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Updated: June 8, 2025
Old Jaggs was the outward and visible sign of Jack Glover's unwarranted authority, and slowly there was creeping into her mind a suspicion that Jean Briggerland might not have been mistaken when she spoke of Jack's penchant for "ordering people about." Life was growing bigger for her. She had broken down the barriers which had confined her to a narrow promenade between office and home.
He slowed down as he approached the two and dismounted. "Good morning, madame," he said politely, and then looking at the man, "is this man in your employ? I have seen him coming out of your house every morning?" "Oh, yes," said Lydia hastily, "he's my " She was at a loss to describe him, but old Jaggs saved her the trouble.
Cole-Mortimer groaned her despair, not knowing that she was expected to do no more than stir the soil for the crop which Jean Briggerland would plant and reap. They went on to supper at one of the clubs, and Lydia thought with amusement of poor old Jaggs, who apparently took his job very seriously indeed.
He had called at her lodgings on the following morning to secure her signature to some documents, and breathlessly and a little shamefacedly, she told him what had happened. "Of course it was an accident," she insisted, "in fact, Mr. and Miss Briggerland were almost knocked down by the car. But you don't know how thankful I am your Mr. Jaggs was on the spot." "Where is he now?" asked Jack.
Lydia was looking pale, and there were dark shadows under her eyes, but she treated the matter cheerfully. "I've just been trying to explain to Mr. Glover what happened. Unfortunately, the wonderful Jaggs is not here. He knows more about it than I, for I collapsed in the most feminine way." "How did he get in I mean this madman?" asked the girl. "Through the door." It was Jack who answered.
Jaggs myself," she said, but Jean interrupted her with a cry. Lydia looked up and saw her eyes shining and her lips parting in a smile. "Of course," she said softly. "He used to sleep at your flat, didn't he?" "Yes, why?" asked the girl in surprise. "What a fool I am, what a perfect fool!" said Jean, startled out of her accustomed self-possession.
Glover thinks I ought to have some sort of man sleeping in my new flat and Jaggs was duly engaged." Soon after this Mr. Marcus Stepney came over and Lydia found him rather uninteresting. Less boring was Briggerland, for he had a fund of stories and experiences to relate, and he had, too, one of those soft soothing voices that are so rare in men.
She woke when the maid brought her tea, to learn that Jaggs had gone. The maid, too, had her views on the "old gentleman." She hadn't slept all night for the thought of him, she said, though probably this was an exaggeration. The arrangement must end, thought Lydia, and she called at Jack Glover's office that afternoon to tell him so. Jack listened without comment until she had finished.
"Well, before you tell her anything, I want to make a confession," she smiled down on old Jaggs, and pulled up a chair so that she faced him. He was sitting with his back to the light, holding his battered hat on his knees. "I've really brought you up under false pretences," she said, "because Mrs. Meredith isn't here at all." "Not here?" he said, half rising.
"I'm just having an argument with your young lady." "Do you say she is a thief?" "Of course she is, miss," said Jaggs scornfully. "You ask her!" But Lucy had gone into her room, slammed the door and locked it. The next morning when Lydia woke, the flat was empty, save for herself.
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