Chapter XI
Jean Briggerland had spent a very busy afternoon. There had been astring of callers at the handsome house in Berkeley Street.
Mr. Briggerland was of a philanthropic bent, and had instituted a clubin the East End of London which was intended to raise the moral tone ofLimehouse, Wapping, Poplar and the adjacent districts. It was startedwithout ostentation with a man named Faire as general manager. Mr. Fairehad had in his lifetime several hectic contests with the police, inwhich he had been invariably the loser. And it was in his role as areformed character that he undertook the management of this socialuplift club.
Well-meaning police officials had warned Mr. Briggerland that Faire hada bad character. Mr. Briggerland listened, was grateful for the warning,but explained that Faire had come under the influence of the new upliftmovement, and from henceforward he would be an exemplary citizen. Later,the police had occasion to extend their warning to its founder. The clubwas being used by known criminal characters; men who had already beenin jail and were qualifying for a return visit.
Again Mr. Briggerland pointed to the object of the institution which wasto bring bad men into the society of good men and women, and to arousein them a desire for better things. He quoted a famous text with greateffect. But still the police were unconvinced.
It was the practice of Miss Jean Briggerland to receive selected membersof the club and to entertain them at tea in Berkeley Street. Her friendsthought it was very "sweet" and very "daring," and wondered whether shewasn't afraid of catching some kind of disease peculiar to the East Endof London. But Jean did not worry about such things. On this afternoon,after the last of her callers had gone, she went down to the littlemorning-room where such entertainments occurred and found two men, whorose awkwardly as she entered.
The gentle influence of the club had not made them look anything butwhat they were. "Jail-bird" was written all over them.
"I'm very glad you men have come," said Jean sweetly. "Mr. Hoggins----"
"That's me, miss," said one, with a grin.
"And Mr. Talmot."
The second man showed his teeth.
"I'm always glad to see members of the club," said Jean busy with theteapot, "especially men who have had so bad a time as you have. Youhave only just come out of prison, haven't you, Mr. Hoggins?" she askedinnocently.
Hoggins went red and coughed.
"Yes, miss," he said huskily and added inconsequently, "I didn't do it!"
"I'm sure you were innocent," she said with a smile of sympathy, "andreally if you were guilty I don't think you men are so much to blame.Look what a bad time you have! What disadvantages you suffer, whilsthere in the West End people are wasting money that really ought to go toyour wives and children."
"That's right," said Mr. Hoggins.
"There's a girl I know who is tremendously rich," Jean prattled on. "Shelives at 84, Cavendish Mansions, just on the top floor, and, of course,she's very foolish to sleep with her windows open, especially as peoplecould get down from the roof--there is a fire escape there. She alwayshas a lot of jewellery--keeps it under her pillow I think, and there isgenerally a few hundred pounds scattered about the bedroom. Now that iswhat I call putting temptation in the way of the weak."
She lifted her blue eyes, saw the glitter in the man's eyes and went on.
"I've told her lots of times that there is danger, but she only laughs.There is an old man who sleeps in the house--quite a feeble old man whohas only the use of one arm. Of course, if she cried out, I suppose hewould come to her rescue, but then a real burglar wouldn't let her cryout, would he?" she asked.
The two men looked at one another.
"No," breathed one.
"Especially as they could get clean away if they were clever," saidJean, "and it isn't likely that they would leave her in a condition tobetray them, is it?"
Mr. Hoggins cleared his throat.
"It's not very likely, miss," he said.
Jean shrugged her shoulders.
"Women do these things, and then they blame the poor man to whom athousand pounds would be a fortune because he comes and takes it.Personally, I should not like to live at 84, Cavendish Mansions."
"84, Cavendish Mansions," murmured Mr. Hoggins absent-mindedly.
His last sentence had been one of ten years' penal servitude. His nextsentence would be for life. Nobody knew this better than JeanBriggerland as she went on to talk of the club and of the wonderful workwhich it was doing.
She dismissed her visitors and went back to her sitting-room. As sheturned to go up the stairway her maid intercepted her.
"Mary is in your room, miss," she said in a low voice.
Jean frowned but made no reply.
The woman who stood awkwardly in the centre of the room awaiting thegirl, greeted her with an apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry, miss," she said, "but I lost my job this morning. That oldman spotted me. He's a split--a detective."
Jean Briggerland regarded her with an unmoved face save that herbeautiful mouth took on the pathetic little droop which had excited thepity of a judge and an army of lawyers.
"When did this happen?" she asked.
"Last night, miss. He came and I got a bit cheeky to him, and he turnedon me, the old devil, and told me my real name and that I'd got the jobby forging recommendations."
Jean sat down slowly in the padded Venetian chair before her writingtable.
"Jaggs?" she asked.
"Yes, miss."
"And why didn't you come here at once?"
"I thought I might be followed, miss."
The girl bit her lip and nodded.
"You did quite right," she said, and then after a moment's reflection,"We shall be in Paris next week. You had better go by the night trainand wait for us at the flat."
She gave the maid some money and after she had gone, sat for an hourbefore the fire looking into its red depths.
She rose at last a little stiffly, pulled the heavy silken curtainacross the windows and switched on the light, and there was a smile onher face that was very beautiful to see. For in that hour came aninspiration.
She sought her father in his study and told him her plan, and heblanched and shivered with the very horror of it.
The Angel of Terror Page 11
