laugh. "If I
had been I should have called for help. He was only some loafer or other
who, finding me alone, thought he could get a franc, I suppose." And
then, after a pause, she added, "I had a similar experience one day last
year. The police really ought to keep the sands clear of such persons."

"What was he like? I'll tell the chief of police about it."

"Well, really, I didn't take very much notice," she replied. "I was
reading, and looking up suddenly found him standing before me. I had no
idea that Enid saw him. He asked me for money in a very rough manner.
And naturally I declined, and told him that if he did not clear off I
would shout for help. So--well, after a few more abusive words, he slunk
away."

"He might have stolen your brooch," Bracondale remarked.

"He might, certainly," she said. "Not until after he had gone did I
realise how helpless I had been."

"Yes, mother," exclaimed the little girl, "but you were frightened,
weren't you? I thought he was going to hit you, for you put up your
hands, and he clenched his fists and put his face right into yours. Oh!
it did frighten me!"

"Didn't you tell Miss Oliver?" asked her father.

"No; but I will. I went digging, and forgot all about it."

"If I were you, Enid, I shouldn't tell Miss Oliver," her mother said,
very quietly. "You were frightened for nothing. It was only a man who
wanted money."

"But he was such a nasty man--he had a horrid face, and such big, big
eyes!" declared the child, and then, turning, she danced away out of the
room, leaving Bracondale facing Jean in silence.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE INTRUDER.

That afternoon Jean remained in her room in a fierce fever of anxiety,
while Bracondale drove his car along the winding, shady road to Yvetot,
and home by St. Valery-en-Caux, and the sea-road which commences at
Fecamp.

Did he suspect? she wondered.

She could not help feeling mortified that the child should have made
that unfortunate remark. She felt also that her excuse was a lame one.
Did he really believe her story?

From the steel safe in her daintily-furnished room, with its silken
upholstery in old rose, she took the big, square, velvet-lined case,
and, opening it, gazed upon the string of splendid pearls. She took them
out tenderly and, standing before the long cheval-glass, put them round
her neck--for the last time.

As she examined herself in the mirror she sighed, her face hard, pale,
and full of anxiety a