Jean Briggerland had spent a very busy afternoon. There had been a
string of callers at the handsome house in Berkeley Street.
Mr. Briggerland was of a philanthropic bent, and had instituted a club
in the East End of London which was intended to raise the moral tone of
Limehouse, Wapping, Poplar and the adjacent districts. It was started
without ostentation with a man named Faire as general manager. Mr. Faire
had had in his lifetime several hectic contests with the police, in
which he had been invariably the loser. And it was in his role as a
reformed character that he undertook the management of this social
uplift club.
Well-meaning police officials had warned Mr. Briggerland that Faire had
a bad character. Mr. Briggerland listened, was grateful for the warning,
but explained that Faire had come under the influence of the new uplift
movement, and from henceforward he would be an exemplary citizen. Later,
the police had occasion to extend their warning to its founder. The club
was being used by known criminal characters; men who had already been
in jail and were qualifying for a return visit.
Again Mr. Briggerland pointed to the object of the institution which was
to bring bad men into the society of good men and women, and to arouse
in them a desire for better things. He quoted a famous text with great
effect. But still the police were unconvinced.
It was the practice of Miss Jean Briggerland to receive selected members
of the club and to entertain them at tea in Berkeley Street. Her friends
thought it was very "sweet" and very "daring," and wondered whether she
wasn't afraid of catching some kind of disease peculiar to the East End
of London. But Jean did not worry about such things. On this afternoon,
after the last of her callers had gone, she went down to the little
morning-room where such entertainments occurred and found two men, who
rose awkwardly as she entered.
The gentle influence of the club had not made them look anything but
what they were. "Jail-bird" was written all over them.
"I'm very glad you men have come," said Jean sweetly. "Mr. Hoggins----"
"That's me, miss," said one, with a grin.
"And Mr. Talmot."
The second man showed his teeth.
"I'm always glad to see members of the club," said Jean busy with the
teapot, "especially men who have had so bad a time as you have. You
have only just come out of prison, haven't you, Mr. Hoggins?" she asked
innocently.
Hoggins went red and coughed.
"Yes, miss," he said huskily and added inconsequently, "I didn't do it!"
"I'm sure you were innocent," she said with a smile of sympathy, "and
really if you were guilty I don't think you men are so much to blame.
Look what a bad time you have! What disadvantages you suffer, whilst
here in the West End people are wasting money that really ought to go to
your wives and children."
"That's right," said Mr. Hoggins.
"There's a girl I know who is tremendously rich," Jean prattled on. "She
lives at 84, Cavendish Mansions, just on the top floor, and, of course,
she's very foolish to sleep with her windows open, especially as people
could get down from the roof--there is a fire escape there. She always
has a lot of jewellery--keeps it under her pillow I think, and there is
generally a few hundred pounds scattered about the bedroom. Now that is
what I call putting temptation in the way of the weak."
She lifted her blue eyes, saw the glitter in the man's eyes and went on.
"I've told her lots of times that there is danger, but she only laughs.
There is an old man who sleeps in the house--quite a feeble old man who
has only the use of one arm. Of course, if she cried out, I suppose he
would come to her rescue, but then a real burglar wouldn't let her cry
out, would he?" she asked.
The two men looked at one another.
"No," breathed one.
"Especially as they could get clean away if they were clever," said
Jean, "and it isn't likely that they would leave her in a condition to
betray them, is it?"
Mr. Hoggins cleared his throat.
"It's not very likely, miss," he said.
Jean shrugged her shoulders.
"Women do these things, and then they blame the poor man to whom a
thousand pounds would be a fortune because he comes and takes it.
Personally, I should not like to live at 84, Cavendish Mansions."
"84, Cavendish Mansions," murmured Mr. Hoggins absent-mindedly.
His last sentence had been one of ten years' penal servitude. His next
sentence would be for life. Nobody knew this better than Jean
Briggerland as she went on to talk of the club and of the wonderful work
which it was doing.
She dismissed her visitors and went back to her sitting-room. As she
turned to go up the stairway her maid intercepted her.
"Mary is in your room, miss," she said in a low voice.
Jean frowned but made no reply.
The woman who stood awkwardly in the centre of the room awaiting the
girl, greeted her with an apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry, miss," she said, "but I lost my job this morning. That old
man spotted me. He's a split--a detective."
Jean Briggerland regarded her with an unmoved face save that her
beautiful mouth took on the pathetic little droop which had excited the
pity of a judge and an army of lawyers.
"When did this happen?" she asked.
"Last night, miss. He came and I got a bit cheeky to him, and he turned
on me, the old devil, and told me my real name and that I'd got the job
by forging recommendations."
Jean sat down slowly in the padded Venetian chair before her writing
table.
"Jaggs?" she asked.
"Yes, miss."
"And why didn't you come here at once?"
"I thought I might be followed, miss."
The girl bit her lip and nodded.
"You did quite right," she said, and then after a moment's reflection,
"We shall be in Paris next week. You had better go by the night train
and wait for us at the flat."
She gave the maid some money and after she had gone, sat for an hour
before the fire looking into its red depths.
She rose at last a little stiffly, pulled the heavy silken curtain
across the windows and switched on the light, and there was a smile on
her face that was very beautiful to see. For in that hour came an
inspiration.
She sought her father in his study and told him her plan, and he
blanched and shivered with the very horror of it.