rom her swim, was met by Jean half-way up the hill.

"By the way, my dear, I wish you would give me Jack Glover's London
address," she said as they went into the house. "Write it here. Here is
a pencil." She pulled out an envelope from a stationery rack and Lydia,
in all innocence, wrote as she requested.

The envelope Jean carried upstairs, put into it the letter signed "L.
M.," and sealed it down. 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.

Chapter XXIX

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.

"Doesn't it make you feel nice, Lydia," said Jean, when she saw the
telegram, "to have a man in London looking after your interests--a sort
of guardian angel--and another guardian angel prowling round your
demesne at Cap Martin?"

"You mean Jaggs? Have you seen him?"

"No, I have not seen him," said the girl softly. "I should rather like
to see him. Do you know where he is staying at Monte Carlo?"

Lydia shook her head.

"I hope I shall see him before I go," said Jean. "He must be a very
interesting old gentleman."

It was Mr. Briggerland who first caught a glimpse of Lydia's watchman.
Mr. Briggerland had spent the greater part of the day sleeping. He was
unusually wakeful at one o'clock in the morning, and sat on the veranda
in a fur-lined overcoat, his gun lay across his knees. He had seen many
mysterious shapes flitting across the lawn, only to discover on
investigation that they were no more than the shadows which the moving
tree-tops cast.

At two o'clock he saw a shape emerge from the tree belt and move
stealthily in the shadow of the bushes toward the house. He did not fire
because there was a chance that it might have been one of the detectives
who had promised to keep an eye upon the Villa Casa in view of the
murderous threats which Jean had received.

Noiselessly he rose and stepped in his rubber shoes to the darker end of
the stoep. It was old Jaggs. There was no mistaking him. A bent man who
limped cautiously across the lawn and was making for the back of the
house. Mr. Briggerland cocked his gun and took aim....

Both girls heard the shot, and Lydia, springing out of bed, ran on to
the balcony.

"It's all right, Mrs. Meredith," said Briggerland's voice. "It was a
bur