United States or Lesotho ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"Why do you think these things about Jean?" she asked, as they were running into La Turbie. "Because I have a criminal mind," he replied promptly. "I have the same type of mind as Jean Briggerland's, wedded to a wholesome respect for the law, and a healthy sense of right and wrong.
Can it be that Mordon but no, I must not think so evilly of him." "What were you going to suggest?" asked Jack. "That Mordon fired at Mrs. Meredith when she was on the swimming raft? If you are, I can save you the trouble of telling that lie. It was you who fired, and it was I who knocked you out." Mr. Briggerland's face was a study.
Briggerland's, and she was going to make her excuses for she wanted to go home alone. The car was coming too, at a tremendous pace. She watched it as it came furiously toward her, and she did not notice that Mr. Briggerland and his daughter had left her standing alone on the sidewalk and had withdrawn a few paces. Suddenly the car made a swerve, mounted the sidewalk and dashed upon her.
His suspicions aroused, he called again at Stepney's hotel, and this time his inquiry was backed by the presence of a detective. Then it was made known that Mr. Stepney had not been seen since the night of Briggerland's arrest. "That is where they've gone. Stepney was very keen on the girl, I think," said Jack. The detective was annoyed. "If I'd known before we could have intercepted them.
Briggerland's face was dark. "When is this interesting event to take place?" "My marriage? In two months, I think. When is Easter? That class of person always wants to be married at Easter. I asked him to keep our secret and not to mention it to you, and I should not have spoken now if you had not referred to the obligation we were under." "In two months?" Mr. Briggerland nodded.
For a moment their eyes met, and then she turned as though she dared not trust herself and followed her father down the stairs. They were half-way to the house when she laid her hand on Briggerland's arm. "Keep this," she said. It was François' revolver. "It is probably loaded and I thought I saw some silver initials inlaid in the ivory handle. If I know François Mordon, they are his."
"My dear, you look lovely," she said and kissed her. Mr. Briggerland's nose wrinkled, as it always did when his daughter shocked him. Jean Briggerland waited until she heard the sound of the departing car sink to a faint hum, then she went up to her room, opened the bureau and took out a long and tightly fitting dust-coat that she wore when she was motoring.
The psychologist would find in Mr. Briggerland's reticence the embryo of a once dominant rectitude, no trace of which remained 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 baffles me. He arrives every night in a taxicab, sometimes from St.
"To suggest, as you have through your counsel, that you called at Miss Briggerland's that night to break off your engagement and that the interview was a mild one and unattended by recriminations is to suggest that this lady has deliberately committed perjury in order to swear away your life, and when to that disgraceful charge you produce a motive, namely that by your death or imprisonment Miss Briggerland, who is your cousin, would benefit to a considerable extent, you merely add to your infamy.
Word Of The Day