"About two hours, dear, you'll be very hungry when you come back," said Jean, kissing her. "Now, mind you think of the right man," she warned her in mockery. "I wonder if I shall," said Lydia quietly. Jean watched the car out of sight, then went back to the saloon. She was hardly seated before the telephone rang again, and she anticipated Mrs. Cole-Mortimer, and answered it. "Mrs. Meredith has not gone in to Monte Carlo," said the voice. "Her car has not been seen on the road." "Is that Mr. Jaggs?" asked Jean sweetly. "Yes, miss," was the reply. "Mrs. Meredith has come back now. I'm dreadfully sorry, I thought she had gone into Monte Carlo. She's in her room with a bad headache. Will you come and see her?" There was an interval of silence. "Yes, I will come," said Jaggs. Twenty minutes later a taxicab set down the old man at the door, and a maid admitted him and brought him into the saloon. Jean rose to meet him. She looked at the bowed figure of old Jaggs. Took him all in, from his iron-grey hair to his dusty shoes, and then she pointed to a chair. "Sit down," she said, and old Jaggs obeyed. "You've something very important to tell Mrs. Meredith, I suppose." "I'll tell her that myself, miss," said the old man gruffly. "Well, before you tell her anything, I want to make a confession," she smiled down on old Jaggs, and pulled up a chair so that she faced him. He was sitting with his back to the light, holding his battered hat on his knees. "I've really brought you up under false pretences," she said, "because Mrs. Meredith isn't here at all." "Not here?" he said, half rising. "No, she's gone for a ride with our chauffeur. But I wanted to see you, Mr. Jaggs, because--" she paused. "I realise that you're a dear friend of hers and have her best interests at heart. I don't know who you are," she said, shaking her head, "but I know, of course, that Mr. John Glover has employed you." "What's all this about?" he asked gruffly. "What have you to tell me?" "I don't know how to begin," she said, biting her lips. "It is such a delicate matter that I hate talking about it at all. But the attitude of Mrs. Meredith to our chauffeur Mordon, is distressing, and I think Mr. Glover should be told." He did not speak and she went on. "These things do happen, I know," she said, "but I am happy to say that nothing of that sort has come into my experience, and, of course, Mordon is a good-looking man and she is young----" "What are you talking about?" His tone was dictatorial and commanding. "I mean," she said, "that I fear poor Lydia is in love with Mordon." He sprang to his feet. "It's a damned lie!" he said, and she stared at him. "Now tell me what has happened to Lydia Meredith," he went on, "and let me tell you this, Jean Briggerland, that if one hair of that girl's head is harmed, I will finish the work I began out there," he pointed to the garden, "and strangle you with my own hands."