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It happens that I have met Briggerland and I've met his daughter too, and a more beautiful girl I don't think it has been my pleasure to meet." Jack groaned. "Aren't you feeling well?" asked the chief unpleasantly. "I'm all right, sir," said Jack, "only I'm so tired of hearing about Jean Briggerland's beauty. It doesn't seem a very good argument to oppose to the facts "
"The only thing that was established was that he had seen the body and he picked up the pistol which was lying near the dead man. The shot was fired as he opened the door of Mr. Briggerland's house. Then he saw the figure on the pavement and picked up the pistol. He was in that position when Miss Briggerland, who testified against him, came out of the house and saw him." The detective nodded.
Nobody wants to help a lunatic escape, otherwise it would be easier than getting out of prison, because we have no patrols in the grounds, the wards can be opened from the outside without a key and the night patrol who 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.
He got up from his chair, put down his book, and was half-way across the room when 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 from the Préfect of the Alpes Maritimes for your arrest." "My arrest?" spluttered the dark man, his teeth chattering. "What what is the charge?"
In truth events began to move quickly from that night, but in a way she had not anticipated. Mr. Briggerland, who had been reading the newspaper through the conversation, looked up. "They are making a great fuss of this Moor in Nice," he said, "but if I remember rightly, Nice invariably has some weird lion to adore." "Muley Hafiz," said Lydia. "Yes, I saw him the day I went to lunch with Mr.
Lydia's journey had been no less enjoyable. She, too, had stopped at Mentone to explore the town, and had left Pont St. Louis an hour after Mr. Briggerland had passed. The road to San Remo runs under the shadow of steep hills through a bleak stretch of country from which even the industrious peasantry of northern Italy cannot win a livelihood.
"Now explain to me, my friend, what you mean by this disgraceful attack upon mademoiselle." The man rose and dusted himself mechanically and 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 right to strike François." "François," spluttered Briggerland, his dark face purple with rage.
He was beginning to get uneasy, and for the first time he doubted the sincerity of the woman who had been to him as a goddess. He did not hear Mr. Briggerland, for the dark man was light of foot, when he came round the shoulder of the hill. Mordon's back was toward him. Suddenly the chauffeur looked round.
He was very handsome, she thought, in a dark way, but he was just a little too "new" to please her. She did not like fashion-plate men, and although the most captious of critics could not have found fault with his correct attire, he gave her the impression of being over-dressed. Lydia had not expected to meet Miss Briggerland and her father, although she had a dim recollection that Mrs.
She lifted her eyes to his and dropped them again, 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 passage outside, and there came a tap on her door.
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