jean?" there was a new note in his voice. had shelooked at him she would have seen a strange light in his eyes. "i'm merely advancing a theory," she said,"a theory which has been supported throughout the ages." "i'd let her go and her money, too," he said.he was speaking quickly, almost incoherently. "there's only one womanin the world for me, jean, and i've told you that before. i'd give mylife and soul for her." he bent over, and caught her arm in his bighand.
"you believe in the cave-man method, do you?"he breathed. "it is the kind 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 for you, you little devil!" "be sensible," she said. it was not her wordsor her firm tone that made him draw back. twice and deliberately shedrew the edge of her little knife across the back of his hand, and heleapt away with a howl of
pain. "you--you beast," he stammered, and she lookedat him with her sly smile. "there must have been cave women, too, marcus,"she said coolly, as she rose. "they had their methods--give me yourhandkerchief, i want to wipe this knife." his face was grey now. he was looking at herlike a man bereft of his senses. he did not move when she took his handkerchieffrom his pocket, wiped
the knife, closed and slipped it into herbag, before she replaced the handkerchief tidily. and all the time he stoodthere with his hand streaming with blood, incapable of movement.it was not until she had disappeared round the corner of the housethat he pulled out the handkerchief and wrapped it about his hand. "a devil," he whimpered, almost in tears,"a devil!" chapter xxvi jean briggerland discovered a new arrivalon her return to the house. jack glover had come unexpectedly from london,so lydia told her, and
jack himself met her with extraordinary geniality. "you lucky people to be in this paradise!"he said. "it is raining like the dickens in london, and miserable beyonddescription. and you're looking brown and beautiful, miss briggerland." "the spirit of the warm south has got intoyour blood, mr. glover," she said sarcastically. "a course at the rivierawould make you almost human." "and what would make you human?" asked jackblandly. "i hope you people aren't going to quarrelas soon as you meet," said
lydia. jean was struck by the change in the girl.there was a colour in her cheeks, and a new and a more joyous note inher voice, which was unmistakable to so keen a student as jeanbriggerland. "i never quarrel with jack," she said. sheassumed a proprietorial air toward jack glover, which unaccountably annoyedlydia. "he invents the quarrels and carries them out himself. howlong are you staying?" "two days," said jack, "then i'm due backin town." "have you brought your mr. jaggs with you?"asked jean innocently.
"isn't he here?" asked jack in surprise. "isent him along a week ago." "here?" repeated jean slowly. "oh, he's here,is he? of course." she nodded. certain things were clear to her now;the unknown drencher of beds, the stranger who had appeared from nowhereand had left her father senseless, were no longer mysteries. "oh, jean," it was lydia who spoke. "i'm awfullyremiss, i didn't give you the parcel i brought back from the hospital." "from the hospital?" said jean. "what parcelwas that?" "something you had sent to be sterilized.i'll get it."
she came back in a minute or two with theparcel which she had found in the car. "oh yes," said jean carelessly, "i remember.it is a rug that i lent to the gardener's wife when her little boy wastaken ill." she handed the packet to the maid. "take it to my room," she said. she waited just long enough to find an excusefor leaving the party, and went upstairs. the parcel was on her bed.she tore off the wrapping--inside, starched white and clean,was the dust coat she had
worn the night she had carried xavier fromthe cottage to lydia's bed. the rubber cap was there, discoloured fromthe effects of the disinfectant, and the gloves and the silkhandkerchief, neatly washed and pressed. she looked at them thoughtfully. she put the articles away in a drawer, wentdown the servants' stairs and through a heavy open door into the cellar.light was admitted by two barred windows, through one of which she hadthrust her bundle that night, and she could see every corner of thecellar, which was empty--as she had expected. the clothing she had throwndown had been gathered by
some mysterious agent, who had forwarded itto the hospital in her name. she came slowly up the stairs, fastened theopen door behind her, and walked out into the garden to think. "jaggs!" she said aloud, and her voice wasas soft as silk. "i think, mr. jaggs, you ought to be in heaven." chapter xxvii "who were the haughty individuals interviewingjean in the saloon?" asked jack glover, as lydia's car panted andgroaned on the stiff ascent to la turbie.
lydia was concerned, and he had already notedher seriousness. "poor jean is rather worried," she said. "itappears that she had a love affair with a man three or four years ago,and recently he has been bombarding her with threatening letters." "poor soul," said jack dryly, "but i shouldimagine she could have dealt with that matter without calling in the police.i suppose they were detectives. has she had a letter recently?" "she had one this morning--posted in montecarlo last night." "by the way, jean went into monte carlo lastnight, didn't she?" asked
jack. she looked at him reproachfully. "we all went into monte carlo," she said severely."now, please don't be horrid, mr. glover, you aren't suggestingthat jean wrote this awful letter 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 nearlykilled me was really shooting at jean."
"you don't say," said jack politely. "i haven'theard about people shooting at you--but it sounds rather alarming." she told him the story, and he offered nocomment. "go on with your thrilling story of jean'smortal enemy. who is he?" "she doesn't know his name," said lydia. "shemet him in egypt--an elderly man who positively dogged her footstepswherever she went, and made himself a nuisance." "doesn't know his name, eh?" said jack witha sniff. "well, that's convenient."
"i think you're almost spiteful," said lydiahotly. "poor girl, she was so distressed this morning; i have never seenher so upset." "and are the police going to keep guard andfollow her wherever she goes? and is that impossible person, mr. marcusstepney, also in the vendetta? i saw him wandering about this morninglike a wounded hero, with his arm in a sling." "he hurt his hand gathering wild flowers forme 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 out
with you." "and i'm sorry i've been such a fool," apologisedthe penitent jack, "but the vision of the immaculate mr. stepneygathering wild flowers in a top hat and a morning suit certainly didappeal to me as being comical!" "he doesn't wear a top hat or a morning suitin monte carlo," she said, furious at his banter. "let us talk aboutsomebody else than my friends." "i haven't started to talk about your friendsyet," he said. "and please
don't try to tell your chauffeur to turn round--theroad is too narrow, and he'd have the car over the cliff beforeyou knew where you were, if he were stupid enough to try. i'm sorry, deeplysorry, mrs. meredith, but i think that jean was right when she saidthat the southern air had got into my blood. i'm a little hysterical--yes,put it down to that. it runs in the family," he babbled on. "i havean aunt who faints at the sight of strawberries, and an uncle who swoonswhenever a cat walks into the room." "i hope you don't visit him very much," shesaid coldly.
"two points to you," said jack, "but i mustwarn jaggs, in case he is mistaken for the elderly lothario. obviouslyjean is preparing the way for an unpleasant end to poor old jaggs." "why do you think these things about jean?"she asked, as they were running into la turbie. "because i have a criminal mind," he repliedpromptly. "i have the same type of mind as jean briggerland's, weddedto a wholesome respect for the law, and a healthy sense of right andwrong. some people couldn't be happy if they owned a cent that had been earneddishonestly; other
people are happy so long as they have themoney--so long as it is real money. i belong to the former category. jean--well,i don't know what would make jean happy." "and what would make you happy--jean?" sheasked. he did not answer this question until theywere sitting on the stoep of the national, where a light luncheon was awaitingthem. "jean?" he said, as though the question hadjust been asked. "no, i don't want jean. she is wonderful, really,mrs. meredith, wonderful! i find myself thinking about her at odd moments,and the more i think the
more i am amazed. lucretia borgia was a childin arms compared with jean--poor old lucretia has been maligned,anyway. there was a woman in the sixteenth century rather like her, andanother girl in the early days of new england, who used to denouncewitches for the pleasure of seeing them burn, but i can't think of anexact parallel, because jean gets no pleasure out of hurting people anymore than you will get out of cutting that cantaloup. it has just got tobe cut, and the fact that you are finally destroying the life of the melondoesn't worry you." "have cantaloups life?" she paused, knifein hand, eyeing the fruit with
a frown. "no, i don't think i want it. sojean 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'tknow whether she has ever killed anybody, but she has certainly plannedmurders." lydia sighed and sat back in her chair patiently. "do you still suggest that she harbours designsagainst my young life?" "i not only suggest it, but i state positivelythat there have been four attempts 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 cararrived at the psychological moment?" she asked. "that's easy," he said with a smile. "oldman briggerland lit his cigar standing on the steps of the house. that lightwas a brilliant one, jaggs tells me. it was the signal for thecar to come on. the next attempt was made with the assistance of alunatic doctor who was helped to escape by briggerland, and brought to yourhouse by him. in some way he got hold of a key--probably jean manoeuvredit. did she ever talk
to you about keys?" "no," said the girl, "she----" she stoppedsuddenly, remembering that jean had discussed keys with her. "are you sure she didn't?" asked jack, watchingher. "i think she may have done," said the girldefiantly; "what was the third attempt?" "the third attempt," said jack slowly, "wasto infect your bed with a malignant fever." "jean did it?" said the girl incredulously."oh no, that would be
"the child was in your bed. jaggs saw it andthrew two buckets of water over the bed, so that you should not sleepin it." she was silent. "and i suppose the next attempt was the shooting?" "now do you believe?" he asked. "no, i don't believe," she said quietly. "ithink you have worked up a very strong case against poor jean, and iam sure you think you're justified." "you are quite right there," he said.
he lifted a pair of field glasses which hehad put on the table, and surveyed the road from the sea. "mrs. meredith,i want you to do something and tell jean briggerland when youhave done it." "what is that?" she asked. "i want you to make a will. i don't care whereyou 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 thinkthat all these plots are designed to put me out of the way so thatthey can enjoy my money?" he nodded, and she looked at him wonderingly. "if you weren't a hard-headed lawyer, i shouldthink you were a writer of romantic fiction," she said. "but if itwill please you i will make a will. i haven't the slightest idea who i couldleave the money to. i've got rather a lot of money, haven't i?"
"you have exactly â£160,000 in hard cash.i want to talk to you about that," said jack. "it is lying at your bankersin your current account. it represents property which has been soldor was in process of being sold when you inherited the money, and anybodywho can get your signature and can satisfy the bankers thatthey are bona fide payees, can draw every cent you have of ready money.i might say in passing that we are prepared for that contingency, andany large cheque will be referred to me or to my partner." he raised his field glasses for a second timeand looked steadily down
along 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 thepolice doesn't mean that she will not be coming up here, to watch us. jeandoesn't like me, you know, and she will be scared to death of this _tãªte-ã -tãªte_." the conversation had been arrested by thearrival of the soup and now there was a further interruption whilst thetable was being cleared.
when the _maã®tre d'hã´tel_ had gone the girlasked: "what am i to do with the money? reinvestit?" "exactly," said jack, "but the most importantthing is to make your will." he looked along the deserted veranda. theywere the only guests present who had come early. from the veranda two curtaineddoors led into the _salon_ of the hotel and it struck him thatone of these had not been ajar when he looked at it before, and it wasthe door opposite to the table where they were sitting.
he noted this idly without attaching any greatimportance to the fact. "suppose somebody were to present a chequeto the bank in my name?" she asked. "what would happen?" "if it were for a large sum? the manager wouldcall us up and one of us would probably go round to your bank. it isonly a block from our office. if rennett or i said it was all rightthe cheque would be honoured. you may be sure that i should makevery drastic inquiries as to the origin of the signature." and then she saw him stiffen and his eyesgo to the door. he waited a
second, then rising noiselessly, crossed thewooden floor of the veranda quickly and pushed open the door, to findhimself face to face with the smiling jean briggerland. chapter xxviii "however did you get here?" asked lydia insurprise. "i went into nice," said the girl carelessly."the detectives were going there and i gave them a lift." "i see," said jack, "so you came into turbieby the back road? i wondered why i hadn't seen your car."
"you expected me, did you?" she smiled, asshe sat down at the table and selected a peach from its cotton-wool bed."i only arrived a second ago, in fact i was opening the door when you almostknocked my head off. what a violent man you are, jack! i shall haveto put you into my story." glover had recovered his self-possession bynow. "so you are adding to your other crimes byturning novelist, are you?" he said good-humouredly. "what is the book,miss briggerland?" "it is going to be called 'suspected,'" shesaid coolly. "and it will be the story of a hurt soul."
"oh, i see, a humorous story," said jack,wilfully dense. "i didn't know you 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 smilingas at an amusing thought. "i've been two years making up my mind towrite it," she said, "and i'm going to dedicate it to jack. i started workon it three or four days ago. look at my wrist!" she held out her beautifulhand for the girl's inspection.
"it is a very pretty wrist," laughed lydia,"but why did you want me to see it?" "if you had a professional eye," said thegirl, resuming her occupation, "you would have noticed the swelling, theresult of writers' cramp." "the yarn about your elderly admirer oughtto provide a good chapter," said jack, "and isn't there a phrase 'a chapterof 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 money
somehow." how much had she heard? jack was wonderingall the time, and he groaned inwardly when he saw how little effect hiswarning had upon the girl he was striving to protect. women are naturalactresses, but lydia was not acting now. she was genuinely fond of jeanand he could see that she had accepted his warnings as the ravings of adiseased imagination. he confirmed this view when after a morning ofsight-seeing and the exploration of the spot where, two thousandyears before, the emperor augustine had erected his lofty "trophy,"they returned to the villa.
there are some omissions which are marked,and when lydia allowed him to depart without pressing him to stay to dinnerhe realised that he had lost the trick. "when are you going back to london?" she asked. "to-morrow morning," said jack. "i don't thinki shall come here again before i go." she did not reply immediately. she was a littlepenitent at her lack of hospitality, but jack had annoyed her andthe more convincing he had become, the greater had been the irritationhe had caused. one question
he had to ask but he hesitated. "about that will----" he began, but her lookof weariness stopped him. it was a very annoyed young man that droveback to the hã´tel de paris. he had hardly gone before lydia regrettedher brusqueness. she liked jack glover more than she was prepared toadmit, and though he had only been in cap martin for two days she felt alittle sense of desolation at his going. very resolutely she refused evento consider his extraordinary views about jean. and yet---- jean left her alone and watched her strollingaimlessly about the
garden, guessing the little storm which haddeveloped in her breast. lydia went to bed early that night, anothersignificant sign jean noted, and was not sorry, because she wanted to haveher father to herself. mr. briggerland listened moodily whilst jeanrelated all that she had learnt, for she had been in the _salon_ atthe national for a good quarter of an hour before jack had discoveredher. "i thought he would want her to make a will,"she said, "and, of course, although she has rejected the idea now, itwill grow on her. i think we have the best part of a week."
"i suppose you have everything cut and driedas usual," growled mr. briggerland. "what is your plan?" "i have three," said jean thoughtfully, "andtwo are particularly appealing to me because they do not involvethe employment of any third person." "had you one which brought in somebody else?"asked briggerland in surprise. "i thought a clever girl like you----" "don't waste your sarcasm on me," said jeanquietly. "the third person whom i considered was marcus stepney," andshe told him the gist of her
conversation with the gambler. mr. briggerlandwas not impressed. "a thief like marcus will get out of paying,"he said, "and if he can stall you long enough to get the money youmay whistle for your share. besides, a fellow like that isn't really afraidof a charge of bigamy." jean, curled up in a big arm-chair, lookedup under her eyelashes at her father and laughed. "i had no intention of letting marcus marrylydia," she said coolly, "but i had to dangle something in front ofhis eyes, because he may serve me in quite another way."
"how did he get those two slashes on his hand?"asked mr. briggerland suddenly. "ask him," she said. "marcus is getting alittle troublesome. i thought he had learnt his lesson and had realisedthat i am not built for matrimony, especially for a hectic attachmentto a man who gains his livelihood 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 how marcus lives."
"the boy is very fond of you." "the boy is between thirty and thirty-six,"she said tersely. "and he's not the kind of boy that i am particularlyfond of. he is useful and may 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 thinkwill create a sensation," she
said calmly. "what's this?" asked briggerland suspiciously."a story? i didn't know you were writing that kind of stuff." "there are lots of important things that youknow nothing about, parent," she said and left him a little dazed. for once jean was not deceiving him. a writingtable had been put in her room and a thick pad of paper awaited herattention. she got into her kimono and with a little sigh sat down atthe table and began to write. it was half-past two when she gathered upthe sheets and read them over
with a smile which was half contempt. shewas on the point of getting into bed when she remembered that her fatherwas keeping watch below. she put on her slippers and went downstairsand tapped gently at the door 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 heard anything or seen anybody?" the french windows of the dining-room wereopen, her father was wearing
his coat and on his arm she saw by the reflectedstarlight from outside he carried a shot-gun. "nothing," he said. "the old man hasn't cometo-night." "somehow i didn't think he would," she said. "i don't see how i can shoot him without makinga fuss." "don't be silly," said jean lightly. "aren'tthe police well aware that an elderly gentleman has threatened my life,and would it be remarkable if seeing an ancient man prowl about thishouse you shot him on sight?" she bit her lips thoughtfully.
"yes, i think you can go to bed," she said."he will not be here to-night. to-morrow night, yes." she went up to her room, said her prayersand went to bed and was asleep immediately. lydia had forgotten about jean's story untilshe saw her writing industriously at a small table which had beenplaced on the lawn. it was february, but the wind and the sun were warmand lydia thought she had never seen a more beautiful picture than thegirl presented sitting there in a garden spangled with gay flowers,heavy with the scent of
february roses, a dainty figure of a girl,almost ethereal in her loveliness. "am i interrupting you?" "not a bit," said jean, putting down her penand rubbing her wrist. "isn't it annoying. i've got to quite an excitingpart, and my wrist is giving me hell." she used the word so naturally that lydiaforgot to be shocked. "can i do anything for you?" jean shook her head.
"i don't exactly see what you can do," shesaid, "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, "buti'd hate to ask you. you see, dear, i've got a chapter to finish andit really ought to go off to london to-day. i am very keen on getting anopinion from a literary friend of mine--but, no, i won't ask you." "what is it?" smiled lydia. "i'm sure you'renot going to ask the
"the thought occurred to me that perhaps youmight write as i dictated. it would only be two or three pages," saidthe girl apologetically. "i'm so full of the story at this moment that itwould be a shame if i allowed the divine fire of inspiration--that'sthe term, isn't it--to go out." "of course i'll do it," said lydia. "i can'twrite shorthand, but that doesn't matter, does it?" "no, longhand will be quick enough for me.my thoughts aren't so fast," "what is it all about?"
"it is about a girl," said jean, "who hasstolen a lot of money----" "how thrilling!" smiled lydia. "and she's got away to america. she is livinga very full and joyous life, but the thought of her sin is hauntingher and she decides to disappear and let people think she has drownedherself. she is really going into a convent. i've got to the pointwhere she is saying farewell to her friend. do you feel capable of beingharrowed?" "i never felt fitter for the job in my life,"said lydia, and sitting down in the chair the girl had vacated, shetook up the pencil which the
other had left. jean strolled up and down the lawn in an agonyof mental composition and presently she came back and began slowly todictate. word by word lydia wrote down the thrillingstory of the girl's remorse, and presently came to the moment when theheroine was inditing a letter to her friend. "take a fresh page," said jean, as lydia pausedhalf-way down one sheet. "i shall want to write something inthere myself when my hand gets better. now begin:
"my dear friend." lydia wrote down the words and slowly thegirl dictated. "_i do not know how i can write you this letter.i intended to tell you when i saw you the other day howmiserable i was. your suspicion hurt me less than your ignoranceof the one vital event in my life which has now made livinga burden. my money has brought no joy to me. i have met a mani love, but with whom i know a union is impossible. we aredetermined to die together--farewell--_"
"you said she was going away," interruptedlydia. "i know," jean nodded. "only she wants togive 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 aswell of me as you possibly can. your friend----_" "i don't know whether to make her sign hername 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 themin a little portfolio and tucked 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, evenif it breaks my wrist,"
said jean brightly. she took the portfolio up to her room, lockedthe door and sorted over the pages. the page which held the farewellletter she put carefully aside. the remainder, including all that partof the story she had written on the previous night, she made intoa bundle, and when lydia had gone off with marcus stepney to swim,she carried the paper to a remote corner of the grounds and burnt itsheet by sheet. again she examined the "letter," folded it and lockedit in a drawer. lydia, returning from her swim, was met byjean half-way up the hill.
"by the way, my dear, i wish you would giveme jack glover's london address," she said as they went into the house."write it here. here is a pencil." she pulled out an envelope froma stationery rack and lydia, in all innocence, wrote as she requested. the envelope jean carried upstairs, put intoit the letter signed "l. m.," and sealed it down. lydia meredith wasnearer to death at that moment than she had been on the afternoonwhen mordon the chauffeur brought his big fiat on to the pavement ofberkeley street. chapter xxix
it was in the evening of the next day thatlydia received a wire from jack glover. it was addressed from londonand announced his arrival. "doesn't it make you feel nice, lydia," saidjean, when she saw the telegram, "to have a man in london lookingafter your interests--a sort of guardian angel--and another guardian angelprowling round your demesne at cap martin?" "you mean jaggs? have you seen him?" "no, i have not seen him," said the girl softly."i should rather like to see him. do you know where he is stayingat monte carlo?"
"i hope i shall see him before i go," saidjean. "he must be a very interesting old gentleman." it was mr. briggerland who first caught aglimpse of lydia's watchman. mr. briggerland had spent the greater partof the day sleeping. he was unusually wakeful at one o'clock in the morning,and sat on the veranda in a fur-lined overcoat, his gun lay acrosshis knees. he had seen many mysterious shapes flitting across the lawn,only to discover on investigation that they were no more thanthe shadows which the moving tree-tops cast.
at two o'clock he saw a shape emerge fromthe tree belt and move stealthily in the shadow of the bushes towardthe house. he did not fire because there was a chance that it might havebeen one of the detectives who had promised to keep an eye upon the villacasa in view of the murderous threats which jean had received. noiselessly he rose and stepped in his rubbershoes to the darker end of the stoep. it was old jaggs. there was nomistaking him. a bent man who limped cautiously across the lawn and wasmaking for the back of the house. mr. briggerland cocked his gun andtook aim....
both girls heard the shot, and lydia, springingout of bed, ran on to the balcony. "it's all right, mrs. meredith," said briggerland'svoice. "it was a burglar, i think." "you haven't hurt him?" she cried, rememberingold jaggs's nocturnal habits. "if i have, he's got away," said briggerland."he must have seen me and dropped." jean flew downstairs in her dressing-gownand joined her father on the
"did you get him?" she asked in a low voice. "i could have sworn i shot him," said herfather in the same tone, "but the old devil must have dropped." he heard the quick catch of her breath andturned apprehensively. "now, don't make a fuss about it, jean, icouldn't help it." "you couldn't help it!" she almost snarled."you had him under your gun and you let him go. do you think he'll evercome again, you fool?" "now look here, i'm not going to----" beganmr. briggerland, but she snatched the gun from his hand, looked swiftlyat the lock and ran
across the lawn toward the trees. somebody was hiding. she sensed that and allher nerves were alert. presently she saw a crouching figure and liftedthe gun, but before she could fire it was wrested from her hand. she opened her lips to cry out for help, buta hand closed over her mouth, and swung her round so that her backwas toward her assailant, and then in a flash his arm came round herneck, the flex of the elbow against her throat. "say one of them prayers of yours," said avoice in her ear, and the arm
tightened. she struggled furiously, but the man heldher as though she were a child. "you're going to die," whispered the voice."how do you like the sensation?" the arm tightened on her neck. she was suffocating,dying she thought, and her heart was filled with a wild, madlonging for life and a terror undreamt of. she could faintly hear her father'svoice calling her and then consciousness departed.
when jean came to herself she was in lydiameredith's arms. she opened her eyes and saw the pathetic face of herfather looming from the background. her hand went up to her throat. "hallo, people--how did i get here?" she askedas she struggled into a sitting position. "i came in search of you and found you lyingon the ground," quavered mr. briggerland. "did you see the man?" she asked. "no. what happened to you, darling?"
"nothing," she said with that composure whichshe could command. "i must have fainted. it was rather ridiculous ofme, wasn't it?" she smiled. she got unsteadily to her feet and again shefelt her throat. lydia noticed the action. "did he hurt you?" she asked anxiously. "itcouldn't have been jaggs." "oh no," smiled jean, "it couldn't have beenjaggs. i think i'll go to bed." she did not expect to sleep. for the firsttime in her extraordinary life fear had come to her, and she had shiveredon the very edge of the
abyss. she felt the shudder she could notrepress and shook herself impatiently. then she extinguished the lightand went to the window and looked out. somewhere there in the darknessshe knew her enemy was hidden, and again that sense of apprehensionswept over her. "i'm losing my nerve," she murmured. it was extraordinary to lydia meredith thatthe girl showed no sign of her night's adventure when she came in tobreakfast on the following morning. she looked bright. her eyes wereclear and her delicate irony as pointed as though she had slept the clockround.
lydia did not swim that day, and mr. stepneyhad his journey out to cap martin in vain. nor was she inclined to goback with him to monte carlo to the casino in the afternoon, and mr. stepneybegan to realise that he was wasting valuable time. jean found her scribbling in the garden andlydia made no secret of the task she was undertaking. "making your will? what a grisly idea?" shesaid as she put down the cup of tea she had carried out to the girl. "isn't it," said lydia with a grimace. "itis the most worrying
business, too, jean. there is nobody i wantto leave money to except you and mr. glover." "for heaven's sake don't leave me any or jackwill think i am conspiring to bring about your untimely end," said jean."why make a will at all?" there was no need for her to ask that, butshe was curious to discover what reply the girl would make, and to hersurprise lydia fenced with the question. "it is done in all the best circles," shesaid good-humouredly. "and, jean, i'm not interested in a single publicinstitution! i don't know by
title the name of any home for dogs, and ishouldn't be at all anxious to leave my money to one even if i did." "then you'd better leave it to jack glover,"said the girl, "or to the lifeboat institution." lydia threw down her pencil in disgust. "fancy making one's will on a beautiful daylike this, and giving instructions as to where one should be buried.brrr! jean," she asked suddenly, "was it mr. jaggs you saw in thewood?" "i saw nobody," she said. "i went in to lookfor the burglar; the
excitement must have been too much for me,and i fainted." but lydia was not satisfied. "i can't understand mr. jaggs myself," shesaid, but jean interrupted her with a cry. lydia looked up and saw her eyes shining andher lips parting in a "of course," she said softly. "he used tosleep at your flat, didn't he?" "yes, why?" asked the girl in surprise. "what a fool i am, what a perfect fool!" saidjean, startled out of her
accustomed self-possession. "i don't quite know where your folly comesin, but perhaps you will tell me," but jean was laughing softly. "go on and make your will," she said mockingly."and when you've finished we'll go into the rooms and chasethe lucky numbers. poor dear mrs. cole-mortimer is feeling a little neglected,too, we ought to do something for her." the day and night passed without any untowardevent. in the evening jean had an interview with her french chauffeur,and afterwards disappeared
into her room. lydia tapping at her door tobid her good night received no answer. day was breaking when old jaggs came out fromthe trees in his furtive way and glancing up and down the road madehis halting way toward monte carlo. the only objects in sight was a donkeyladen with market produce led by a bare-legged boy who was going inthe same direction as he. a little more than a mile along the road heturned sharply to the right and began climbing a steep and narrow bridlepath which joined the mountain road, half-way up to la turbie. theboy with the donkey turned
off to the main road and continued the steepclimb toward the grande corniche. there were many houses built onthe edge of the road and practically on the edge of precipices, forthe windows facing the sea often looked sheer down for two hundred feet.at first these dwellings appeared in clusters, then as the road climbedhigher, they occurred at rare intervals. the boy leading the donkey kept his eye uponthe valley below, and from time to time caught a glimpse of the old manwho had now left the bridle path, and was picking his way up the roughhill-side. he was making for
a dilapidated house which stood at one ofthe hairpin bends of the road, and the donkey-boy, shading his eyes fromthe glare of the rising sun, saw him disappear into what must have beenthe cellar of the house, since the door through which he went was agood twenty feet beneath the level of the road. the donkey-boy continuedhis climb, tugging at his burdened beast, and presently he came up tothe house. smoke was rising from one of the chimneys, and he halted atthe door, tied the rope he held to a rickety gate post, and knocked gently. a bright-faced peasant woman came to the opendoor and shook her head at
the sight of the wares with which the donkeywas laden. "we want none of your truck, my boy," shesaid. "i have my own garden. you are not a monogasque." "no, signora," replied the boy, flashing histeeth with a smile. "i am from san remo, but i have come to live inmonte carlo to sell vegetables for my uncle, and he told me i should finda lodging here." she looked at him dubiously. "i have one room which you could have, boy,"she said, "though i do not like italians. you must pay me a franc a night,and your donkey can go
into the shed of my brother-in-law up thehill." she led the way down a flight of ancient stairsand showed him a tiny room overlooking the valley. "i have one other man who lives here," shesaid. "an old one, who sleeps all day and goes out all night. but he isa very respectable man," she added in defence of her client. "where does he sleep?" asked the boy. "there!" the woman pointed to a room on theopposite side of the narrow landing. "he has just come in, i can hearhim." she listened.
"will madame get me change for this?" theboy produced a fifty-franc note, and the woman's eyebrows rose. "such wealth!" she said good-naturedly. "idid not think that a little boy like you could have such money." she bustled upstairs to her own room, leavingthe boy alone. he waited until her heavy footsteps sounded overhead,and then gently he tried the door of the other lodger. mr. jaggs had notyet bolted the door, and the spy pushed it open and looked. what he sawsatisfied him, for he pulled the door tight again, and as the footfallof old jaggs came nearer the
door, the donkey-boy flew upstairs with extraordinaryrapidity. "i will come later, madame," he said, whenhe had received the change. "i must take my donkey into monte carlo." she watched the boy and his beast go downthe road, and went back to the task of preparing her lodger's breakfast. to monte carlo the cabbage seller did notgo. instead, he turned back the way he had come, and a hundred yards fromthe gate of villa casa, mordon, the chauffeur, appeared, and tookthe rope from his hand. "did you find what you wanted, mademoiselle?"he asked.
jean nodded. she got into the house throughthe servants' entrance and up to her room without observation. she pulledoff the black wig and applied herself to removing the stains fromher face. it had been a good morning's work. "you must keep mrs. meredith fully occupiedto-day." she waylaid her father on the stairs to give him these instructions. for her it was a busy morning. first she wentto the hã´tel de paris, and on the pretext of writing a letter in thelounge, secured two or three sheets of the hotel paper and an envelope.next she hired a typewriter
and carried it with her back to the house.she was working for an hour before she had the letter finished. the signaturetook her some time. she had to ransack lydia's writing case beforeshe found a letter from jack glover--lydia's signature was easy incomparison. this, and a cheque drawn from the back oflydia meredith's cheque-book, completed her equipment. that afternoon mordon, the chauffeur, motoredinto nice, and by nine o'clock that night an aeroplane depositedhim in paris. he was in london the following morning, a bearer of an urgentletter to mr. rennett, the
lawyer, which, however, he did not presentin person. mordon knew a french girl in london, and sheit was who carried the letter to charles rennett--a letter that madehim scratch his head many times before he took a sheet of paper, andaddressing the manager of lydia's bank, wrote: "this cheque is in order. please honour." chapter xxx "desperate diseases," said jean briggerland,"call for desperate remedies."
mr. briggerland looked up from his book. "what was that tale you were telling lydiathis morning," he asked, "about glover's gambling? he was only herea day, wasn't he?" "he was here long enough to lose a lot ofmoney," said jean. "of course he didn't gamble, so he did not lose. it wasjust a little seed-sowing on my part--one never knows how useful theright word may be in the right season." "did you tell lydia that he was losing heavily?"he asked quickly. "am i a fool? of course not! i merely saidthat youth would be served,
and if you have the gambling instinct in you,why, it didn't matter what position you held in society or what yourresponsibilities were, you must indulge your passion." mr. briggerland stroked his chin. there weretimes when jean's schemes got very far beyond him, and he hated themental exercise of catching up. the only thing he knew was that everypost from london bore urgent demands for money, and that the future heldpossibilities which he did not care to contemplate. he was in the unfortunateposition of having numerous pensioners to support, men and womenwho had served him in
various ways and whose approval, but whatwas more important, whose loyalty, depended largely upon the regularityof their payments. "i shall gamble or do something desperate,"he said with a frown. "unless you can bring off a coup that willproduce twenty thousand pounds of ready money we are going to getinto all kinds of trouble, jean." "do you think i don't know that?" she askedcontemptuously. "it is because of this urgent need of money thati have taken a step which i hate."
he listened in amazement whilst she told himwhat she had done to relieve her pressing needs. "we are getting deeper and deeper into mordon'shands," he said, shaking his head. "that is what scares me at times." "you needn't worry about mordon," she smiled.her smile was a little hard. "mordon and i are going to be married." she was examining the toe of her shoe attentivelyas she spoke, and mr. briggerland leapt to his feet. "what!" he squeaked. "marry a chauffeur? afellow i picked out of the
gutter? you're mad! the fellow is a rascalwho has earned the guillotine time and time again." "who hasn't?" she asked, looking up. "it is incredible! it's madness!" he said."i had no idea----" he stopped for want of breath. mordon was becoming troublesome. she had knownthat better than her father. "it was after the 'accident' that didn't happenthat he began to get a little tiresome," she said. "you say we aregetting deeper and deeper
into his hands? well, he hinted as much, andi did not like it. when he began to get a little loving i accepted thatway out as an easy alternative to a very unpleasant exposure.whether he would have betrayed 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. whenis easter? that class of person always wants to be married at easter.i asked him to keep our secret and not to mention it to you, and ishould not have spoken now if
you had not referred to the obligation wewere under." "in two months?" mr. briggerland nodded. "letme know when you want this to end, jean," he said. "it will end almost immediately. please donot trouble," said jean, "and there is one other thing, father. if you seemr. jaggs in the garden to-night, i beg of you do not attempt to shoothim. he is a very useful man." her father sank back in his chair. "you're beyond me," he said, helplessly.
mordon occupied two rooms above the garage,which was conveniently situated for jean's purpose. he arrived latethe next night, and a light in his window, which was visible from thegirl's room, told her all she wanted to know. mr. mordon was a good-looking man by certainstandards. his hair was dark and glossily brushed. his normal pallorof countenance gave him the interesting appearance which men of his kinddid not greatly dislike, and he had a figure which was admired in adozen servants' halls, and a manner which passed amongst housemaids for"gentlemanly," and amongst
gentlemen as "superior." he heard the footof the girl on the stairs, and opened the door. "you have brought it?" she said, without apreliminary word. she had thrown a dark cloak over her eveningdress, and the man's eyes feasted on her. "yes, i have brought it--jean," he said. she put her finger to her lips. "be careful, franã§ois," she cautioned ina low voice. although the man spoke english as well ashe spoke french, it was in the
latter language that the conversation wascarried on. he went to a grip which lay on the bed, opened it and took outfive thick packages of thousand-franc notes. "there are a thousand in each, mademoiselle.five million francs. i changed part of the money in paris, and partin london." "the woman--there is no danger from her?" "oh no, mademoiselle," he smiled complacently."she is not likely to betray me, and she does not know my name orwhere i am living. she is a girl i met at a dance at the swiss waiters'club," he explained. "she is
not a good character. i think the french policewish to find her, but she is very clever." "what did you tell her?" asked jean. "that i was working a coup with vaud and montheron.these are two notorious men in paris whom she knew. i gaveher five thousand francs for her work." "there was no trouble?" "none whatever, mademoiselle. i watched her,and saw she carried the letter to the bank. as soon as the money waschanged i left croydon by
air for paris, and came on from paris to marseillesby aeroplane." "you did well, franã§ois," she said, and pattedhis hand. he would have seized hers, but she drew back. "you have promised, franã§ois," she said withdignity, "and a french gentleman keeps his word." franã§ois bowed. he was not a french gentleman, but he wasanxious that this girl should think he was, and to that end had told herstories of his birth which had apparently impressed her.
"now will you do something more for me?" "i will do anything in the world, jean," hecried passionately, and again a restraining hand fell on his shoulder. "then sit down and write; your french is somuch better than mine." "what shall i write?" he asked. she had nevercalled upon him for proof of his scholarship, and he was childishlyeager to reveal to the woman he loved attainments of which he had no knowledge. "write, 'dear mademoiselle'." he obeyed. "'_have returned from london, and have confessedto madame
meredith that i have forged her name and havedrawn â£100,000 from her bank----_'" "why do i write this, jean?" he asked in surprise. "i will tell you one day--go on. franã§ois,"she continued her dictation. "'_and now i have learnt that madame meredithloves me. there is only one end to this--that which you see----_'" "do you intend passing suspicion to somebodyelse?" he asked, evidently fogged, "but why should i say----?"
she stopped his mouth with her hand. "how wonderful you are, jean," he said, admiringly,as he blotted the paper and handed it to her. "so that if thismatter is traced to you----" she looked into his eyes and smiled. "there will be trouble for somebody," shesaid, softly, as she put the paper in her pocket. suddenly, before she could realise what washappening he had her in his arms, his lips pressed against hers. "jean, jean!" he muttered. "you adorable woman!"
gently she pressed him back and she was stillsmiling, though her eyes were like granite. "gently, franã§ois," she said, "you must havepatience!" she slipped through the door and closed itbehind her, and even in her then state of mind she did not slam it, nordid she hurry down the stairs, but went out, taking her time, andwas back in the house without her absence having been noticed. her face,reflected in her long mirror, was serene in its repose, but within her adevil was alive, hungry for destruction. no man had roused the love ofjean briggerland, but at
least one had succeeded in bringing to lifea consuming hate which, for the time being, absorbed her. from the moment she drew her wet handkerchiefacross her red lips and flung the dainty thing as though it were contaminatedthrough the open window, franã§ois mordon was a dead man. chapter xxxi a letter from jack glover arrived the nextmorning. he had had an easy journey, was glad to have had the opportunityof seeing lydia, and hoped she would think over the will. lydia was notthinking of wills, but of
an excuse to get back to london. of a suddenthe loveliness of monte carlo had palled upon her, and she had almostforgotten the circumstances which had made the change ofscene and climate so welcome. "go back to london, my dear?" said mrs. cole-mortimer,shocked. "what a--a rash notion! why it is _freezing_ intown and foggy and ... and i really can't let you go back!" mrs. cole-mortimer was agitated at the verythought. her own good time on the riviera depended upon lydia staying.jean had made that point very clear. she, herself, she explained toher discomforted hostess, was
ready to go back at once, and the prolongationof mrs. cole-mortimer's stay depended upon lydia's plans. a startlingswitch of cause and effect, for mrs. cole-mortimer had understoodthat jean's will controlled the plans of the party. lydia might have insisted, had she reallyknown the reason for her sudden longing for the grimy metropolis. butshe could not even convince herself that the charms of monte carlo werecontingent upon the presence there of a man who had aroused her furiousindignation and with whom she had spent most of the time quarrelling. shementioned her unrest to
jean, and jean as usual seemed to understand. "the riviera is rather like turkish delight--verysweet, but unsatisfying," she said. "stay another weekand then if you feel that way we'll all go home together." "this means breaking up your holiday," saidlydia in self-reproach. "not a bit," denied the girl, "perhaps i shallfeel as you do in a week's time." a week! jean thought that much might happenin a week. in truth events began to move quickly from that night, butin a way she had not
anticipated. mr. briggerland, who had been reading thenewspaper through the conversation, looked up. "they are making a great fuss of this moorin nice," he said, "but if i remember rightly, nice invariably has someweird lion to adore." "muley hafiz," said lydia. "yes, i saw himthe day i went to lunch with mr. stepney, a fine-looking man." "i'm not greatly interested in natives," saidjean carelessly. "what is he, a negro?"
"oh, no, he's fairer than--" lydia was aboutto say "your father," but thought it discreet to find another comparison."he's fairer than most of the people in the south of france," shesaid, "but then all very highly-bred moors are, aren't they?" "ethnology means nothing to me," she saidhumorously. "i've got my idea of moors from shakespeare, and i thought theywere mostly black. what is he then? i haven't read the papers." "he is the pretender to the moorish throne,"said lydia, "and there has been a lot of trouble in the french senateabout him. france supports
his claims, and the spaniards have offereda reward for his body, dead or alive, and that has brought about a strainedrelationship between spain and france." jean regarded her with an amused smile. "fancy taking an interest in internationalpolitics. i suppose that is due to your working on a newspaper, lydia." jean discovered that she was to take a greaterinterest in muley hafiz than she could have thought was possible.she had to go into monte carlo to do some shopping. mentone was nearer, butshe preferred the drive
into the principality. the rooms had no great call for her, and whilstmordon went to a garage to have a faulty cylinder examined, she strolledon to the terrace of the casino, down the broad steps towards thesea. the bathing huts were closed at this season, but the little roaddown to the beach is secluded and had been a favourite walk of hers in earliervisits. near the huts she passed a group of dark-lookingmen in long white jellabs, and wondered which of these was thefamous muley. one she noticed with a particularly negro type offace, wore on his flowing robe
the scarlet ribbon of the legion of honour.somehow or other he did not seem interesting enough to be muley, she thoughtas she went on to a strip of beach. a man was standing on the sea shore, a tall,commanding man, gazing out it seemed across the sunlit ocean as thoughhe were in search of something. he could not have heard her footfallbecause she was walking on the sand, and yet he must have realisedher presence, for he turned, and she almost stopped at the sight of hisface. he might have been a european; his complexion was fair, thoughhis eyebrows and eyes were jet
black, as also was the tiny beard and moustachehe wore. beneath the conventional jellab he wore a dark green jacket,and she had a glimpse of glittering decorations before he pulledover his cloak so that they were hidden. but it was his eyes which heldher. they were large and as black as night, and they were set in a faceof such strength and dignity that jean knew instinctively thatshe was looking upon the moorish pretender. they stood for a second staring at one another,and then the moor stepped aside.
"pardon," he said in french, "i am afraidi startled you." jean was breathing a little quicker. she couldnot remember in her life any man who had created so immediate and favourablean impression. she forgot her contempt for native people, forgothis race, his religion (and religion was a big thing to jean), forgoteverything except that behind those eyes she recognised somethingwhich was kin to her. "you are english, of course," he said in thatlanguage. "scottish," smiled jean. "it is almost the same, isn't it?" he spokewithout any trace of an
accent, without an error of grammar, and hisvoice was the voice of a college 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 had read nothing. he laughed, showing two rows of perfect whiteteeth. it was only by contrast with their whiteness that she noticedthe golden brown of his complexion.
"i am of international interest," he saidlightly and glanced round toward his attendants. she thought he was going and would have movedon, but he stopped her. "you are the first english speaking personi have talked to since i've been in france," he said, "except the americanambassador." he smiled as at a pleasant recollection. "you talk almost like an englishman yourself." "i was at oxford," he said. "my brother wasat harvard. my father, the brother of the late sultan, was a very progressiveman and believed in
the western education for his children. won'tyou sit down?" he asked, pointing to the sand. she hesitated a second, and then sank to theground, and crossing his legs he sat by her side. "i was in france for four years," he carriedon, evidently anxious to hold her in conversation, "so i speak bothlanguages fairly well. do you speak arabic?" he asked the question solemnly,but his eyes were bright with laughter. "not very well," she answered gravely. "areyou staying very long?" it
was a conventional question and she was unpreparedfor the reply. "i leave to-night," he said, "though veryfew people know it. you have surprised a state secret," he smiled again. and then he began to talk of morocco and itshistory, and with extraordinary ease he traced the story ofthe families which had ruled that troubled state. he touched lightly on his own share in therebellion which had almost brought about a european war. "my uncle seized the throne, you know," hesaid, taking up a handful of
sand and tossing it up in the air. "he defeatedmy father and killed him, 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 of my tent. you're shocked?" "do you believe in killing your enemies?" "why not? it is the only logical thing todo." "my brother joined forces with the presentsultan, and if i ever catch him i shall hang him too," he smiled.
"and if he catches you?" she asked. "why, he'll hang me," he laughed. "that isthe rule of the game." "how strange!" she said, half to herself. "do you think so? i suppose from the europeanstandpoint----" "no, no," she stopped him. "i wasn't thinkingof that. you are logical and you do the logical thing. that is howi would treat my enemies." "if you had any," he suggested. "if i had any," she repeated with a hard littlesmile. "will you tell me this--do i call you mr. muley or lord muley?"
"you may call me wazeer, if you're so hardup for a title," he said, and the little idiom sounded queer from him. "well, wazeer, will you tell me: suppose somebodywho had something that you wanted very badly and they wouldn't giveit to you, and you had the power to destroy them, what would you do?" "i should certainly destroy them," said muleyhafiz. "it is unnecessary to ask. 'the common rule, the simple plan'"he quoted. her eyes were fixed on his face, and she wasfrowning, though this she did not know.
"i am glad i met you this afternoon," shesaid. "it must be wonderful living in that atmosphere, the atmosphereof might and power, where men and women aren't governed by the finickingrules which vitiate the western world." he laughed. "then you are tired of your western civilisation,"he said as he rose and helped her to her feet (his hands werelong and delicate, and she grew breathless at the touch of them). "youmust come along to my little city in the hills where the law is the swordof muley hafiz."
she looked at him for a moment. "i almost wish i could," she said and heldout her hand. he took it in the european fashion and bowedover it. she seemed so tiny a thing by the side of him, her head did notreach his shoulder. "good-bye," she said hurriedly and turning,walked back the way she had come, and he stood watching her until shewas out of sight. chapter xxxii "jean!" she looked round to meet the scowling gazeof marcus stepney.
"i must say you're the limit," he said violently."there are lots of things i imagine you'd do, but to stand therein broad daylight talking to a nigger----" "if i stand in broad daylight and talk toa card-sharper, marcus, i think 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 possiblycan, keep your voice down to the level which gentlemen usually employwhen talking to women," she said.
she was in better condition than he, and hewas a little out of breath by the time they reached the cafã© de paris,which was crowded at that hour with the afternoon tea people. he found a quiet corner, and by this timehis anger, and a little of his courage, had evaporated. "i've only your interest at heart, jean,"he said almost pleadingly, "but you don't want people in our set to knowyou've been hobnobbing with this infernal moor." "when you say 'our set,' to which set areyou referring?" she asked
unpleasantly. "because if it is the set ibelieve you mean, they can't think too badly of me for my liking. it wouldbe a degradation to me to be admired by your set, marcus." "oh, come now," he began feebly. "i thought i had made it clear to you andi hoped you would carry the marks to your dying day"--there was malicein her voice, and he winced--"that i do not allow you to dominatemy life or to censor my actions. the 'nigger' you referred to wasmore of a gentleman than you can ever be, marcus, because he has breed,which the lord didn't give to
the waiter brought the tea at that moment,and the conversation passed to unimportant topics till he had gone. "i'm rather rattled," he apologised. "i lostsix thousand louis last night." "then you have six thousand reasons why youshould keep on good terms with me," said jean smiling cheerfully. "that cave man stuff?" he asked, and shookhis head. "she'd raise cain." jean was laughing inside herself, but shedid not show her merriment. "you can but try," she said. "i've alreadytold you how it can be
done." "i'll try to-morrow," he said after a thought."by heavens, i'll try to-morrow!" it was on the tip of her tongue to say "notto-morrow," but she checked herself. mordon came round with the car to pick herup soon after. mordon! her little chin jerked up with a gesture of annoyance,which she seldom permitted herself. and yet she felt unusuallycheered. her meeting with the moor was a milestone in her life fromwhich memory she could draw
both encouragement and comfort. "you met muley?" said lydia. "how thrilling!what is he like, jean? was he a blackamoor?" "no, he wasn't a blackamoor," said the girlquietly. "he was an unusually intelligent man." "h'm," grunted her father. "how did you cometo meet him, my dear?" "i picked him up on the beach," said jeancoolly, "as any flapper would pick 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 introducedmyself. i talked to him on the beach and he talked to me, andwe sat down and played with the sand and discussed one another's lives." "but how enterprising of you, jean," saidthe admiring lydia. mr. briggerland was going to say something,but thought better of it. there was a concert at the theatre that nightand the whole party went. they had a box, and the interval had comebefore lydia saw somebody ushered into a box on the other side of thehouse with such evidence of
deference that she would have known who hewas even if she had not seen the scarlet fez and the white robe. "it is your muley," she whispered. jean looked round. muley hafiz was looking across at her; hiseyes immediately sought the girl's, and he bowed slightly. "what the devil is he bowing at?" grumbledmr. briggerland. "you didn't take any notice of him, did you, jean?" "i bowed to him," said his daughter, not troublingto look round. "don't
be silly, father; anyway, if he weren't nice,it would be quite the right thing to do. i'm the most distinguishedwoman in the house because i know muley hafiz, and he has bowed to me!don't you realise the social value of a lion's recognition?" lydia could not see him distinctly. she hadan impression of a white face, two large black spaces where his eyeswere and a black beard. he sat all the time in the shadow of a curtain. jean looked round to see if marcus stepneywas present, hoping that he had witnessed the exchange of courtesies,but marcus at that moment was
watching little bundles of twelve thousandfranc notes raked across to the croupier's end of the table--which isthe business end of monte carlo. jean was the last to leave the car when itset them down at the villa casa. mordon called her respectfully. "excuse me, mademoiselle," he said, "i wishyou would come to the garage and see the new tyres that have arrived. idon't like them." it was a code which she had agreed he shoulduse when he wanted her. "very good, mordon, i will come to the garagelater," she said
carelessly. "what does mordon want you for?" asked herfather, with a frown. "you heard him. he doesn't approve of somenew tyres that have been bought for the car," she said coolly. "anddon't ask me questions. i've got a headache and i'm dying for a cup ofchocolate." "if that fellow gives you any trouble he'llbe sorry," said briggerland. "and let me tell you this, jean, that marriageidea of yours----" she only looked at him, but he knew the lookand wilted. "i don't want to interfere with your privateaffairs," he mumbled, "but
the very thought of it gets me crazy." the garage was a brick building erected bythe side of the carriage drive, built much nearer the house than isusually the case. jean waited a reasonable time before she slippedaway. mordon was waiting for her before the open doors of thegarage. the place was in darkness; she did not see him standing inthe entrance until she was within 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 theplace." "this is the only place where i am preparedto speak to you at the moment, franã§ois," she said reproachfully."don't you realise that my father is within hearing, and at any momentmadame meredith may come out? how would i explain my presence in yourroom?" he did not answer for the moment, then: "jean, i am worried," he said, in a troubledvoice. "i cannot understand your plans--they are too clever for me, andi have known men and women of great attainment. the great bersac----"
"the great bersac is dead," she said coldly."he was a man of such great attainments that he came to the knife. besides,it is not necessary that you should understand my plans, franã§ois." she knew quite well what was troubling him,but she waited. "i cannot understand the letter which i wrotefor you," said mordon. "the letter in which i say madame meredithloved me. i have thought this matter out, jean, and it seems to me thati am compromised." she laughed softly. "poor franã§ois," she said mockingly. "withwhom could you be compromised
but with your future wife? if i desire youto write that letter, what else matters?" again he was silent. "i cannot speak here," he said almost roughly."you must come to my room." she hesitated. there was something in hisvoice she did not like. "very well," she said, and followed him upthe steep stairs. chapter xxxiii "now explain." his words were a command, histone peremptory.
jean, who knew men, and read them withouterror, realised that this was not a moment to temporise. "i will explain to you, franã§ois, but i donot 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 wasgoing away. i confessed to you that i had forged a cheque for five millionfrancs. that is a very serious document, mademoiselle, to be in thepossession of anybody but myself." he looked at her straight in theeyes and she met his gaze unflinchingly.
"the thing will be made very clear to youto-morrow, franã§ois," she said softly, "and really there is no reason toworry. i wish to end this unhappy state of affairs." "with me?" he asked quickly. "no, with madame meredith," she answered."i, too, am tired of waiting for marriage and i intend asking my father'spermission for the wedding to take place next week. indeed, franã§ois,"she lowered her eyes modestly, "i have already written to the britishconsul at nice, asking him to arrange for the ceremony to be performed."
the sallow face of the chauffeur flushed adull red. "do you mean that?" he said eagerly. "jean,you are not deceiving me?" "no, franã§ois," she said in that low plaintivevoice of hers, "i could not deceive you in a matter so important tomyself." he stood watching her, his breast heaving,his burning eyes devouring her, 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 handsin his. "i am sure i am
right. it is too dangerous a letter to bein existence, jean, dangerous for you and for me--you will let me have itto-night?" she hesitated. "it is in my room," she said, an unnecessarystatement, and, in the circumstances, a dangerous one, for his eyesdropped to the bag that hung at her wrist. "it is there," he said. "jean darling, doas i ask," he pleaded. "you know, every time i think of that letter igo cold. i was a madman when i wrote it."
"i have not got it here," she said steadily.she tried to draw back, but she was too late. he gripped her wrists andpulled the bag roughly from her hand. "forgive me, but i know i am right," he began,and then like a fury she flew at him, wrenched the bag from his hand,and by the very violence of her attack, flung him backward. he stared at her, and the colour faded fromhis face leaving it a dead white. "what is this you are trying to do?" he gloweredat her.
"i will see you in the morning, franã§ois,"she said and turned. before she could reach the head of the stairshis arm was round her and he had dragged her back. "my friend," he said between his teeth, "thereis something in this matter which is bad for me." "let me go," she breathed and struck at hisface. for a full minute they struggled, and thenthe door opened and mr. briggerland came in, and at the sight of hislivid face, mordon released his hold.
"you swine!" hissed the big man. his fistshot out and mordon went down with a crash to the ground. for a moment hewas stunned, and then with a snarl he turned over on his side and whippeda revolver from his hip pocket. before he could fire, the girl hadgripped the pistol and wrenched it from his hand. "get up," said briggerland sternly. "now explainto me, my friend, what you mean by this disgraceful attack upon mademoiselle." the man rose and dusted himself mechanicallyand there was that in his face which boded no good to mr. briggerland.
before he could speak jean intervened. "father," she said quietly, "you have no rightto strike franã§ois." "franã§ois," spluttered briggerland, his darkface purple with rage. "franã§ois," she repeated calmly. "it is rightthat you should know that franã§ois and i will be married next week." mr. briggerland's jaw dropped. "what?" he almost shrieked. "we are going to be married next week," shesaid, "and the little scene you witnessed has nothing whatever to do withyou."
the effect of these words on mordon was magical.the malignant frown which had distorted his face cleared away.he looked from jean to briggerland as though it were impossible tobelieve the evidence of his ears. "franã§ois and i love one another," jean wenton in her even voice. "we have quarrelled to-night on a matter whichhas nothing to do with anybody 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. "franã§ois and i shall go our way and faceour own fate. i'm sorry you disapprove, because you have always been avery loving father to me." that was the first hint mr. briggerland hadreceived that there might be some other explanation for her words, andhe became calmer. "very well," he said, "i can only tell youthat i strongly disapprove of the action you have taken and that i shalldo nothing whatever to further your reckless scheme. but i must insistupon your coming back to
the house now. i cannot have my daughter talkedabout." "i will see you to-morrow morning early, franã§ois,"she said. "perhaps you will drive me into nice before breakfast.i have some purchases to make." he bowed, and reached out his hand for therevolver which she had taken from him. she looked at the ornate weapon, its silver-platedmetal parts, the graceful ivory handle. "i'm not going to trust you with this to-night,"she said with her rare
smile. "good night, franã§ois." he took her hand and kissed it. "good night, jean," he said in a tremulousvoice. for a moment their eyes met, and then she turned as though shedared not trust herself and followed her father down the stairs. they were half-way to the house when she laidher hand on briggerland's arm. "keep this," she said. it was franã§ois' revolver."it is probably loaded and i thought i saw some silver initials inlaidin the ivory handle. if
i know franã§ois mordon, they are his." "what do you want me to do with it?" he saidas he slipped the weapon in his pocket. she laughed. "on your way to bed, come in to my room,"she said. "i've quite a lot to tell you," and she sailed into the drawing-roomto interrupt mrs. cole-mortimer, who was teaching a weary lydiathe elements of bezique. "where have you been, jean?" asked lydia,putting down her cards. "i have been arranging a novel experiencefor you, but i'm not so sure
that it will be as interesting as it might--itall depends upon the state of your young heart," said jean, pullingup a chair. "my young heart is very healthy," laughedlydia. "what is the interesting experience?" "are you in love?" challenged jean, searchingin a big chintz bag where she kept her handiwork for a piece of unfinishedsewing. (jean's domesticity was always a source of wonderto lydia.) "in love--good heavens, no." "so much the better," nodded jean, "that soundsas though the experience
will be fascinating." she waited until she had threaded the fineneedle before she explained. "if you really are not in love and you siton the lovers' chair, the name of your future husband will come to you.if you're in love, of course, that complicates matters a little." "but suppose i don't want to know the nameof my future husband?" "then you're inhuman," said jean. "where is this magical chair?" "it is on the san remo road beyond the frontierstation. you've been
there, haven't you, margaret?" "once," said mrs. cole-mortimer, who had notbeen east of cap martin, but whose rule it was never to admit thatshe had missed anything worth seeing. "in a wild, eerie spot," jean went on, "andmiles from any human habitation." "are you going to take me?" "that would ruin the spell," she said solemnly."no, my dear, if you want that thrill, and, seriously, it is worthwhile, because the scenery
is the most beautiful of any along the coast,you must go alone." lydia nodded. "i'll try it. is it too far to walk?" sheasked. "much too far," said jean. "mordon will driveyou out. he knows the road very well and you ought not to take anybodybut an experienced driver. i have a _permis_ for the car to pass the frontier;you will probably meet father in san remo--he is taking a motor-cycletrip, aren't you, daddy?" mr. briggerland drew a long breath and nodded.he was beginning to understand.
chapter xxxiv there was lying in monaco harbour a long whiteboat with a stumpy mast, which delighted in the name of _jungle queen_.it was the property of an impecunious english nobleman who made a respectableincome from letting the vessel on hire. mrs. cole-mortimer had seemed surprised atthe reasonable fee demanded for two months' use until she had seen theboat the day after her arrival at cap martin. she had pictured a large and commodious yacht;she found a reasonably
sized motor-launch with a whale-deck cabin.the description in the agent's catalogue that the _jungle queen_would "sleep four" was probably based on the experience of a partyof young roisterers who had once hired the vessel. supposing that the"four" were reasonably drunk or heavily drugged, it was possible for themto sleep on board the _jungle queen_. normally two persons wouldhave found it difficult, though by lying diagonally across the "cabin"one small-sized man could have slumbered without discomfort. the _jungle queen_ had been a disappointmentto jean also. her busy
brain had conceived an excellent way of solvingher principal problem, but a glance at the _jungle queen_ told herthat the money she had spent on hiring the launch--and it was little better--waswasted. she herself hated the sea and had so little faith in theutility of the boat, that she had even dismissed the youth who attendedto its well-worn engines. mr. marcus stepney, who was mildly interestedin motor-boating, and considerably interested in any form of amusementwhich he could get at somebody else's expense, had so far been thesole patron of the _jungle queen_. it was his practice to take the boatout every morning for a two
hours' sail, generally alone, though sometimeshe would take somebody whose acquaintance he had made, and who wasdestined to be a source of profit to him in the future. jean's talk of the cave-man method of wooinghad made a big impression upon him, emphasised as it had been, and stillwas, by the two angry red scars across the back of his hand. thingswere not going well with him; the supply of rich and trusting youths hadsuddenly dried up. the little games in his private sitting-room had dwindledto feeble proportions. he was still able to eke out a living, but hissuccess at his private
sã©ances had been counter-balanced by heavylosses at the public tables. it is a known fact that people who live outsidethe law keep to their own plane. the swindler very rarely commitsacts of violence. the burglar who practises card-sharping as a side-line,is virtually unknown. mr. stepney lived on a plausible tongue anda pair of highly dexterous hands. it had never occurred to him to gobeyond his own sphere, and indeed violence was as repugnant to him asit was vulgar. yet the cave-man suggestion appealed to him.he had a way with women of
a certain kind, and if his confidence hadbeen rather shaken by jean's savagery and lydia's indifference, he hadnot altogether abandoned the hope that both girls in their turn might beconquered by the adoption of the right method. the method for dealing with jean he had atthe back of his mind. as for lydia--jean's suggestion was very attractive.it was after a very heavily unprofitable night spent at the nicecasino, that he took his courage in both hands and drove to the villacasa. he was an early arrival, but lydia had alreadyfinished her _petite
dã©jeuner_ and she was painfully surprisedto see him. "i'm not swimming to-day, mr. stepney," shesaid, "and you don't look as if you were either." he was dressed in perfectly fitting whiteduck trousers, white shoes, and a blue nautical coat with brass buttons;a yachtsman's cap was set at an angle on his dark head. "no, i'm going out to do a little fishing,"he said, "and i was wondering whether, in your charity, you wouldaccompany me." "i'm sorry--i have another engagement thismorning," she said.
"can't you break it?" he pleaded, "as an especialfavour to me? i've made all preparations and i've got a lovelylunch on board--you said you would come fishing with me one day." "i'd like to," she confessed, "but i reallyhave something very important to do this morning." she did not tell him that her important dutywas to sit on the lovers' chair. somehow her trip seemed just a littlesilly in the cold clear light 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 werespeaking. "what is the scheme, lydia?" "mr. stepney wants me to go out in the yacht,"said the girl, and jean smiled. "i'm glad you call it a 'yacht,'" she saiddryly. "you're the second person who has so described it. the firstwas the agent. take her to-morrow, marcus."
there was a glint of amusement in her eyes,and he felt that she knew what was at the back of his mind. "all right," he said in a tone which suggestedthat it was anything but all right, and added, "i saw you flying throughnice this morning with that yellow-faced chauffeur of yours, jean." "were you up so early?" she asked carelessly. "i wasn't dressed, i was looking out of thewindow--my room faces the promenade 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 muchfreedom," marcus stepney went on. he was not in an amiable frame ofmind, and the knowledge that he was annoying the girl encouraged him. "ifyou give these french chauffeurs 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 andthrust his hand deep into the pocket of his reefer coat.
"it is quite well," he snapped, and went backto monaco and his solitary boat trip, flaming. "one of these days ..." he muttered, as hetuned up the motor. he did not finish his sentence, but sent the noseof the _jungle queen_ at full speed for the open sea. jean's talk with mordon that morning had notbeen wholly satisfactory. she had calmed his suspicions to an extent,but he still harped upon the letter, and she had promised to give it tohim that evening. "my dear," she said, "you are too impulsive--toogallic. i had a
terrible scene with father last night. hewants me to break off the engagement; told me what my friends in londonwould say, and how i should be a social outcast." "and you--you, jean?" he asked. "i told him that such things did not troubleme," she said, and her lips drooped sadly. "i know i cannot be happy withanybody but you, franã§ois, and i am willing to face the sneers of london,even the hatred and scorn of my father, for your sake." he would have seized her hand, though theywere in the open road, but
she drew away from him. "be careful, franã§ois," she warned him. "remember that you have a very little timeto wait." "i cannot believe my good fortune," he babbled,as he brought the car up the gentle incline into monte carlo. he dodgedan early morning tram, missing an unsuspecting passenger, who hadcome round the back of the tram-car, by inches, and set the big italiaup the palm avenue into the town. "it is incredible, and yet i always thoughtsome great thing would
happen to me, and, jean, i have risked somuch for you. i would have killed madame in london if she had not beendragged out of the way by that old man, and did i not watch for youwhen the man meredith----" "hush," she said in a low voice. "let us talkabout something else." "shall i see your father? i am sorry for whati did last night," he said when they were nearing the villa. "father has taken his motor-bicycle and gonefor a trip into italy," she said. "no, i do not think i should speak tohim, even if he were here. he may come round in time, franã§ois. youcan understand that it is
terribly distressing; he hoped i would makea great marriage. you must allow for father's disappointment." he nodded. he did not drive her to the house,but stopped outside the garage. "remember, at half-past ten you will takemadame meredith to the lovers' chair--you know the place?" "i know it very well," he said. "it is a difficultplace to turn--i must take her almost into san remo. why does shewant to go to the lovers' chair? i thought only the cheap people wentthere----"
"you must not tell her that," she said sharply."besides, i myself have been there." "and who did you think of, jean?" he askedsuddenly. she lowered her eyes. "i will not tell you--now," she said, andran into the house. franã§ois stood gazing after her until shehad disappeared, and then, like a man waking from a trance, he turnedto the mundane business of filling his tank. chapter xxxv
lydia was dressing for her journey when mrs.cole-mortimer came into the saloon where jean was writing. "there's a telephone call from monte carlo,"she said. "somebody wants to speak to lydia." jean jumped up. "i'll answer it," she said. the voice at the other end of the wire washarsh 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? the business is rather urgent." "i'm sorry," said jean, "but she's just goneout." she heard an exclamation of annoyance. "do you know where she's gone?" asked thevoice. "i think she's gone in to monte carlo," saidjean. "if i miss her will you tell her not to goout again until i come to the house?" "certainly," said jean politely, and hungup the telephone.
"was that a call for me?" it was lydia's voice from the head of thestairs. "yes, dear. i think it was marcus stepneywho wanted to speak to you. i told him you'd gone out," said jean. "youdidn't wish to speak to him?" "good heavens, no!" said lydia. "you're sureyou won't come with me?" "i'd rather stay here," said jean truthfully. the car was at the door, and mordon, lookingunusually spruce in his white dust coat, stood by the open door. "how long shall i be away?" asked lydia.
"about two hours, dear, you'll be very hungrywhen you come back," said jean, kissing her. "now, mind you think ofthe right man," she warned her in mockery. "i wonder if i shall," said lydia quietly. jean watched the car out of sight, then wentback to the saloon. she was hardly 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 car has 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 dreadfullysorry, i thought she had gone into monte carlo. she's in her roomwith a bad headache. will you come and see her?" there was an interval of silence. "yes, i will come," said jaggs. twenty minutes later a taxicab set down theold man at the door, and a maid admitted him and brought him into thesaloon.
jean rose to meet him. she looked at the bowedfigure of old jaggs. took him all in, from his iron-grey hair to hisdusty shoes, and then she pointed to a chair. "sit down," she said, and old jaggs obeyed."you've something very important to tell mrs. meredith, i suppose." "i'll tell her that myself, miss," said theold man gruffly. "well, before you tell her anything, i wantto make a confession," she smiled down on old jaggs, and pulled up achair so that she faced him. he was sitting with his back to the light,holding his battered hat on
his knees. "i've really brought you up under false pretences,"she said, "because mrs. 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 realisethat you're a dear friend of hers and have her best interests at heart.i don't know who you are," she said, shaking her head, "but i know, ofcourse, that mr. john glover has 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, bitingher lips. "it is such a delicate matter that i hate talking aboutit at all. but the attitude of mrs. meredith to our chauffeur mordon, isdistressing, 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 that nothing of that sort has come into my experience,and, of course, mordon is a good-looking man and she is young----"
"what are you talking about?" his tone wasdictatorial and commanding. "i mean," she said, "that i fear poor lydiais in love with mordon." he sprang to his feet. "it's a damned lie!" he said, and she staredat him. "now tell me what has happened to lydia meredith," he went on,"and let me tell you this, jean briggerland, that if one hair of thatgirl's head is harmed, i will finish the work i began out there," he pointedto the garden, "and strangle you with my own hands." she lifted her eyes to his and dropped themagain, and began to
tremble, then turning suddenly on her heel,she fled to her room, locked the door and stood against it, white and shaking.for the second time in her life jean briggerland was afraid. she heard his quick footsteps in the passageoutside, and there came a tap on her door. "let me in," growled the man, and for a secondshe almost lost control of herself. she looked wildly round the roomfor some way of escape, and then as a thought struck her, she ran quicklyinto the bath-room, which opened from her room. a large sponge was setto dry by an open window,
and this she seized; on a shelf by the sideof the bath was a big bottle of ammonia, and averting her face, she pouredits contents upon the sponge until it was sodden, then with thedripping sponge in her hand, she crept back, turned the key and openedthe door. the old man burst in, then, before he realisedwhat was happening, the sponge was pressed against his face. the pungentdrug almost blinded him, its paralysing fumes brought him on tohis knees. he gripped her wrist and tried to press away her hand, butnow her arm was round his neck, and he could not get the purchase.
with a groan of agony he collapsed on thefloor. in that instant she was on him like a cat, her knee between his shoulders. half unconscious he felt his hands drawn tohis back, and felt something lashing them together. she was using the silkgirdle which had been about her waist, and her work was effective. presently she turned him over on his back.the ammonia was still in his eyes, and he could not open them. the agonywas terrible, almost unendurable. with her hand under his arm hestruggled to his feet. he felt her lead him somewhere, and suddenlyhe was pushed into a chair.
she left him alone for a little while, butpresently came back and began to tie his feet together. it was a most amazingsingle-handed capture--even jean could never have imaginedthe ease with which she could gain her victory. "i'm sorry to hurt an old man." there wasa sneer in her voice which he had not heard before. "but if you promisenot to shout, i will not gag he heard the sound of running water, and presentlywith a wet cloth she began wiping his eyes gently. "you will be able to see in a minute," saidjean's cool voice. "in the
meantime you'll stay here until i send forthe police." for all his pain he was forced to chuckle. "until you send for the police, eh? you knowme?" "i only know you're a wicked old man who brokeinto this house whilst i was alone and the servants were out," shesaid. "you know why i've come?" he insisted. "i'vecome to tell mrs. meredith that a hundred thousand pounds have been takenfrom her bank on a forged signature." "how absurd," said jean. she was sitting onthe edge of the bath looking
at the bedraggled figure. "how could anybodydraw money from mrs. meredith's bank whilst her dear friend andguardian, jack glover, is in london to see that she is not robbed." "old jaggs" glared up at her from his inflamedeyes. "you know very well," he said distinctly,"that i am jack glover, and that i have not left monte carlo since lydiameredith arrived." chapter xxxvi mr. briggerland did not enthuse over any formof sport or exercise. his hobbies were confined to the handsome motor-cycle,which not only
provided him with recreation, but had, onoccasion, been of assistance in the carrying out of important plans, formulatedby his daughter. he stopped at mentone for breakfast and climbedthe hill to grimaldi after passing the frontier station at pontst. louis. he had all the morning before him, and there was no greathurry. at ventimille he had a second breakfast, for the morning was keenand his appetite was good. he loafed through the little town, with a cigarbetween his teeth, bought some curios at a shop and continued his leisurelyjourney. his objective was san remo. there was a trainat one o'clock which would
bring him and his machine back to monte carlo,where it was his intention to spend the remainder of the afternoon.at pont st. louis he had had a talk with the customs officer. "no, m'sieur, there are very few travellerson the road in the morning," said the official. "it is not untillate in the afternoon that the traffic begins. times have changed onthe riviera, and so many people go to cannes. the old road is almostnow deserted." at eleven o'clock mr. briggerland came toa certain part of the road and found a hiding-place for his motor-cycle--asmall plantation of olive
trees on the hill side. incidentally it wasan admirable resting place, for from here he commanded an extensive viewof the western road. lydia's journey had been no less enjoyable.she, too, had stopped at mentone to explore the town, and had leftpont st. louis an hour after mr. briggerland had passed. the road to san remo runs under the shadowof steep hills through a bleak stretch of country from which even theindustrious peasantry of northern italy cannot win a livelihood. savefor isolated patches of cultivated land, the hills are bare and menacing.
with these gaunt plateaux on one side andthe rock-strewn seashore on the other, there was little to hold the eyesave an occasional glimpse of the italian town in the far distance. therewas a wild uncouthness about the scenery which awed the girl. sometimesthe car would be running so near the sea level that the sprayof the waves hit the windows; sometimes it would climb over anout-jutting headland and she would look down upon a bouldered beach a hundredfeet below. it was on the crest of a headland that thecar stopped. here the road ran out in a semi-circle sothat from where she sat she
could not see its continuation either beforeor behind. ahead it slipped round the shoulder of a high and over-hangingmass of rock, through which the road must have been cut. behindit dipped down to a cove, hidden from sight. "there is the lovers' chair, mademoiselle,"said mordon. half a dozen feet beneath the road level wasa broad shelf of rock. a few stone steps led down and she followedthem. the lovers' chair was carved in the face of the rock and she satdown to view the beauty of the scene. the solitude, the stillness whichonly the lazy waves broke,
the majesty of the setting, brought a strangepeace to her. beyond the edge of the ledge the cliff fell sheer tothe water, and she shivered as she stepped back from her inspection. mordon did not see her go. he sat on the runningboard of his car, his pale face between his hands, a prey to hisown gloomy thoughts. there must be a development, he told himself. hewas beginning to get uneasy, and for the first time he doubted the sincerityof the woman who had been to him as a goddess. he did not hear mr. briggerland, for the darkman was light of foot,
when he came round the shoulder of the hill.mordon's back was toward him. suddenly the chauffeur looked round. "m'sieur," he stammered, and would have risen,but briggerland laid his hand on his shoulder. "do not rise, franã§ois," he said pleasantly."i am afraid i was hasty last night." "m'sieur, it was i who was hasty," said mordonhuskily, "it was unpardonable...." "nonsense," briggerland patted the man's shoulder."what is that boat
out there--a man o' war, franã§ois?" franã§ois mordon turned his head toward thesea, and briggerland pointed the ivory-handled pistol he had held behindhis back and shot him dead. the report of the revolver thrown down bythe rocks came to lydia like a clap of thunder. at first she thought it wasa tyre burst and hurried up the steps to see. mr. briggerland was standing with his backto the car. at his feet was the tumbled body of mordon. "mr.--brig...!" she gasped, and saw the revolverin his hand. with a cry
she almost flung herself down the steps asthe revolver exploded. the bullet ripped her hat from her head, and sheflung up her hands, thinking she had been struck. then the dark face showed over the parapetand again the revolver was presented. she stared for a second into hisbenevolent eyes, and then something hit her violently and she staggeredback, and dropped over the edge of the shelf down, straight down intothe sea below. chapter xxxvii probably jean briggerland never gave a moreperfect representation of
shocked surprise than when old jaggs announcedthat he was jack glover. "mr. glover," she said incredulously. "if you'll be kind enough to release my hands,"said jack savagely, "i will convince you." jean, all meekness, obeyed, and presentlyhe stood up with a groan. "you've nearly blinded me," he said, turningto the glass. "if i'd known it was you----" "don't make me laugh!" he snapped. "of courseyou knew who it was!" he took off the wig and peeled the beard fromhis 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. "you knew who i was, and you guessed why i hadtaken on this disguise. i was not many yards from you when it suddenly dawnedupon you that i could not sleep at lydia meredith's flat unlessi went there in the guise of an old man." "why should you want to sleep at her flatat all?" she asked innocently.
"it doesn't seem to me to be a very properambition." "that is an unnecessary question, and i'mwasting my time when i answer you," said jack sternly. "i went there tosave her life, to protect her against your murderous plots!" "my murderous plots?" she repeated aghast."you surely don't know what you're saying." "i know this," and his face was not pleasantto see. "i have sufficient evidence to secure the arrest of your father,and possibly yourself. for months i have been working on that first providentialaccident of
yours--the rich australian who died with suchremarkable suddenness. i may not get you in the meredith case, andi may not be able to jail you for your attacks on mrs. meredith, but i haveenough evidence to hang your father for the earlier crime." her face was blank--expressionless. neverbefore had she been brought up short with such a threat as the man was uttering,nor had she ever been in danger of detection. and all the time shewas eyeing him so steadily, not a muscle of her face moving, her mindwas groping back into the past, examining every detail of the crimehe had mentioned, seeking for
some flaw in the carefully prepared plan whichhad brought a good man to a violent and untimely end. "that kind of bluff doesn't impress me," shesaid at last. "you're in a poor way when you have to invent crimes toattach to me." "we'll go into that later. where is lydia?"he said shortly. "i tell you i don't know, except that shehas gone out for a drive. i expect her back very soon." "is your father with her?" "no, father went out early. i don't know whogave you authority to
cross-examine me. why, jack glover, you haveall the importance of a french 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 a little tightening of heart. she had only justbeen 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 willbe executed as soon as he
returns," said jack. "we have been able totrace him in london and also the woman who presented the cheque. we knowhis movements from the time he left nice by aeroplane for paris to thetime he returned to nice. the people who changed the money for him willswear to his identity." if he expected to startle her he was disappointed.she raised her eyebrows. "i can't believe it is possible. mordon wassuch an honest man," she said. "we trusted him implicitly, and neveronce did he betray our trust. now, mr. glover," she said coolly,"might i suggest that an
interview with a gentleman in my bedroom isnot calculated to increase my servants' respect for me? will you go downstairsand wait until i come?" "you'll not attempt to leave this house?"he said, and she laughed. "really, you're going on like one of thoseinfallible detectives one reads about in the popular magazines," shesaid a little contemptuously. "you have no authority whatever to keep mefrom leaving this house and nobody knows that better than you. but youneedn't be afraid. sit on the stairs if you like until i come down."
when he had gone she rang the bell for hermaid and handed her an envelope. "i shall be in the saloon, talking to mr.glover," she said in a low voice. "i want you to bring this in and saythat you found it in the hall." "yes, miss," said the woman. jean proceeded leisurely to her toilet. inthe struggle her dress had been torn, and she changed it for a pale greensilk gown, and jack, pacing in the hall below, was on the pointof coming up to discover if
she had made her escape, when she sailed serenelydown the stairs. "i should like to know one thing, mr. glover,"she said as she went into the saloon. "what do you intend doing? whatis your immediate plan? are you going to spirit lydia away from us? ofcourse, i know you're in love with her and all that sort of thing." his face went pink. "i am not in love with mrs. meredith," helied. "don't be silly," she said practically, "ofcourse you're in love with "my first job is to get that money back, andyou're going to help me,"
he said. "of course i'm going to help you," she agreed."if mordon has been such a scoundrel, he must suffer the consequence.i'm sure that you are too clever to have made any mistake. poor mordon.i wonder what made him do it, 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'll explain what you mean." she shrugged her shoulders.
"they are always about together. i saw themstrolling on the lawn last night till quite a late hour, and i was soscared lest mrs. cole-mortimer noticed it too----" "which means that mrs. cole-mortimer did notnotice it. you're clever, jean! even as you invent you make preparationsto refute any evidence that the other side can produce. i don't believea word you say." there was a knock at the door and the maidentered bearing a letter on a salver. "this was addressed to you, miss," she said."it was on the hall
table--didn't you see it?" "no," said jean in surprise. she took theletter, looked down at the address and opened it. he saw a look of amazement and horror cometo her face. "good god!" gasped jean. "what is it?" he said, springing up. she stared at the letter again and from theletter to him. "read it," she said in a hollow voice. "_dear mademoiselle_,
"_i have returned from london and have confessedto madame from her bank. and now i have learnt thatmadame meredith loves me. there is only one end to this--that whichyou 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 myeyes all the time she has been here. is there a letter from her?" heasked suddenly. "but no, it is impossible, impossible!" "i haven't been into her room. will you comeup with me?"
he followed her up the stairs and into lydia'sbig bedroom, and the first thing that caught his eye was a sealedletter on a table near the bed. he picked it up. it was addressed tohim, in lydia's handwriting, and feverishly he tore it open. his face, when he had finished reading, wasas white as hers had been. "where have they gone?" he asked. "they went to san remo." "by car?" without a word he turned and ran down thestairs out of the house.
the taxi that had brought him in the roleof jaggs had gone, but down the road, a dozen yards away, was the carhe had hired on the day he came to monte carlo. he gave instructionsto the driver and jumped in. the car sped through mentone, stopped onlythe briefest while at the customs 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 thesea road, twisting and
turning, diving into valleys and climbingsteep headlands, and then rounding a corner, jack saw the car and alittle crowd about it. his heart turned to stone as he leapt to the road. he saw the backs of two italian gendarmes,and pushing aside the little knot of idlers, he came into the centre ofthe group and stopped. mordon lay on his face in a pool of blood, and oneof the policemen was holding an ivory-handled revolver. "it was with this that the crime was committed,"he said in florid italian. "three of the chambers are empty.now, at whom were the other
two discharged?" jack reeled and gripped the mud-guard of thecar for support, then his eyes strayed to the opening in the wall whichran on the seaward side of the road. he walked to the parapet and looked over,and the first thing he saw was a torn hat and veil, and he knew it was lydia's. chapter xxxviii mr. briggerland, killing time on the quayat monaco, saw the _jungle queen_ come into harbour and watched marcusland, carrying his lines in
his hand. as marcus came abreast of him he called andmr. stepney looked round with a start. "hello, briggerland," he said, swallowingsomething. "well, have you been fishing?" asked mr. briggerlandin his most paternal manner. "yes," admitted marcus. "did you catch anything?" stepney nodded.
"only one," he said. "hard luck," said mr. briggerland, with asmile, "but where is mrs. meredith--i understood she was going out withyou 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_ andlearnt of the tragedy on the san remo road. it brought him back to thehouse, a visibly agitated "this is shocking news, my dear," he pantedinto the saloon and stood stock still at the sight of mr. jack glover.
"come in, briggerland," said jack, withoutceremony. there was a man with him, a tall, keen frenchman whom briggerlandrecognised as the chief detective of the prã©fecture. "we wantyou to give an account of your actions." "my actions?" said mr. briggerland indignantly."do you associate me with this dreadful tragedy? a tragedy," hesaid, "which has stricken me almost dumb with horror and remorse. why didi ever allow that villain even to speak to poor lydia?" "nevertheless, m'sieur," said the tall manquietly, "you must tell us
where you have been." "that is easily explained. i went to san remo." "by road?" "yes, by road," said mr. briggerland, "onmy motor-bicycle." "what time did you arrive in san remo?" "at midday, or it may have been a quarterof an hour before." "you know that the murder must have been committedat half-past eleven?" said jack. "so the newspapers tell me."
"where did you go in san remo?" asked thedetective. "i went to a cafã© and had a glass of wine,then i strolled about the town and lunched at the victoria. i caughtthe one o'clock train to monte carlo." "did you hear nothing of the murder?" "not a word," said mr. briggerland, "not aword." "did you see the car?" mr. briggerland shook his head. "i left some time before poor lydia," he saidsoftly.
"did you know of any attachment between thechauffeur and your guest?" "i had no idea such a thing existed. if ihad," said mr. briggerland virtuously, "i should have taken immediatesteps to have brought poor lydia to her senses." "your daughter says that they were frequentlytogether. did you notice this?" "yes, i did notice it, but my daughter andi are very democratic. we have made a friend of mordon and i supposewhat would have seemed familiar to you, would pass unnoticed withus. yes, i certainly do
remember my poor friend and mordon walkingtogether in the garden." "is this yours?" the detective took from behinda curtain an old british rifle. "yes, that is mine," admitted briggerlandwithout a moment's hesitation. "it is one i bought in amiens, a souvenirof our gallant soldiers----" "i know, i quite understand your patrioticmotive in purchasing it," said the detective dryly, "but will you tellus how this passed from your possession." "i haven't the slightest notion," said mr.briggerland in surprise. "i
had no idea it was lost--i'd lost sight ofit for some weeks. can it be that mordon--but no, i must not think so evillyof 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 you the trouble of telling that lie. it was youwho fired, and it was i who knocked you out." mr. briggerland's face was a study. "i can't understand why you make such a wildand unfounded charge," he said gently. "perhaps, my dear, you couldelucidate this mystery."
jean had not spoken since he entered. shesat bolt upright on a chair, her hands folded in her lap, her sad eyesfixed now upon jack, now upon the detective. she shook her head. "i know nothing about the rifle, and did noteven know you possessed one," she said. "but please answer all theirquestions, father. i am as anxious as you are to get to the bottom ofthis dreadful tragedy. have you told my father about the letters whichwere discovered?" the detective shook his head. "i have not seen your father until he arrivedthis moment," he said.
"letters?" mr. briggerland looked at his daughter."did poor lydia leave a letter?" "i think mr. glover will tell you, father,"she said. "poor lydia had an attachment for mordon. it is very clear whathappened. they went out to-day, never intending to return----" "mrs. meredith had no intention of going tothe lovers' chair until you suggested the trip to her," said jack quietly."mrs. cole-mortimer is very 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 wereone of those crimes of passion which are so frequent in this country,"he said. "mordon was a frenchman and i have been able to identifyhim by tattoo marks on his arm, as a man who has been in the hands ofthe police many times." "you think there is no hope?" the detective shrugged his shoulders. "we are dragging the pool. there is very deepwater under the rock, but
the chances are that the body has been washedout to sea. there is clearly no evidence against these people,except yours. the letters might, of course, have been forged, but yousay you are certain that the writing is mrs. meredith's." they were walking down the road towards theofficers' waiting car, when jack asked: "may i see that letter again?" the detective took it from his pocket bookand jack stopped and scanned it.
"yes, it is her writing," he said and thenuttered an exclamation. "do you see that?" he pointed eagerly to two little marks beforethe words "dear friend." "quotation marks," said the detective, puzzled."why did she write that?" "i've got it," said jack. "the story! mademoisellebriggerland told me she was writing a story, and i remember shesaid she had writer's cramp. suppose she dictated a portion of the storyto mrs. meredith, and suppose in that story there occurred thisletter: lydia would have put
the quotation marks mechanically." the detective took the letter from his hand. "it is possible," he said. "the writing isvery even--it shows no sign of agitation, and of course the character'sinitials might be 'l.m.' it is an ingenious hypothesis, and not whollyimprobable, but if this were a part of the story, there would be othersheets. would you like me to search the house?" "she's much too clever to have them in thehouse," he said. "more likely she's put them in the fire."
"what fire?" asked the detective dryly. "thesehouses have no fires, they're central heated--unless she went tothe kitchen." "which she wouldn't do," said jack thoughtfully."no, she'd burn them in the garden." the detective nodded, and they returned tothe house. jean, deep in conversation with her father,saw them reappear, and watched them as they walked slowly acrossthe lawn toward the trees, their eyes fixed on the ground. "what are they looking for?" she asked witha frown.
"i'll go and see," said briggerland, but shecaught his arm. "do you think they'll tell you?" she askedsarcastically. she ran up to her own room and watched themfrom behind a curtain. presently they passed out of sight to theother side of the house, and she went into lydia's room and overlookedthem from there. suddenly she saw the detective stoop and pick up somethingfrom the ground, and her teeth set. "the burnt story," she said. "i never dreamtthey'd look for that." it was only a scrap they found, but it wasin lydia's writing, and the
pencil mark was clearly visible on the charredashes. "'laura martin,'" read the detective. "'l.m.,'and there are the words 'tragic' and 'remorse'." from the remainder of the charred fragmentsthey collected nothing of importance. jean watched them disappear alongthe avenue, and went down to her father. "i had a fright," she said. "you look as if you've still got it," he said.he eyed her keenly. "father, you must understand that this adventuremay end disastrously.
there are ninety-nine chances against thetruth being known, but it is the extra chance that is worrying me. we oughtto have settled lydia more quietly, more naturally. there was toomuch melodrama and shooting, but i don't see how we could have done anythingelse--mordon was very tiresome." "where did glover come from?" asked mr. briggerland. "he's been here all the time," said the girl. "what?" "he was old jaggs. i had an idea he was, buti was certain when i
remembered that he had stayed at lydia's flat." he put down his tea cup and wiped his lipswith a silk handkerchief. "i wish this business was over," he said fretfully."it looks as if we shall have trouble." "of course we shall," she said coldly. "youdidn't expect to get a fortune of six hundred thousand pounds withouttrouble, did you? i dare say we shall be suspected. but it takes alot of suspicion to worry me. we'll be in calm water soon, for the restof our lives." "i hope so," he said without any great conviction.
mrs. cole-mortimer was prostrate and in bed,and jean had no patience to see her. she herself ordered the dinner, and they hadfinished when a visitor in the shape of mr. marcus stepney came in. it was unusual of marcus to appear at thedinner hour, except in evening dress, and she remarked the fact wonderingly. "can i have a word with you, jean?" he asked. "what is it, what is it?" asked mr. briggerlandtestily. "haven't we had enough mysteries?"
marcus eyed him without favour. "we'll have another one, if you don't mind,"he said unpleasantly, and the girl, whose every sense was alert, pickedup a wrap and walked into the garden, with marcus following on her heels. ten minutes passed and they did not return,a quarter of an hour went by, and mr. briggerland grew uneasy. he gotup from his chair, put down his book, and was half-way across the roomwhen the door opened and jack glover came in, followed by the detective. it was the frenchman who spoke.
"m'sieur briggerland, i have a warrant fromthe prã©fect of the alpes maritimes for your arrest." "my arrest?" spluttered the dark man, histeeth chattering. "what--what is the charge?" "the wilful murder of franã§ois mordon," saidthe officer. "you lie--you lie," screamed briggerland."i have no knowledge of any----" his words sank into a throaty gurgle,and he stared past the detective. lydia meredith was standing in the doorway.
chapter xxxix the morning for mr. stepney had been doublydisappointing; again and again he drew up an empty line, and at lasthe flung the tackle into the well of the launch. "even the damn fish won't bite," he said,and the humour of his remark cheered him. he was ten miles from the shore,and the blue coast was a dim, ragged line on the horizon. he pulledout a big luncheon basket from the cabin and eyed it with disfavour.it had cost him two hundred francs. he opened the basket, and at the sightof its contents, was
inclined to reconsider his earlier view thathe had wasted his money, the more so since the _maã®tre d'hã´tel_ hadthoughtfully included two quart bottles of champagne. mr. marcus stepney made a hearty meal, andby the time he had dropped an empty bottle into the sea, he was inclinedto take a more cheerful view of life. he threw over the debris of the lunch,pushed the basket under one of the seats of the cabin, pulled up hisanchor and started the engines running. the sky was a brighter blue and the sea helda finer sparkle, and he
was inclined to take a view of even jean briggerland,more generous than any he had held. "little devil," he smiled reminiscently, ashe murmured the words. he opened the second bottle of champagne inher honour--mr. marcus stepney was usually an abstemious man--anddrank solemnly, if not soberly, her health and happiness. as thesun grew warmer he began to feel an unaccountable sleepiness. he was soberenough to know that to fall asleep in the middle of the ocean wasto ask for trouble, and he set the bow of the _jungle queen_ for thenearest beach, hoping to find
a landing place. he found something better as he skirted theshore. the sea and the weather had scooped out a big hollow undera high cliff, a hollow just big enough to take the _jungle queen_ anddeep and still enough to ensure her a safe anchorage. a rock barrierinterposed between the breakers and this deep pool which the waveshad hollowed in the stony floor of the ocean. as he dropped his anchorhe disturbed a school of fish, and his angling instincts re-awoke.he let down his line over the side, seated himself comfortable in one ofthe 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 somethingdropped from the cliff, and fell with a mighty splash into the water. marcus was wide awake now, and almost sobered.he peered down into the clear depths, and saw a figure of a womanturning over and over. then as it floated upwards it came on its back, andhe saw the face. without a moment's hesitation he dived into the water. he would have been wiser if he had waiteduntil she floated to the
surface, for now he found a difficulty inregaining the boat. after a great deal of trouble, he managed to reachinto the launch and pull out a rope, which he fastened round the girl'swaist and drew tight to a small stanchion. then he climbed into theboat himself, and pulled her after him. he thought at first she was dead, but listeningintently he heard the beating of her heart, and searched the luncheonbasket for a small flask of liqueurs, which alphonse, the head waiter,had packed. he put the bottle to her lips and poured a small quantityinto her mouth. she
choked convulsively, and presently openedher eyes. "you're amongst friends," said marcus unnecessarily. she sat up and covered her face with her hands.it all came back to her in a flash, and the horror of it froze herblood. "what has happened to you?" asked marcus. "i don't know exactly," she said faintly.and then: "oh, it was dreadful, dreadful!" marcus stepney offered her the flask of liqueurs,and when she shook her head, he helped himself liberally.
lydia was conscious of a pain in her leftshoulder. the sleeve was torn, and across the thick of the arm there wasan ugly raw weal. "it looks like a bullet mark to me," saidmarcus stepney, suddenly grave. "i heard a shot. did somebody shootat you?" "who?" she tried to frame the word, but no soundcame, and then she burst into a fit of weeping. "not jean?" he asked hoarsely. "briggerland?"
"briggerland!" mr. stepney whistled, and ashe whistled he shivered. "let's get out of here," he said. "we shallcatch our death of cold. the sun will warm us up." he started the engines going, and safely navigatedthe narrow passage to the open sea. he had to get a long way outbefore he could catch a glimpse of the road, then he saw the car,and a cycling policeman dismounting and bending over something. heput away his telescope and turned to the girl. "this is bad, mrs. meredith," he said. "thankgod i wasn't in it."
"where are you taking me?" she asked. "i'm taking you out to sea," said marcus witha little smile. "don't get scared, mrs. meredith. i want to hear thatstory of yours, and if it is anything like what i fear, then it would bebetter for you that briggerland thinks you are dead." she told the story as far as she knew it andhe listened, not interrupting, until she had finished. "mordon dead, eh? that's bad. but how on earthare they going to explain it? i suppose," he said with a smile, "youdidn't write a letter saying
that you were going to run away with the chauffeur?" she sat up at this. "i did write a letter," she said slowly. "itwasn't a real letter, it was in a story which jean was dictating." she closed her eyes. "how awful," she said. "i can't believe iteven now." "tell me about the story," said the man quickly. "it was a story she was writing for a londonmagazine, and her wrist hurt, and i wrote it down as she dictated.only about three pages, but
one of the pages was a letter supposed tohave been written by the heroine saying that she was going away, asshe loved somebody who was beneath her socially." "good god!" said marcus, genuinely shocked."did jean do that?" he seemed absolutely crushed by the realisationof jean briggerland's deed, and he did not speak again for a longtime. "i'm glad i know," he said at last. "do you really think that all this time shehas been trying to kill me?" "she has used everybody, even me," he saidbitterly. "i don't want you
to think badly of me, mrs. meredith, but i'mgoing to tell you the truth. i'd provisioned this little yacht to-dayfor a twelve hundred mile trip, and you were to be my companion." "i?" she said incredulously. "it was jean's idea, really, though i thinkshe must have altered her view, or thought i had forgotten all she suggested.i intended taking you out to sea and keeping you out there untilyou agreed----" he shook his head. "i don't think i could have doneit really," he said, speaking half to himself. "i'm not really built fora conspirator. none of that
rough stuff ever appealed to me. well, i didn'ttry, anyway." "no, mr. stepney," she said quietly, "andi don't think, if you had, you would have succeeded." he was in his frankest mood, and startledher later when he told her of his profession, without attempting to excuseor minimise the method by which he earned his livelihood. "i was in a pretty bad way, and i thoughtthere was easy money coming, and that rather tempted me," he said. "i knowyou will think i am a despicable cad, but you can't think too badlyof me, really."
he surveyed the shore. ahead of them the greentongue of cap martin jutted out into the sea. "i think i'll take you to nice," he said."we'll attract less attention there, and probably i'll be able to get intotouch with your old mr. jaggs. you've no idea where i can find him?at any rate, i can go to the villa casa and discover what sort of a yarnis being told." "and probably i can get my clothes dry," shesaid with a little grimace. "i wonder if you know how uncomfortable iam?" "pretty well," he said calmly. "every timei move a new stream of water
runs down my back." it was half-past three in the afternoon whenthey reached nice, and marcus saw the girl safely to an hotel, changedhimself and brought the yacht back to monaco, where briggerland hadseen him. for two hours marcus stepney wrestled withhis love for a girl who was plainly a murderess, and in the end love won.when darkness fell he provisioned the _jungle queen_, loaded herwith petrol, and heading her out to sea made the swimming cove of cap martin.it was to the boat that jean flew.
"what about my father?" she asked as she steppedaboard. "i think they've caught him," said marcus. "he'll hate prison," said the girl complacently."hurry, marcus, i'd hate it, too!" chapter xl lydia took up her quarters in a quiet hotelin nice and mrs. cole-mortimer agreed to stay on and chaperonher. though she had felt no effects from her terrifyingexperience on the first day, she found herself a nervous wreckwhen she woke in the
morning, and wisely decided to stay in bed. jack, who had expected the relapse, calledin a doctor, but lydia refused to see him. the next day she receivedthe lawyer. she had only briefly outlined the part whichmarcus stepney had played in her rescue, but she had said enough tomake jack call at stepney's hotel to thank him in person. mr. stepney,however, was not at home--he had not been home all night, but this informationhis discreet informant did not volunteer. nor was the disappearanceof the _jungle queen_ noticed for two days. it was mrs. cole-mortimer,in settling up her
accounts with jack, who mentioned the "yacht." "the _jungle queen_," said jack, "that's themotor-launch, isn't it? i've seen her lying in the harbour. i thoughtshe was stepney's property." his suspicions aroused, he called again atstepney's hotel, and this time his inquiry was backed by the presenceof a detective. then it was made known that mr. stepney had not been seensince the night of briggerland's arrest. "that is where they've gone. stepney was verykeen on the girl, i
think," said jack. the detective was annoyed. "if i'd known before we could have interceptedthem. we have several destroyers in the harbour at villafrance.now i am afraid it is too late." "where would they make for?" asked jack. the officer shrugged his shoulders. "god knows," he said. "they could get intoitaly or into spain, possibly barcelona. i will telegraph the chief of thepolice there."
but the barcelona police had no informationto give. the _jungle queen_ had not been sighted. the weather was calm,the sea smooth, and everything favourable for the escape. inquiries elicited the fact that mr. stepneyhad bought large quantities of petrol a few days before his departure,and had augmented his supply the evening he had left. also he had boughtprovisions in considerable quantities. the murder was a week old, and mr. briggerlandhad undergone his preliminary examination, when a wire camethrough from the spanish
police that a motor-boat answering the descriptionof the _jungle queen_ had called at malaga, had provisioned, refilled,and put out to sea again, before the police authorities, whohad a description of the pair, had time to investigate. "you'll think i have a diseased mind," saidlydia, "but i hope she gets jack laughed. "if you had been with her much longer, lydia,she would have turned you into a first-class criminal," he said. "ihope you do not forget that she has exactly a hundred thousand poundsof yours--in other words, a
sixth of your fortune." "that is almost a comforting thought," shesaid. "i know she is what she is, jack, but her greatest crime is that shewas born six hundred years too late. if she had lived in the days ofthe italian renaissance she would have made history." "your sympathy is immoral," said jack. "bythe way, briggerland has been handed over to the italian authorities. thecrime was committed on italian soil and that saves his head fromfalling 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's a little worse than the guillotine. you sayyou worry for jean--i'm rather sorry for old man briggerland. if hehadn't tried to live up to his daughter he might have been a most respectablemember of society." they were strolling through the quaint, narrowstreets of grasse, and jack, who knew and loved the town, was showingher sights which made her forget that the perfumerie factory, the meccaof the average tourist, had any existence.
"i suppose i'll have to settle down now,"she said with an expression of distaste. "i suppose you will," said jack, "and you'llhave to settle up, too; your legal expenses are something fierce." "why do you say that?" she asked, stoppingin her walk and looking at him gravely. "i am speaking as your mercenary lawyer,"said jack. "you are trying to put your service on anotherlevel," she corrected. "i owe everything i have to you. my fortune isthe least of these. i owe
you my life three times over." "four," he corrected, "and to marcus stepneyonce." "why have you done so much for me? were youinterested?" she asked after a pause. "very," he replied. "i was interested in youfrom the moment i saw you step out of mr. mordon's taxi into the mud,but i was especially interested in you----" "when?" she asked. "when i sat outside your door night afternight and discovered you
didn't snore," he said shamelessly, and shewent red. "i hope you'll never refer to your old jaggs'sadventures. it was very----" "i was going to say horrid, but i shouldn'tbe telling the truth," she admitted frankly. "i liked having you there.poor mrs. morgan will be disconsolate when she discovers that we'velost our lodger." they walked into the cool of the ancient cathedraland sat down. "there's something very soothing about a church,isn't there?" he whispered. "look at that gorgeous window.if i were ever rich enough to
marry the woman i loved, i should be marriedin a cathedral like this, full of old tombs and statues and stainedglass." "how rich would you have to be?" she asked. "as rich as she is." she bent over toward him, her lips againsthis ear. "tell me how much money you have," she whispered,"and i'll give away all i have in excess of that amount." he caught her hand and held it fast, and theysat there before the altar of st. catherine until the sun went down andthe disapproving old woman
who acted as the cathedral's caretaker tappedthem on the shoulder. chapter xli "that is gibraltar," said marcus stepney,pointing ahead to a grey shape that loomed up from the sea. he was unshaven for he had forgotten to bringhis razor and he was pinched with the cold. his overcoat was turnedup to his ears, in spite of which he shivered. jean did not seem to be affected by the suddenchange of temperature. she sat on the top of the cabin, her chinin the palm of her hand, her
elbow on her crossed knee. "you are not going into gibraltar?" she asked. "i think not," he said, "nor to algeciras.did you see that fellow on the quay yelling for the craft to come backafter we left malaga? that was a bad sign. i expect the police have instructionsto detain this boat, and most of the ports must have beennotified." "how long can we run?" "we've got enough gas and grub to reach dacca,"he said. "that's roughly an 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 southamerica?" she asked, turning round. "lisbon," he said thoughtfully. "yes, we couldreach lisbon, but there are too many steamers about and we're certainto be sighted. we might run across to las palmas, most of the southamerican boats call there, but if i were you i should stick to europe.come and take this helm, she obeyed without question, and he continuedthe work which had been
interrupted by a late meal, the painting ofthe boat's hull, a difficult business, involving acrobatics, since it wasnecessary for him to lean over the side. he had bought the grey paintat malaga, and happily there was not much surface that required attention.the stumpy mast of the _jungle queen_ had already gone overboard--hehad sawn it off with great labour the day after they had left cap martin. she watched him with a speculative eye ashe worked, and thought he had never looked quite so unattractive as he didwith an eight-days' growth of beard, his shirt stained with paint andpetrol. his hands were grimy
and nobody would have recognised in this scarecrowthe elegant habituã© of those fashionable resorts which smart societyfrequents. yet she had reason to be grateful to him.his conduct toward her had been irreproachable. not one word of lovehad been spoken, nor, until now, had their future plans, for it affectedthem both, been discussed. "suppose we reach south america safely?" sheasked. "what happens then, he looked round from his work in surprise. "we'll get married," he said quietly, andshe laughed. "and what happens to the present mrs. stepney?"
"she has divorced me," said stepney unexpectedly."i got the papers the day 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 seemsa queer uninteresting way of finishing things, doesn't it, and yet isuppose it isn't." he had resumed his work and was leaning farover the bow intent upon his labour. suddenly she spun the wheel roundand the launch heeled over to
starboard. for a second it seemed that marcusstepney could not maintain his balance against that unexpected impetus,but by a superhuman effort he kicked himself back to safety, and staredat her with a blanched "why did you do that?" he asked hoarsely."you nearly had me overboard." "there was a porpoise lying on the surfaceof the sea, asleep, i think," she said quietly. "i'm very sorry,marcus, but i didn't know that it would throw you off your balance." he looked round for the sleeping fish butit had disappeared. "you told me to avoid them, you know," shesaid apologetically. "did i
really put you in any danger?" he licked his dry lips, picked up the paint-pot,and threw it into the sea. "we'll leave this," he said, "until we arebeached. you gave me a scare, "i'm dreadfully sorry. come here, and sitby me." she moved to allow him room, and he sat downby her, taking the wheel from her hand. on the horizon the high lands of northernafrica were showing their saw-edge outlines.
"that is morocco," he pointed out to her."i propose giving gibraltar a wide berth, and following the coast line totangier." "tangier wouldn't be a bad place to land ifthere weren't two of us," he went on. "it is our being together in thisyacht that is likely to cause suspicion. you could easily pretend that you'dcome over from gibraltar, and the port authorities there are prettyslack." "or if we could land on the coast," he suggested."there's a good landing, and we could follow the beach down,and turn up in tangier in the morning--all sorts of oddments turn upin tangier without exciting
suspicion." she was looking out over the sea with a queerexpression in her face. "morocco!" she said softly. "morocco--i hadn'tthought of that!" they had a fright soon after. a grey shapecame racing out of the darkening east, and stepney put his helm overas the destroyer smashed past on her way to gibraltar. he watched the stern light disappearing, thenit suddenly turned and presented its side to them. "they're looking for us," said marcus.
the darkness had come down, and he headedstraight for the east. there was no question that the destroyer wason an errand of discovery. a white beam of light shot out from her decks,and began to feel along the sea. and then when they thought it hadmissed them, it dropped on the boat and held. a second later it missedthem and began a search. presently it lit the little boat, and it didsomething more--it revealed a thickening of the atmosphere. they wererunning into a sea fog, one of those thin white fogs that come down in themediterranean on windless days. the blinding glare of the searchlightblurred.
"_bang!_" "that's the gun to signal us to stop," saidmarcus between his teeth. he turned the nose of the boat southward,a hazardous proceeding, for he ran into clear water, and had only just gotback into the shelter of the providential fog bank when the white beamcame stealthily along the edge of the mist. presently it died out, and theysaw 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 into
the bay," said stepney, whose nerves werenow on edge. he turned again westward, edging toward therocky coast of northern africa. they saw little clusters of lightson the shore, and he tried to remember what towns they were. "i think that big one is cutra, the spanishconvict station," he said. he slowed down the boat, and they felt theirway gingerly along the coast line, until the flick and flash of alighthouse gave them an idea of their position. "cape spartel," he identified the light. "wecan land very soon. i was
in morocco for three months, and if i rememberrightly the beach is good walking as far as tangier." she went into the cabin and changed, and asthe nose of the _jungle queen_ slid gently up the sandy beach shewas ready. he carried her ashore, and set her down, thenhe pushed off the nose of the boat, and manoeuvred it so that the sternwas against the beach, resting in three feet of water. he jumpedon board, lashed the helm, and started the engines going, then wading backto the shore he stood staring into the gloom as the little _junglequeen_ put out to sea.
"that's that," he said grimly. "now my dear,we've got a ten mile walk before us." but he had made a slight miscalculation. thedistance between himself and tangier was twenty-five miles, and involvedseveral detours inland into country which was wholly uninhabited,save at that moment it held the camp of muley hafiz, who was engaged innegotiation with the spanish government for one of those "permanent peaces"which frequently last for years. muley hafiz sat drinking his coffee at midnight,listening to the
strains of an ornate gramophone, which stoodin a corner of his square tent. a voice outside the silken fold of his tentgreeted him, and he stopped the machine. "what is it?" he asked. "lord, we have captured a man and a womanwalking along by the sea." "they are riffi people--let them go," saidmuley in arabic. "we are making peace, my man, not war." "lord, these are infidels; i think they areenglish."
muley hafiz twisted his trim little beard. "bring them," he said. so they were brought to his presence, a dishevelledman and a girl at the sight of whose face, he gasped. "my little friend of the riviera," he saidwonderingly, and the smile she gave him was like a ray of sunshine tohis 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 nothing to fear, madame. i will send my soldiers toescort you to tangier."
and then he frowned. "where did you come from?" she could not lie under the steady glanceof those liquid eyes. "we landed on the shore from a boat. we lostour way," she said. "you must be she they are seeking," he said."one of my spies came to me from tangier to-night, and told me that thespanish and the french police were waiting to arrest a lady who hadcommitted some crime in france. i cannot believe it is you--or ifit is, then i should say the crime was pardonable." he glanced at marcus.
"or perhaps," he said slowly, "it is yourcompanion they desire." "no, they do not want him," she said, "itis i they want." he pointed to a cushion. "sit down," he said, and followed her example. marcus alone remained standing, wonderinghow this strange situation would develop. "what will you do? if you go into tangieri fear i could not protect you, but there is a city in the hills," hewaved his hand, "many miles from here, a city where the hills are green,mademoiselle, and where
beautiful 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," shesaid softly, "and this man," she shrugged her shoulders, "i do not carewhat happens to him," she said, with a smile of amusement at the pallidmarcus. "then he shall go to tangier alone." but marcus stepney did not go alone. for thelast two miles of the journey he had carried a bag containing thegreater part of five million francs that the girl had brought from theboat. jean did not remember
this until she was on her way to the cityof the hills, and by that time money did not interest her.