. "She
lives at 84, Cavendish Mansions, just on the top floor, and, of course,
she's very foolish to sleep with her windows open, especially as people
could get down from the roof--there is a fire escape there. She always
has a lot of jewellery--keeps it under her pillow I think, and there is
generally a few hundred pounds scattered about the bedroom. Now that is
what I call putting temptation in the way of the weak."

She lifted her blue eyes, saw the glitter in the man's eyes and went on.

"I've told her lots of times that there is danger, but she only laughs.
There is an old man who sleeps in the house--quite a feeble old man who
has only the use of one arm. Of course, if she cried out, I suppose he
would come to her rescue, but then a real burglar wouldn't let her cry
out, would he?" she asked.

The two men looked at one another.

"No," breathed one.

"Especially as they could get clean away if they were clever," said
Jean, "and it isn't likely that they would leave her in a condition to
betray them, is it?"

Mr. Hoggins cleared his throat.

"It's not very likely, miss," he said.

Jean shrugged her shoulders.

"Women do these things, and then they blame the poor man to whom a
thousand pounds would be a fortune because he comes and takes it.
Personally, I should not like to live at 84, Cavendish Mansions."

"84, Cavendish Mansions," murmured Mr. Hoggins absent-mindedly.

His last sentence had been one of ten years' penal servitude. His next
sentence would be for life. Nobody knew this better than Jean
Briggerland as she went on to talk of the club and of the wonderful work
which it was doing.

She dismissed her visitors and went back to her sitting-room. As she
turned to go up the stairway her maid intercepted her.

"Mary is in your room, miss," she said in a low voice.

Jean frowned but made no reply.

The woman who stood awkwardly in the centre of the room awaiting the
girl, greeted her with an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, miss," she said, "but I lost my job this morning. That old
man spotted me. He's a split--a detective."

Jean Briggerland regarded her with an unmoved face save that her
beautiful mouth took on the pathetic little droop which had excited the
pity of a judge and an army of lawyers.

"When did this happen?" she asked.

"Last night, miss. He came and I got a bit cheeky to him, and he turned
on me, the old devil, and told me my real name and that I'd got the job
by forging r