ct that she had no relations in the world,
are to-day a source of considerable peril to this unfortunate lady?"

"I had forgotten that," said Rennett thoughtfully. "What makes matters a
little more complicated, is the will which Meredith made this morning
before he was married."

Jack whistled.

"Did he make a will?" he said in surprise.

His partner nodded.

"You remember he was here with me for half an hour. Well, he insisted
upon writing out a will and my wife and Bolton, the butler, witnessed
it."

"And he has left his money----?"

"To his wife absolutely," replied the other. "The poor old chap was so
frantically keen on keeping the money out of the Briggerland exchequer,
that he was prepared to entrust the whole of his money to a girl he had
not seen."

Jack was serious now.

"And the Briggerlands are her heirs? Do you realise that,
Rennett--there's going to be hell!"

Mr. Rennett nodded.

"I thought that too," he said quietly.

Jack sank down in a seat, his face screwed up into a hideous frown, and
the elder man did not interrupt his thoughts. Suddenly Jack's face
cleared and he smiled.

"Jaggs!" he said softly.

"Jaggs?" repeated his puzzled partner.

"Jaggs," said Jack, nodding, "he's the fellow. We've got to meet
strategy with strategy, Rennett, and Jaggs is the boy to do it."

Mr. Rennett looked at him helplessly.

"Could Jaggs get us out of our trouble too?" he asked sarcastically.

"He could even do that," replied Jack.

"Then bring him along, for I have an idea he'll have the time of his
life."

Chapter VII

Miss Jean Briggerland reached her home in Berkeley Street soon after
nine o'clock. She did not ring, but let herself in with a key and went
straight to the dining-room, where her father sat eating his breakfast,
with a newspaper propped up before him.

He was the dark-skinned man whom Lydia had seen at the theatre, and he
looked up over his gold-rimmed spectacles as the girl came in.

"You have been out very early," he said.

She did not reply, but slowly divesting herself of her sable coat she
threw it on to a chair, took off the toque that graced her shapely head,
and flung it after the coat. Then she drew out a chair, and sat down at
the table, her chin on her palms, her blue eyes fixed upon her parent.

Nature had so favoured her that her face needed no artificial
embellishment--the skin was clear and fine of texture, and the cold
morning had brought only a