"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 £100,000 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 had 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?"