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Updated: June 8, 2025
There was too much melodrama and shooting, but I don't see how we could have done anything else Mordon was very tiresome." "Where did Glover come from?" asked Mr. Briggerland. "He's been here all the time," said the girl. "What?" She nodded. "He was old Jaggs. I had an idea he was, but I was certain when I remembered that he had stayed at Lydia's flat."
Briggerland, not looking up from his plate, "of course. Have you been into Monte Carlo?" Lydia shook her head. "No, I couldn't sleep, and I was taking a walk 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.
"I suppose I had better move," she said dubiously. "Mrs. Morgan is giving up this house, and she asked me whether I had any plans. I think she'd be willing to come as my housekeeper." "Excellent," nodded Jack. "You'll want a maid as well and, of course, you will have to put up Jaggs for the nights." "Jaggs?" she said in astonishment. "Jaggs," repeated Jack solemnly.
"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 of inquiry was not strained. "He's an old gentleman in whom Mr. Glover is interested, an old army pensioner.
I'll send the key round, and the day you move in, Jaggs will turn up for duty, bright and smiling. He doesn't talk a great deal " "I don't suppose you ever give the poor man a chance," she said cuttingly. 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 that old man with such a warm glow of thankfulness. There was nothing to be seen. The storm of the early night had passed over, and a faint light came into the room from the waning moon.
"He invents the quarrels and carries them out himself. How long are you staying?" "Two days," said Jack, "then I'm due back in town." "Have you brought your Mr. Jaggs with you?" asked Jean innocently. "Isn't he here?" asked Jack in surprise. "I sent him along a week ago." "Here?" repeated Jean slowly. "Oh, he's here, is he? Of course." She nodded.
"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 particularly fond 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.
She led the way down the corridor, opened the door of a small room which had been prepared for him, and switched on the light. "Too much light for me, miss," said the old man, shaking his head. "I like to sit in the dark and listen, that's what I like, to sit in the dark and listen." "But you can't sit in the dark, you'll want to read, won't you?" "Can't read, miss," said Jaggs cheerfully.
"I did not think that a little boy like you could have such money." She bustled upstairs to her own room, leaving the boy alone. He waited until her heavy footsteps sounded overhead, and then gently he tried the door of the other lodger. Mr. Jaggs had not yet bolted the door, and the spy pushed it open and looked.
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