Chapter XXIII
So old Jaggs was in Monte Carlo! Whatever was he doing, and how was hegetting on with these people who spoke nothing but French, she wondered!She had something to think about before she went to sleep.
She opened her eyes singularly awake as the dawn was coming up over thegrey sea. She looked at her watch; it was a quarter to six. Why she hadwakened so thoroughly she could not tell, but remembered with a littleshiver another occasion she had wakened, this time before the dawn, toface death in a most terrifying shape.
She got up out of bed, put on a heavy coat and opened the wire doorsthat led to the balcony. The morning was colder than she imagined, andshe was glad to retreat to the neighbourhood of the warm radiator.
The fresh clean hours of the dawn, when the mind is clear, and there isneither sound nor movement to distract the thoughts, are favourable tosane thinking.
Lydia reviewed the past few weeks in her life, and realised, for thefirst time, the miracle which had happened. It was like a legend ofold--the slave had been lifted from the king's anteroom--the strugglingartist was now a rich woman. She twiddled the gold ring on her handabsent-mindedly--and she was married ... and a widow! She had anuncomfortable feeling that, in spite of her riches, she had not yetfound her niche. She was an odd quantity, as yet. The Cole-Mortimers andthe Briggerlands did not belong to her ideal world, and she could findno place where she fitted.
She tried, in this state of mind so favourable to the consideration ofsuch a problem, to analyse Jack Glover's antagonism toward JeanBriggerland and her father.
It seemed unnatural that a healthy young man should maintain so bitter afeud with a girl whose beauty was almost of a transcendant quality andall because she had rejected him.
Jack Glover was a public school boy, a man with a keen sense of honour.She could not imagine him being guilty of a mean action. And such mendid not pursue vendettas without good reason. If they were rejected by awoman, they accepted their _conge_ with a good grace, and it was almostunthinkable that Jack should have no other reason for his hatred. Yetshe could not bring herself even to consider the possibility that thereason was the one he had advanced. She came again to the dead end ofconjecture. She could believe in Jack's judgment up to a point--beyondthat she could not go.
She had her bath, dressed, and was in the garden when the easternhorizon was golden with the light of the rising sun. Nobody was about,the most energetic of the servants had not yet risen, and she strolledthrough the avenue to the main road. As she stood there looking up anddown a man came out from the trees that fringed the road and beganwalking rapidly in the direction of Monte Carlo.
"Mr. Jaggs!" she called.
He took no notice, but seemed to increase his limping pace, and after amoment's hesitation, she went flying down the road after him. He turnedat the sound of her footsteps and in his furtive way drew into theshadow of a bush. He looked more than usually grimy; on his hands werean odd pair of gloves and a soft slouch hat that had seen better days,covered his head.
"Good-morning, miss," he wheezed.
"Why were you running away, Mr. Jaggs?" she asked, a little out ofbreath.
"Not runnin' away, miss," he said, glancing at her sharply from underhis heavy white eyebrows. "Just havin' a look round!"
"Do you spend all your nights looking round?" she smiled at him.
"Yes, miss."
At that moment a cyclist gendarme came into view. He slowed down as heapproached the two and dismounted.
"Good morning, madame," he said politely, and then looking at the man,"is this man in your employ? I have seen him coming out of your houseevery morning?"
"Oh, yes," said Lydia hastily, "he's my----"
She was at a loss to describe him, but old Jaggs saved her the trouble.
"I'm madame's courier," he said, and to Lydia's amazement he spoke inperfect French, "I am also the watchman of the house."
"Yes, yes," said Lydia, after she had recovered from her surprise."M'sieur is the watchman, also."
"_Bien_, madame," said the gendarme. "Forgive my asking, but we have somany strangers here."
They watched the gendarme out of sight. Then old Jaggs chuckled.
"Pretty good French, miss, wasn't it?" he said, and without anotherword, turned and limped in the trail of the police.
She looked after him in bewilderment. So he spent every night in thegrounds, or somewhere about the house? The knowledge gave her a queersense of comfort and safety.
When she went back to the villa she found the servants were up. Jean didnot put in an appearance until breakfast, and Lydia had an opportunityof talking to the French housekeeper whom Mrs. Cole-Mortimer had engagedwhen she took the villa. From her she learnt a bit of news, which shepassed on to Jean almost as soon as she put in an appearance.
"The gardener's little boy is going to get well, Jean."
Jean nodded.
"I know," she said. "I telephoned to the hospital yesterday."
It was so unlike her conception of the girl, that Lydia stared.
"The mother is in isolation," Lydia went on, "and Madame Souviet saysthat the poor woman has no money and no friends. I thought of going downto the hospital to-day to see if I could do anything for her."
"You'd better not, my dear," warned Mrs. Cole-Mortimer nervously. "Letus be thankful we've got the little brat out of the neighbourhoodwithout our catching the disease. One doesn't want to seek trouble. Keepaway from the hospital."
"Rubbish!" said Jean briskly. "If Lydia wants to go, there is no reasonwhy she shouldn't. The isolation people are never allowed to come intocontact with visitors, so there is really no danger."
"I agree with Mrs. Cole-Mortimer," grumbled Briggerland. "It is veryfoolish to ask for trouble. You take my advice, my dear, and keepaway."
"I had a talk with a gendarme this morning," said Lydia to change thesubject. "When he stopped and got off his bicycle I thought he was goingto speak about the shooting. I suppose it was reported to the police?"
"Er--yes," said Mr. Briggerland, not looking up from his plate, "ofcourse. Have you been into Monte Carlo?"
Lydia shook her head.
"No, I couldn't sleep, and I was taking a walk along the road when hepassed." She said nothing about Mr. Jaggs. "The police at Monaco arevery sociable."
Mr. Briggerland sniffed.
"Very," he said.
"Have they any theories?" she asked. In her innocence she was persistingin a subject which was wholly distasteful to Mr. Briggerland. "About theshooting I mean?"
"Yes, they have theories, but my dear, I should advise you not todiscuss the matter with the police. The fact is," invented Mr.Briggerland, "I told them that you were unaware of the fact that you hadbeen shot at, and if you discussed it with the police, you would make melook rather foolish."
When Lydia and Mrs. Cole-Mortimer had gone, Jean seized an opportunitywhich the absence of the maid offered.
"I hope you are beginning to see how perfectly insane your scheme was,"she said. "You have to support your act with a whole series of bunglinglies. Possibly Marcus, like a fool, has mentioned it in Monte Carlo, andwe shall have the detectives out here asking why you have not reportedthe matter."
"If I were as clever as you----" he growled.
"You're not," said Jean, rolling her serviette. "You're the mostun-clever man I know."
The Angel of Terror Page 23
