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"Dear me," said Jack politely, "and it went right again in time to enable the chauffeur to keep clear of Briggerland and his angel daughter!" She gave a gesture of despair. "You're hopeless," she said. "These things happened in the dark ages; men and women do not assassinate one another in the twentieth century." "Who told you that?" he demanded.
Meredith may die one of those accidental deaths in which Mr. and Miss Briggerland specialise. I'm going to put my warning 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 constable came in. "Show Mr. Glover the way out," he said stiffly.
Briggerland shook his head. "How did it happen?" she asked quietly. Mr. Briggerland shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose at the sight of you he bolted back to his hiding place where er had been located by er interested persons during the night, then seeing me by the shed he committed the rash and fatal act. Somehow I thought he would run back to his dug-out."
She sought her father in his study and told him her plan, and he blanched and shivered with the very horror of it. Mr. Briggerland, it seemed, had some other object in life than the regeneration of the criminal classes. He was a sociologist a loose title which covers a great deal of inquisitive investigation into other people's affairs. Moreover, he had published a book on the subject.
"Hullo," said Briggerland drowsily, "Gee, he gave me a whack!" "Who did it?" asked the girl. Mr. Briggerland shook his head and winced with the pain of it. "I don't know," he moaned. "Help me up. Stepney." With the man's assistance he rose unsteadily to his feet. "What happened?" asked Stepney. "Don't ask him any questions now," said the girl sharply. "Help him back to the house."
Her heirs are her husband and Jean Briggerland." There was a silence. The girl stared thoughtfully into the fire. "How old is Mr. Meredith?" "He is thirty next Monday," said Glover quietly, "and it is necessary that he should be married before next Monday." "In prison?" she asked. He shook his head.
At the end of two hours' inspection they were standing out on the big playing fields, watching the less violent of the patients wandering aimlessly about. Except one, they were unattended by keepers, but in the case of this one man, two stalwart uniformed men walked on either side of him. "Who is he?" asked Briggerland. "That is rather a sad case," said the alienist cheerfully.
Briggerland put down his newspaper and looked across the table at his daughter. He had a club in the East End of London and his manager had telephoned that morning sending a somewhat unhappy report. "Do you remember that man Talmot, my dear?" he asked. She nodded, and looked up quickly. "Yes, what about him?" "He's in hospital," said Mr. Briggerland.
Nature had so favoured her that her face needed no artificial embellishment the skin was clear and fine of texture, and the cold morning had brought only a faint pink to the beautiful face. "Well, my dear," Mr. Briggerland looked up and beamed through his glasses, "so poor Meredith has committed suicide?" She did not speak, keeping her eyes fixed on him. "Very sad, very sad," Mr.
Briggerland had undergone his preliminary examination, when a wire came through from the Spanish police that a motor-boat answering the description of the Jungle Queen had called at Malaga, had provisioned, refilled, and put out to sea again, before the police authorities, who had a description of the pair, had time to investigate.
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