ee."

"Exactly," nodded Glover with a twinkle in his eye. "In other words, he
repudiated the suggestion that he was jealous, swore that he had already
told Miss Briggerland that he could not marry her, and he did not even
know that Bulford was paying attention to the lady."

"He did that to save his life," said Lydia quietly. "Miss Briggerland
swore in the witness-box that no such interview had occurred."

Glover nodded.

"What you do not know, Miss Beale," he said gravely, "is that Jean
Briggerland was Meredith's cousin, and unless certain things happen, she
will inherit the greater part of six hundred thousand pounds from
Meredith's estate. Meredith, I might explain, is one of my best friends,
and the fact that he is now serving out a life sentence does not make
him any less a friend. I am as sure, as I am sure of your sitting there,
that he no more killed Bulford than I did. I believe the whole thing
was a plot to secure his death or imprisonment. My partner thinks the
same. The truth is that Meredith was engaged to this girl; he discovered
certain things about her and her father which are not greatly to their
credit. He was never really in love with her, beautiful as she is, and
he was trapped into the proposal. When he found out how things were
shaping and heard some of the queer stories which were told about
Briggerland and his daughter, he broke off the engagement and went that
night to tell her so."

The girl had listened in some bewilderment to this recital.

"I don't exactly see what all this is to do with me," she said, and
again Jack Glover nodded.

"I can quite understand," he said, "but I will tell you yet another part
of the story which is not public property. Meredith's father was an
eccentric man who believed in early marriages, and it was a condition of
his will that if Meredith was not married by his thirtieth birthday, the
money should go to his sister, her heirs and successors. His sister was
Mrs. Briggerland, who is now dead. Her heirs are her husband and Jean
Briggerland."

There was a silence. The girl stared thoughtfully into the fire.

"How old is Mr. Meredith?"

"He is thirty next Monday," said Glover quietly, "and it is necessary
that he should be married before next Monday."

"In prison?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"If such things are allowed that could have been arranged, but for some
reason the Home Secretary refuses to exercise his discretion in this
matter, and has