Lydia was changing in her lovely big
dressing-room, overlooking the sea.

"Why didn't you tell me there was smallpox in Cap Martin?" he demanded
fretfully.

"Because I didn't know till Margaret relieved her mind at our expense,"
said his daughter coolly. "I had to say something. Besides, I'd heard
one of the maids say that somebody's mother had deserted him--I fitted
it in. What a funk you are, father!"

"I hate the very thought of disease," he growled. "Why aren't you coming
with us--there is nothing the matter with your ankle?"

"Because I prefer to stay at home."

He looked at her suspiciously.

"Jean," he said in a milder voice, "hadn't we better let up on the girl
for a bit--until that lunatic doctor affair has blown over?"

She reached out and took a gold case from his waistcoat pocket,
extracted a cigarette and replaced the case before she spoke.

"We can't afford to 'let up' as you call it, for a single hour. Do you
realise that any day her lawyer may persuade her to make a will leaving
her money to a--a home for cats, or something equally untouchable? If
there was no Jack Glover we could afford to wait months. And I'm less
troubled about him than I am about the man Jaggs. Father, you will be
glad to learn that I am almost afraid of that freakish old man."

"Neither of them are here--" he began.

"Exactly," said Jean, "neither are here--Lydia had a telegram from him
just before dinner asking if he could come to see her next week."

At this moment Lydia returned and Jean Briggerland eyed her critically.

"My dear, you look lovely," she said and kissed her.

Mr. Briggerland's nose wrinkled, as it always did when his daughter
shocked him.

Chapter XVIII

Jean Briggerland waited until she heard the sound of the departing car
sink to a faint hum, then she went up to her room, opened the bureau and
took out a long and tightly fitting dust-coat that she wore when she was
motoring. She had seen a large bottle of peroxide in Mrs.
Cole-Mortimer's room. It probably contributed to the dazzling glories of
Mrs. Cole-Mortimer's hair, but it was also a powerful germicide. She
soaked a big silk handkerchief in a basin of water, to which she added a
generous quantity of the drug, and squeezing the handkerchief nearly
dry, she knotted it loosely about her neck. A rubber bathing cap she
pulled down over her head, and smiled at her queer reflection in the
glass. Then she found a pair of kid gloves and drew