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Briggerland opened his eyes and stared round. "Help me to hold him, Marcus," said Jean. "Wait a moment," said Mr. Stepney, feeling in his pocket and producing a silk handkerchief, "bandage him with that." She shook her head. "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 the skull very carefully with my finger." Mr. Stepney shivered.
"My actions?" said Mr. Briggerland indignantly. "Do you associate me with this dreadful tragedy? A tragedy," he said, "which has stricken me almost dumb with horror and remorse. Why did I ever allow that villain even to speak to poor Lydia?" "Nevertheless, m'sieur," said the tall man quietly, "you must tell us where you have been." "That is easily explained. I went to San Remo." "By road?"
She could dive from almost any height and could remain under water an alarming time. "I never thought you had so much energy and strength in your little body," said Lydia, as Jean, with a shriek of enjoyment, drew herself on the raft and wiped the water from her eyes. "There's a man up there looking at us through glasses," said Briggerland suddenly. "I saw the flash of the sun on them."
Later, the police had occasion to extend their warning to 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 object of the institution which was to bring bad men into the society of good men and women, and to arouse in them a desire for better things.
And I'm less troubled about him than I am about the man Jaggs. Father, you will be glad to learn that I am almost afraid of that freakish old man." "Neither of them are here " he began. "Exactly," said Jean, "neither are here Lydia had a telegram from him just before dinner asking if he could come to see her next week." At this moment Lydia returned and Jean Briggerland eyed her critically.
"I know she is what she is, Jack, but her greatest crime is that she was born six hundred years too late. If she had lived in the days of the Italian Renaissance she would have made history." "Your sympathy is immoral," said Jack. "By the way, Briggerland has been handed over to the Italian authorities. The crime was committed on Italian soil and that saves his head from falling into the basket."
"And you were prepared for him?" she said. He smiled. "A clear case of suicide, my dear," he said. "Shot through the left temple, and the pistol was found in his 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 should never have forgiven myself if anything had happened. I think my chauffeur must be drunk," said Briggerland in an agitated voice. She had no words. She could only nod, and then she remembered her preserver, and she turned to meet the solemn eyes of a bent old man, whose pointed, white beard and bristling white eyebrows gave him a hawk-like appearance.
It was the beautiful girl she had seen in the stalls of the theatre the night before! "And what can we do for you?" It was Glover's voice 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 arrived just a little too late."
He has all the moral qualities which one admires so much in the abstract. I could love Jack myself." "Could he love you?" bantered her father. "He couldn't," she said shortly. "Jack would be a happy man if he saw me stand in Jim Meredith's place in the Old Bailey. No, I have no illusion about Jack's affections." "He's after Lydia's money I suppose," said Mr. Briggerland, stroking his bald head.
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