e
horrid, Mr. Glover, you aren't suggesting that Jean wrote this awful
letter to herself, are you?"

"Was it an awful letter?" asked Jack.

"A terrible letter, threatening to kill her. Do you know that Mr.
Briggerland thinks that the person who nearly killed me was really
shooting at Jean."

"You don't say," said Jack politely. "I haven't heard about people
shooting at you--but it sounds rather alarming."

She told him the story, and he offered no comment.

"Go on with your thrilling story of Jean's mortal enemy. Who is he?"

"She doesn't know his name," said Lydia. "She met him in Egypt--an
elderly man who positively dogged her footsteps wherever she went, and
made himself a nuisance."

"Doesn't know his name, eh?" said Jack with a sniff. "Well, that's
convenient."

"I think you're almost spiteful," said Lydia hotly. "Poor girl, she was
so distressed this morning; I have never seen her so upset."

"And are the police going to keep guard and follow her wherever she
goes? And is that impossible person, Mr. Marcus Stepney, also in the
vendetta? I saw him wandering about this morning like a wounded hero,
with his arm in a sling."

"He hurt his hand gathering wild flowers for me on the--"

But Jack's outburst of laughter checked her, and she glared at him.

"I think you're boorish," she snapped angrily. "I'm sorry I came out
with you."

"And I'm sorry I've been such a fool," apologised the penitent Jack,
"but the vision of the immaculate Mr. Stepney gathering wild flowers in
a top hat and a morning suit certainly did appeal to me as being
comical!"

"He doesn't wear a top hat or a morning suit in Monte Carlo," she said,
furious at his banter. "Let us talk about somebody else than my
friends."

"I haven't started to talk about your friends yet," he said. "And please
don't try to tell your chauffeur to turn round--the road is too narrow,
and he'd have the car over the cliff before you knew where you were, if
he were stupid enough to try. I'm sorry, deeply sorry, Mrs. Meredith,
but I think that Jean was right when she said that the southern air had
got into my blood. I'm a little hysterical--yes, put it down to that. It
runs in the family," he babbled on. "I have an aunt who faints at the
sight of strawberries, and an uncle who swoons whenever a cat walks into
the room."

"I hope you don't visit him very much," she said coldly.

"Two points to you," said Jack, "but I must warn Jaggs, in case he is
mista