ad passed, but she had not returned.

How long ago?

Perhaps an hour; perhaps less.

At top speed the big car thundered along the sea road, twisting and
turning, diving into valleys and climbing steep headlands, and then
rounding a corner, Jack saw the car and a little crowd about it. His
heart turned to stone as he leapt to the road.

He saw the backs of two Italian gendarmes, and pushing aside the little
knot of idlers, he came into the centre of the group and stopped. Mordon
lay on his face in a pool of blood, and one of the policemen was holding
an ivory-handled revolver.

"It was with this that the crime was committed," he said in florid
Italian. "Three of the chambers are empty. Now, at whom were the other
two discharged?"

Jack reeled and gripped the mud-guard of the car for support, then his
eyes strayed to the opening in the wall which ran on the seaward side of
the road.

He walked to the parapet and looked over, and the first thing he saw was
a torn hat and veil, and he knew it was Lydia's.

Chapter XXXVIII

Mr. Briggerland, killing time on the quay at Monaco, saw the _Jungle
Queen_ come into harbour and watched Marcus land, carrying his lines in
his hand.

As Marcus came abreast of him he called and Mr. Stepney looked round
with a start.

"Hello, Briggerland," he said, swallowing something.

"Well, have you been fishing?" asked Mr. Briggerland in his most
paternal manner.

"Yes," admitted Marcus.

"Did you catch anything?"

Stepney nodded.

"Only one," he said.

"Hard luck," said Mr. Briggerland, with a smile, "but where is Mrs.
Meredith--I understood she was going out with you to-day?"

"She went to San Remo," said Stepney shortly, and the other nodded.

"To be sure," he said. "I had forgotten that."

Later he bought a copy of the _Nicoise_ and learnt of the tragedy on the
San Remo road. It brought him back to the house, a visibly agitated
man.

"This is shocking news, my dear," he panted into the saloon and stood
stock still at the sight of Mr. Jack Glover.

"Come in, Briggerland," said Jack, without ceremony. There was a man
with him, a tall, keen Frenchman whom Briggerland recognised as the
chief detective of the Prefecture. "We want you to give an account of
your actions."

"My actions?" said Mr. Briggerland indignantly. "Do you associate me
with this dreadful tragedy? A tragedy," he said, "which has stricken me
almost dumb with horror and remorse. Why did I ever