"I love her," he replied at length, "because I love everything that is lovely; and without prejudice I do honestly believe she is about the loveliest young woman I have ever seen. Her face more nearly resembles that of Botticelli's Venus than any living being in my experience; and it is the sweetest face I know. Therefore I love her outside very much indeed, Peter.

"But when it comes to her inside, I feel not so sure. That is natural, for this reason, that I do not know her at all well yet. I have seldom seen her in childhood, or had any real acquaintance with her until now. When I know her better, it is pretty certain that I shall love her all through; but one must confess I can never know her very well, because the gap in age denies perfect understanding.

Nor does she come to me, as it were, alone. Her life turns to her husband. She is still a bride and adores him."

"You have no reason to think her as an unhappy bride?"

"None whatever. Doria is amazingly handsome and attractive--the type a woman generally worships. I grant that Italo-English marriages are not remarkable for their success; but--well, no doubt Jenny's husband is worldly-wise. He has everything to gain by being good, everything to lose by behaving badly. Jenny is a proud girl. She has qualities. There is a distinction about her. She would stand no nonsense from Doria and she knows that I would stand no nonsense from him. I hope to see much of her, though it appears that their home will be in Turin."

"He has abandoned his ambitions to recover the family estates and t.i.tle and so forth? Brendon told me all about that."

"Entirely. Besides it seems that one of your countrymen has secured the castle at Dolceacqua and bought the t.i.tle too. Giuseppe was very entertaining on the subject. But I'm afraid he loves idleness."

Before luncheon Mark Brendon returned from the hills with his guide.

They had seen nothing of Robert Redmayne and appeared to be rather weary of one another's company.

"You must impart your wisdom and gay spirit to Signor Marco," said Giuseppe to Mr. Ganns, when Brendon was out of earshot with Jenny.

"He is a very dull dog and does not even listen when I talk. Not simpatico, I suppose. He will never find out anything. Will you, I wonder? Have you any ideas? A new broom sweeps clean, as you say."

"I must suck your brains before you suck mine, Doria," said Peter genially. "I want to hear what you think of this man in the red waistcoat. We must have a talk."

"Gladly, gladly, Signor Peter. I have seen him now many times--in England three--four times--in Italy once. He is always the same."

"Not a spook?"

"A spirit? No. Very much alive. But how he lives and what he lives for--who can tell?"

"You do not fear on account of Mr. Redmayne?"

"I much fear on account of him," answered Doria. "And when my wife told me that she had seen him, I telegraphed from Turin that they should be careful and run no risk whatever of a meeting. Jenny's uncle is frightened when he thinks about it; but we keep his thoughts away as much as possible. It is bad for him to fear. For the love of Heaven, good signor, get to the bottom of it if you can.

My idea is to set a trap for this red man and catch him, like a fox or other wild creature."

"A very cute notion," declared Peter. "We'll rope you in, Giuseppe.

Between you and me and the post, our friend Brendon has been barking up the wrong tree, you know. But if you and I and he, together, can't clean this up, then we're not the men I take us for."

Doria laughed.

"'Deeds are men; words are women,'" he said. "There has been too much chatter about this; but now you are come; we shall see things accomplished."

It was not until after the midday meal that Ganns and Mark were able to get speech together. Then, promising to return in time to meet Virgilio Poggi, who would cross the lake for tea, the two men sauntered beside Como and exchanged experiences. The interview proved painful to the younger, for he found that Peter's doubts were cleared in certain directions. Brendon, indeed, led up to his own chastening very directly.

"It makes me mad," he said, "to see the way that beggar treats his wife--Doria I mean. Pearls before swine. I never hoped much from it; but to think they have only been married three months!''

"How does he treat her?"

"Well, one isn't blind to her appearance. The cause is, of course, concealed; the effect, very visible to my eyes. She's far too plucky to whisper her troubles; but she can't hide her face, where they may be read."

Mr. Ganns said nothing and Mark spoke again.

"Do you begin to see any light?"

"Not much upon the main problem. A minor feature has cleared, however. I know the rock you split upon, my son. You were in love with Jenny Pendean from the moment you knew that she was a widow.

And you're in love with Jenny Doria now. And to be in love with one of the princ.i.p.als in a case, is to handicap yourself out of the hunt, as far as that case is concerned."

Brendon stared but made no answer.

"Human nature has its limits, Mark, and love's a pretty radical pa.s.sion. No man ever did, or could, do himself justice in any task whatever--not while he was blinded with love of a woman. Love's a jealous party and won't stand compet.i.tors. So it follows that if you were in love anyway you wouldn't be at your best; and how much more so when the lady in your case was the lady in _the_ case?"

"You wrong me," answered the other rather hotly. "That is really unreasonable. Emphatically the incident made no sort of difference, for the very good reason that she was not in the case, save as an innocent sufferer from the evil actions of others. She helped me rather than hindered me. Despite all she was called to endure, she kept her nerve from the first and fought her own grief that she might make everything clear to me. If I did come to love her, that made no sort of difference to my att.i.tude to my work."

"But it made a mighty lot of difference to your att.i.tude to her.

However, your word runs with me, Mark, and I'm very willing to attach all due importance to your conclusions. But I am not in the least willing to accept your estimate of anybody's character without further proofs. You mustn't feel it personal. Only remember that I'm not in this case for my health, and, so far, I have had no reason whatever to eliminate anybody."

"We know some things without proof and are proud to take them on trust," answered Brendon. "Have I not seen Mrs. Doria under affliction and in situations unspeakably difficult? She has been marvellously brave. After her own great sorrow, her only thought was her unfortunate relations. She buried her own crushing grief--"

"And in nine months was married to another man."

"She is young and you have seen for yourself what her husband is.

Who can tell what measures he took to win her? All I know is that she has made an appalling mistake. Perhaps I feel it rather than know it; but I'm positive."

"Well," said Peter quietly. "It's no good playing about. At a seemly opportunity, after her husband died, I guess you told her you loved her and asked her to marry you. She declined; but it didn't end there. She's got you on the string at this moment."

"That's not true, Ganns. You don't understand me--or her."

"Well, I do not ask much; but since I have picked up this thing for Albert's sake, there's one point on which I insist. If you are going to take Jenny into your confidence and a.s.sume that she has no wish or desire other than to see justice done and the mystery cleared, then I can't work with you, Mark."

"You wrong her, but that doesn't matter, I suppose. What does matter is that you wrong me," said Brendon, with fierce eyes fixed upon the elder. "I've never thought or dreamed of confiding in her, or anybody else. I've nothing to confide, for that matter. I did love her, and I do love her, and I'm deeply concerned and troubled to see the mess she's in with this blighter; but I'm a detective first and last and always over this business; and I have some credit in my painful profession."

"Good. Remember that, whatever happens. And keep your temper with me, too, because nothing is gained by losing it. I'm not saying a word against Mrs. Doria, but inasmuch as she is Mrs. Doria and inasmuch as Doria is as yet very much an unknown quant.i.ty to you and me, you must understand that I don't allow appearances to blind my eyes or control my actions. Now if a woman hints, or indicates, that she is unhappily married, then nothing is more natural than that a man like yourself, who entertains the tenderest feelings to the woman, should believe what he sees and regard her melancholy as genuine. It looks all right; but suppose, for their own ends, that Jenny Doria and her spouse want to create this impression? Suppose that their object is to lead you and me to imagine that they are not friends?"

"My G.o.d! What would you make of her?"

"It isn't what I'd make of her. It's what she really is. And that I'm going to find out, because a great deal more may depend upon it than you appear to imagine."

"A moment's reflection will surely convince you that neither she nor Doria--"

"Wait, wait! I'm only saying that we must not allow character, fancied or real, to dam any channel of investigation. If reflection convinces me that it is impossible for Doria to be in collusion with Robert Redmayne, I shall admit it. As yet that is not so. There are several very interesting points. Have you asked yourself why Bendigo Redmayne's diary is missing?"

"I have--and could not see how it was likely to contain anything dangerous to Robert Redmayne."

Peter did not enlighten him for the moment. Then he spoke and changed the subject.

"I must find out several fundamental facts and I certainly shall not learn them here," he said. "Next week in all probability, unless something unexpected happens to prevent it, I go back to England."

"Can't I go?'"

"I shall want you here; but our understanding must be complete before I leave.''

"Trust me for that," said Mark.