d years. The instinct to kill is as strong as ever, or wars would
be impossible. If any man or woman could commit one cold-blooded murder,
there is no reason why he or she should not commit a hundred. In
England, America, and France fifty cold-blooded murders are detected
every year. Twice that number are undetected. It does not make the crime
more impossible because the criminal is good looking."

"You're hopeless," she said again, and Jack made no further attempt to
convince her.

On the Thursday of that week she exchanged her lodgings for a handsome
flat in Cavendish Place, and Mrs. Morgan had promised to join her a week
later, when she had settled up her own business affairs.

Lydia was fortunate enough to get two maids from one of the agencies,
one of whom was to sleep on the premises. The flat was not illimitable,
and she regretted that she had promised to place a room at the disposal
of the aged Mr. Jaggs. If he was awake all night as she presumed he
would be, and slept in the day, he might have been accommodated in the
kitchen, and she hinted as much to Jack. To her surprise the lawyer had
turned down that idea.

"You don't want your servants to know that you have a watchman."

"What do you imagine they will think he is?" she asked scornfully. "How
can I have an old gentleman in the flat without explaining why he is
there?"

"Your explanation could be that he did the boots."

"It wouldn't take him all night to do the boots. Of course, I'm too
grateful to him to want him to do anything."

Mr. Jaggs reported again for duty that night. He came at half-past nine,
a shabby-looking old man, and Lydia, who had not yet got used to her new
magnificence, came out into the hall to meet him.

He was certainly not a prepossessing object, and Lydia discovered that,
in addition to his other misfortunes, he had a slight squint.

"I hadn't an opportunity of thanking you the other day, Mr. Jaggs," she
said. "I think you saved my life."

"That's all right, miss," he said, in his hoarse voice. "Dooty is
dooty!"

She thought he was looking past her, till she realised that his curious
slanting line of vision was part of his infirmity.

"I'll show you to your room," she said hastily.

She led the way down the corridor, opened the door of a small room which
had been prepared for him, and switched on the light.

"Too much light for me, miss," said the old man, shaking his head. "I
like to sit in the dark and listen, th