et."

"You made that remark before," he said quietly. "Now perhaps you'll
explain what you mean."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"They are always about together. I saw them strolling on the lawn last
night till quite a late hour, and I was so scared lest Mrs.
Cole-Mortimer noticed it too----"

"Which means that Mrs. Cole-Mortimer did not notice it. You're clever,
Jean! Even as you invent you make preparations to refute any evidence
that the other side can produce. I don't believe a word you say."

There was a knock at the door and the maid entered bearing a letter on a
salver.

"This was addressed to you, miss," she said. "It was on the hall
table--didn't you see it?"

"No," said Jean in surprise. She took the letter, looked down at the
address and opened it.

He saw a look of amazement and horror come to her face.

"Good God!" gasped Jean.

"What is it?" he said, springing up.

She stared at the letter again and from the letter to him.

"Read it," she said in a hollow voice.

"_Dear Mademoiselle_,

"_I have returned from London and have confessed to Madame
Meredith that I have forged her name and have drawn L100,000
from her bank. And now I have learnt that Madame Meredith loves
me. There is only one end to this--that which you see----_"

Jack read the letter twice.

"It is in his writing, too," he muttered. "It's impossible, incredible!
I tell you I've had Mrs. Meredith under my eyes all the time she has
been here. Is there a letter from her?" he asked suddenly. "But no, it
is impossible, impossible!"

"I haven't been into her room. Will you come up with me?"

He followed her up the stairs and into Lydia's big bedroom, and the
first thing that caught his eye was a sealed letter on a table near the
bed. He picked it up. It was addressed to him, in Lydia's handwriting,
and feverishly he tore it open.

His face, when he had finished reading, was as white as hers had been.

"Where have they gone?" he asked.

"They went to San Remo."

"By car?"

"Of course."

Without a word he turned and ran down the stairs out of the house.

The taxi that had brought him in the role of Jaggs had gone, but down
the road, a dozen yards away, was the car he had hired on the day he
came to Monte Carlo. He gave instructions to the driver and jumped in.
The car sped through Mentone, stopped only the briefest while at the
Customs barrier whilst Jack pursued his inquiries.

Yes, a lady h