ken for the elderly Lothario. Obviously Jean is preparing the way
for an unpleasant end to poor old Jaggs."

"Why do you think these things about Jean?" she asked, as they were
running into La Turbie.

"Because I have a criminal mind," he replied promptly. "I have the same
type of mind as Jean Briggerland's, wedded to a wholesome respect for
the law, and a healthy sense of right and wrong. Some people couldn't be
happy if they owned a cent that had been earned dishonestly; other
people are happy so long as they have the money--so long as it is real
money. I belong to the former category. Jean--well, I don't know what
would make Jean happy."

"And what would make you happy--Jean?" she asked.

He did not answer this question until they were sitting on the stoep of
the National, where a light luncheon was awaiting them.

"Jean?" he said, as though the question had just been asked. "No, I
don't want Jean. She is wonderful, really, Mrs. Meredith, wonderful! I
find myself thinking about her at odd moments, and the more I think the
more I am amazed. Lucretia Borgia was a child in arms compared with
Jean--poor old Lucretia has been maligned, anyway. There was a woman in
the sixteenth century rather like her, and another girl in the early
days of New England, who used to denounce witches for the pleasure of
seeing them burn, but I can't think of an exact parallel, because Jean
gets no pleasure out of hurting people any more than you will get out of
cutting that cantaloup. It has just got to be cut, and the fact that you
are finally destroying the life of the melon doesn't worry you."

"Have cantaloups life?" She paused, knife in hand, eyeing the fruit with
a frown. "No, I don't think I want it. So Jean is a murderess at heart?"

She asked the question in solemn mockery, but Jack was not smiling.

"Oh yes--in intention, at any rate. I don't know whether she has ever
killed anybody, but she has certainly planned murders."

Lydia sighed and sat back in her chair patiently.

"Do you still suggest that she harbours designs against my young life?"

"I not only suggest it, but I state positively that there have been four
attempts on your life in the past fortnight," he said calmly.

"Let us have this out," she said recklessly. "Number one?"

"The nearly-a-fatal accident in Berkeley Street," said Jack.

"Will you explain by what miracle the car arrived at the psychological
moment?" she asked.

"That's easy," he said with