"Your sympathy is immoral," said Jack. "By the way, Briggerland has been handed over to the Italian authorities. The crime was committed on Italian soil and that saves his head from falling into the basket." She shuddered. "What will they do to him?" "He'll be imprisoned for life," was the reply "and I rather think that's a little worse than the guillotine. You say you worry for Jean--I'm rather sorry for old man Briggerland. If he hadn't tried to live up to his daughter he might have been a most respectable member of society." They were strolling through the quaint, narrow streets of Grasse, and Jack, who knew and loved the town, was showing her sights which made her forget that the Perfumerie Factory, the Mecca of the average tourist, had any existence. "I suppose I'll have to settle down now," she said with an expression of distaste. "I suppose you will," said Jack, "and you'll have to settle up, too; your legal expenses are something fierce." "Why do you say that?" she asked, stopping in her walk and looking at him gravely. "I am speaking as your mercenary lawyer," said Jack. "You are trying to put your service on another level," she corrected. "I owe everything I have to you. My fortune is the least of these. I owe you my life three times over." "Four," he corrected, "and to Marcus Stepney once." "Why have you done so much for me? Were you interested?" she asked after a pause. "Very," he replied. "I was interested in you from the moment I saw you step out of Mr. Mordon's taxi into the mud, but I was especially interested in you----" "When?" she asked. "When I sat outside your door night after night and discovered you didn't snore," he said shamelessly, and she went red. "I hope you'll never refer to your old Jaggs's adventures. It was very----" "What?" "I was going to say horrid, but I shouldn't be telling the truth," she admitted frankly. "I liked having you there. Poor Mrs. Morgan will be disconsolate when she discovers that we've lost our lodger." They walked into the cool of the ancient cathedral and sat down. "There's something very soothing about a church, isn't there?" he whispered. "Look at that gorgeous window. If I were ever rich enough to marry the woman I loved, I should be married in a cathedral like this, full of old tombs and statues and stained glass." "How rich would you have to be?" she asked. "As rich as she is." She bent over toward him, her lips against his ear. "Tell me how much money you have," she whispered, "and I'll give away all I have in excess of that amount." He caught her hand and held it fast, and they sat there before the altar of St. Catherine until the sun went down and the disapproving old woman who acted as the cathedral's caretaker tapped them on the shoulder. Chapter XLI "That is Gibraltar," said Marcus Stepney, pointing ahead to a grey shape that loomed up from the sea.