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We have made a friend of Mordon and I suppose what would have seemed familiar to you, would pass unnoticed with us. Yes, I certainly do remember my poor friend and Mordon walking together in the garden." "Is this yours?" The detective took from behind a curtain an old British rifle. "Yes, that is mine," admitted Briggerland without a moment's hesitation.
His first words confirmed this suspicion. "There is a warrant for Mordon which will be executed as soon as he returns," said Jack. "We have been able to trace him in London and also the woman who presented the cheque. We know his movements from the time he left Nice by aeroplane for Paris to the time he returned to Nice. The people who changed the money for him will swear to his identity."
Lydia Meredith was nearer to death at that moment than she had been on the afternoon when Mordon the chauffeur brought his big Fiat on to the pavement of Berkeley Street. It was in the evening of the next day that Lydia received a wire from Jack Glover. It was addressed from London and announced his arrival.
"I don't want to interfere with your private affairs," he mumbled, "but the very thought of it gets me crazy." The garage was a brick building erected by the side of the carriage drive, built much nearer the house than is usually the case. Jean waited a reasonable time before she slipped away. Mordon was waiting for her before the open doors of the garage.
Briggerland looked at his daughter. "Did poor Lydia leave a letter?" She nodded. "I think Mr. Glover will tell you, father," she said. "Poor Lydia had an attachment for Mordon. It is very clear what happened. They went out to-day, never intending to return " "Mrs. Meredith had no intention of going to the Lovers' Chair until you suggested the trip to her," said Jack quietly. "Mrs.
Beyond the edge of the ledge the cliff fell sheer to the water, and she shivered as she stepped back from her inspection. Mordon did not see her go. He sat on the running board of his car, his pale face between his hands, a prey to his own gloomy thoughts. There must be a development, he told himself.
"Mordon was a Frenchman and I have been able to identify him by tattoo marks on his arm, as a man who has been in the hands of the police many times." "You think there is no hope?" The detective shrugged his shoulders. "We are dragging the pool. There is very deep water under the rock, but the chances are that the body has been washed out to sea.
Why, Jack Glover, you have all the importance of a French examining magistrate," she smiled. "You may learn how important they are soon," he said significantly. "Where is your chauffeur, Mordon?" "He is gone, too in fact, he is driving Lydia. Why?" she asked with a little tightening of heart. She had only just been in time, she thought. So they had associated Mordon with the forgery!
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."
Jean looked round to see if Marcus Stepney was present, hoping that he had witnessed the exchange of courtesies, but Marcus at that moment was watching little bundles of twelve thousand franc notes raked across to the croupier's end of the table which is the business end of Monte Carlo. Jean was the last to leave the car when it set them down at the Villa Casa. Mordon called her respectfully.
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