A GHOST
The next morning, while he rubbed his bruises in a hot bath, Brendon determined upon a course of action. He proposed to tell Jenny and her husband exactly what had happened to him, merely concealing the end of the story.
He breakfasted, lighted his pipe and limped over to Villa Pianezzo. He was not in reality very lame, but accentuated the stiffness. Only Assunta appeared, though Brendon's eyes had marked Doria and Jenny together in the neighbourhood of the silkworm house as he entered the garden. He asked for Giuseppe and, having left Brendon in the sitting-room of the villa, Assunta departed. Almost immediately afterward Jenny greeted him with evident pleasure but reproved him.
"We waited an hour for supper," she said, "then Giuseppe would wait no longer. I was beginning to get frightened and I have been frightened all night. I am thankful to see you, for I feared something serious might have happened."
"Something serious did happen. I've got a strange story to tell. Is your husband within reach? He must hear it, too, I think. He may be in some danger as well as others."
She expressed impatience and shook her head.
"Can't you believe me? But of course you can't. Why should you? Doria in danger! However, if you want him, you don't want me, Mark."
It was the first time that she had thus addressed him and his heart throbbed; but the temptation to confide in her lasted not a moment.
"On the contrary I want you both," he answered. "I attach very great weight to the hints you have given me—not only for my sake but for your own. The end is not yet as far as you're concerned, Jenny, for your welfare is more to me than anything else in the world—you know it. Trust me to prove that presently. But other things come first. I must do what I am here to do, before I am free to do what I long to do."
"I trust you—and only you," she said. "In all this bewilderment and misery, you are now the only steadfast rock to which I can cling. Don't desert me, that's all that I ask."
"Never! All that's best in me shall be devoted to you, thankfully and proudly—now that you have wished it. Trust me, I say again. Call your husband. I want to tell you both what happened to me yesterday."
Again she hesitated and gazed intently upon him.
"Are you sure that you are wise? Would Mr. Ganns like you to tell Doria anything?"
"You will judge better when you have heard me."
Again he longed to confide in her and show her that he understood the truth; but two considerations shut his mouth: the thought of Peter Ganns and the reflection that the more Jenny knew, the greater might be her own peril. This last conviction made him conclude their conference.
"Call him. We must not let him think that we have anything of a private nature to say to each other. It is vital that he should not imagine such a thing."
"You have secrets from me—though I have let you know my own secret," she murmured, preparing to obey him.
"If I keep anything from you, it is for your own good—for your own security," he replied.
She left him then and in a few moments returned with her husband. He was full of curiosity and under his usual assumption of cheerfulness Brendon perceived considerable anxiety.
"An adventure, Signor Marco? I know that without you telling me. Your face is solemn as a raven and you walked stiffly as you came to the door. I saw you from the silkworms. What has happened?"
"I've had a squeak of my life," replied Mark, "and I've made a stupid mistake. You must pay all attention to what I'm going to tell you, Doria, for we can't say who is in danger now and who is not. The shot that very nearly ended my career yesterday might just as easily have been aimed at you, had you been in my place."
"A shot? Not the red man? A smuggler perhaps? You may have stumbled upon some of them, and knowing no Italian—"
"It was Robert Redmayne who fired upon me and missed by a miracle."
Jenny uttered an exclamation of fear. "Thank God!" she said under her breath.
Then Brendon told the story in every detail and explained his own ruse. He related nothing but the truth—up to a certain point; but beyond that he described events that had not taken place.
"Having made the faked figure, I hid just before dusk fairly close to it intending, of course, to keep watch, for I was positive that the murderer, as he would suppose himself to be, must come back after dark to hide his work. But now ensued an awkward contretemps for which I had not provided. I found myself faint—so faint that I began to be alarmed. I had not eaten since the morning and the food and flask which I had brought with me were half a mile and more away. They remained, of course, where I had left them when I started to chase Redmayne. It was a choice between attempting to reach the food while I could do so, or stopping and growing chilled and every moment weaker.
"I am not made of iron and the day had been rather strenuous for me. I was bruised and lame and utterly played out. I decided that I should have time to reach my food and return to my hiding-place before the moon rose. But it was not such an easy or speedy business as I had expected. It took me a long time to get back to the starting-place and when I did, a search was needed before I found my sandwiches and flask of Chianti. Never was a meal more welcome. I soon felt my strength returning and set off in half an hour on the journey back to the plateau.
"Then my troubles began. You'll think the wine got into my head and it may have done so; but at any rate I lost the path most effectually and presently lost myself. I began to despair and had very nearly given up any further attempt to return when, out of the trees, blinked the white face of the precipice under Griante's crown and I recognized the situation. Then I went slowly and silently forward and kept a sharp lookout.
"But I returned too late. Once back again, a glance at the dummy showed me that I had lost my chance. It had been handled. The trunk was in one place, the grass head, with my cap upon it, lay in another. One knew that no fox or other wild creature would have disturbed it thus.
"Dead silence hung over the spot; and now, half fearing an ambush in my turn, I waited an hour before emerging. Not a soul was there. Redmayne had clearly come, discovered my escape and then departed again. Even in that moment I considered what I should have done had he confiscated my clothes! It would then have been necessary to tramp to my hotel in the white shirt and scanty underclothing which was all that remained to me. But now I donned my jacket and knickerbockers, cap and stockings and then prepared to depart.
"There was a smell of earth in the air—a reek of upturned mould; but what that may have been I cannot say. I soon started downhill and, presently, striking a path to the north, entered the chestnut woods and was at my hotel an hour after midnight. That is my story and I propose to-day to revisit the spot. I shall engage the local police who have orders to assist us—that is, unless you, Doria, can spare time to accompany me yourself. I would rather not ask them; but I do not go there again alone."
Jenny looked at her husband and waited to speak until he had done so. But Giuseppe appeared more interested at what had already happened to Brendon than in what was next to happen. He asked many questions, to which Mark was able to return true replies. Then he declared that he would certainly accompany the detective to the scene of his adventure.
"We will go armed this time," he said.
But Jenny protested.
"Mr. Brendon is not nearly well enough to climb there again to-day," she declared. "He is lame and must be feeling the effects of yesterday. I beg him not to attempt to go again so soon."
Doria said nothing but looked at Mark.
"I shall best lose my stiffness by another climb," he assured them.
"That is very true. We will be in no hurry."
"If you go, I come too," said the woman quietly; and both men protested. But she would take no denial.
"I will carry your meal for you," she said, and though they opposed her again, went off to prepare it. Giuseppe also disappeared, that he might leave an order for the day with Ernesto, and Jenny had joined Brendon again before he returned. He had begged her once more not to accompany them; but she was impatient.
"How dull you are for all your fame, Mark"; she replied. "Can you not think and put two and two together where I am concerned, as you do in everything else? I am safe enough with my husband. It will not pay him to destroy me—yet. But you. Even now I implore you not to go up again alone. He is as wily as a cat. He will make some excuse, disappear and meet the other villain. They won't fail twice—and what can a woman do to help you against two of them?"
"I want no help. I shall be armed."
They started, however, and Jenny's fears were not realized. Doria showed no levity and did nothing suspicious. He kept close to Brendon, offered him an arm at steep places and advanced a dozen theories of the incidents reported. He was deeply interested and reiterated his surprise that the unknown's shot should have missed Brendon.
"It is better to be lucky than wise," he declared. "And yet who shall not call you very wise indeed? That was a great ruse—to fall as though dead when the bullet had missed its billet."
Brendon did not reply and little was said as they proceeded to the scene of his adventures; but presently Doria spoke again.
"One eye of the master sees more than six of his servants. We shall hear how Pietro Ganns understands all this. But I am thinking of the red man. What is in his mind this morning? He is very savage with himself and perhaps frightened. Because he knows that we know. He is a murderer still. He does not repent."
They scoured the scene of Brendon's exploit presently and it was Jenny who found the shallow grave. She was very pale and shivering when they responded to her call.
"That is where you would be now!" she said to Mark.
But he was occupied with the mould piled beside the pit. Here and there were prints of heavy feet and Doria declared that the impression of the nails pointed to such boots as the mountain men habitually wore. Nothing else rewarded the search; but Giuseppe was full of theories and Brendon, occupied with his own thoughts, allowed him to chatter without interruption. For his part he felt doubtful whether any further apparition of Robert Redmayne might be expected. This failure would probably put a period to his activity for a time.
Mark determined to take no action until Mr. Ganns came back to Menaggio. Meanwhile he proposed to occupy himself with the husband and wife and, so far as possible, preserve an attitude of friendship to them both. That relations were secretly strained between them appeared clear enough; and the results of casual but frequent visits to the Villa Pianezzo were summed in the detective's mind before Mr. Redmayne and Peter returned. He believed most firmly that Doria was in collusion with the secret antagonist, and intended ultimate mischief to his wife's uncle for his own ends; and he was equally convinced that Jenny, while conscious enough that her husband could not be trusted and meant evil, as yet hardly guessed the full extent of his infernal purpose.
Had she known that Giuseppe and Robert Redmayne were actually working together to destroy Albert Redmayne, Brendon believed that she would tell him. But he guessed that she knew nothing definite, while suspecting much. She had shown the most acute concern at his own danger, and more than once implored Mark to do nothing but look after his own safety until Peter Ganns was back again. Meantime the rift between her spouse and herself appeared to grow. She was tearful and anxious, yet still chose to be vague, though she did admit that she thought she had glimpsed Robert Redmayne again, one evening. But Brendon did not press her again to confide in him, though Doria showed no sort of jealousy. He often left them together for hours and exhibited to the detective a very amiable attitude. He, too, on more than one occasion confessed that matrimony was a state overvaunted.
"Praise married life by all means, Signor Marco," he said, "but—keep single. Peace, my friend, is the highest happiness, and the rarest."
The days passed and presently, without any warning, Albert Redmayne and the American suddenly reappeared. They arrived at Menaggio after noon.
Mr. Redmayne was in the highest spirits and delighted to be home again. He knew nothing about Peter's operations and cared less. His visit to England was spent at London, where he had renewed acquaintance with certain book collectors, seen and handled many precious things, and surprised and gratified himself to observe his own physical energies and enterprise.
"I am still wonderfully strong, Jenny," he told his niece. "I have been most active in mind and body and am by no means so far down the hill of old age, that ends by the River of Lethe, as I imagined."
He made a good meal, and then, despite the long night in the train, insisted on sending for a boat and crossing the water to Bellagio.
"I have a present for my Poggi," he said, "and I cannot sleep until I hear his voice and hold his hand."
Ernesto went for a waterman and soon a boat waited at the steps, which descended from Mr. Redmayne's private apartments to the lake. He rowed away and Brendon, who had come to see Doria and found to his surprise that Redmayne and Peter were back again, anticipated some private hours with Mr. Ganns. But the traveller was weary and, after one of Assunta's famous omelettes and three glasses of white wine, he declared that he must retire and sleep as long as nature ordained slumber.
He spoke before the listening Giuseppe, but addressed his remarks to Brendon.
"I'm exceedingly short of rest," he said. "Whether I have done the least good by my inquiries remains to be seen. To be frank, I doubt it. We'll have a talk to-morrow, Mark; and maybe Doria will remember a thing or two that happened at 'Crow's Nest' and so help me. But until I have slept I am useless."
He withdrew presently, carrying his notebook in his hand, while Brendon, promising to return after breakfast on the following morning, strolled to the silkworm house where the last of the caterpillars had spun its golden shroud. He was not depressed by the weary tones of Peter's voice nor the discouraging nature of his brief statement, for, while speaking, Mr. Ganns had discounted his pessimism by a pregnant wink unseen by Doria. It was clear to Brendon that he had no intention of acquainting Giuseppe with any new facts—if such there might be; and this interested Mark the more because, as yet, Peter was quite ignorant of his own adventure on Griante. He had kept it out of the post, not desiring to obtrude anything between Mr. Ganns and his personal activities.
On the following day it was Mr. Redmayne who found himself weary. Reaction came and he slept all that night and determined to keep his bed for twenty-four hours. It seemed, however, that he was going to find occupation for everybody. He directed Doria to visit Milan, on a mission to secondhand booksellers, and Jenny was sent to Varenna with a gift for an acquaintance.
Brendon perceived that it was designed to keep both husband and wife out of the way for a few hours; but whether Doria suspected the intention he could not judge. Certainly Jenny did not. She welcomed the excursion to Varenna, for her uncle's correspondent was a widow lady and Jenny already knew her and valued her friendship.
Brendon arrived at Villa Pianezzo just as the twain were starting on their missions, and he and Peter walked to the landing stage with them and saw them departing in different steamers.
Even this arrangement, however, failed to satisfy Ganns. He was mysterious.
"If his steamboat stopped nowhere between here and Como, we wouldn't need to trouble," he said; "but as it does, and Doria might hop off anywhere and come back in an hour, we'll just drift back to Albert."
"He will be asleep and we can have our yarn out without fear of interruption," answered Mark.
They soon sat together on a shady seat of the villa garden from which the entrance was visible, and Peter, bringing out his notebook, took a great pinch of snuff, set his gold box on a little table before him, and turned to Brendon.
"You shoot first," he said; "there are three things I need to know. Have you seen the red man and what is your present opinion concerning Doria and his wife? Needn't ask if you found Bendigo's diary, because I am dead sure you did not."
"I didn't. I directed Jenny to have a hunt and she invited me to help her. For the rest I have seen Robert Redmayne, for we may safely speak of the unknown by that name, and I have come to a very definite conclusion concerning Giuseppe Doria and the unfortunate woman who is at present his wife."
A shadow of a smile passed over the great features of Peter.
He nodded and Mark proceeded to tell his story, beginning with the adventure on the mountain. He omitted no detail and described his talk with Doria, the latter's departure to join Jenny on their expedition to Colico, and his own subsequent surprise and escape from death. He told how he had been fired at and fallen, hoping to tempt the other to him, how his assailant had disappeared, and how, at a late hour, he had planned a dummy and seen Giuseppe Doria arrive to bury him.
He narrated how Giuseppe and Robert Redmayne had departed after their disappointment, how he had decided to give Giuseppe an account of the adventure, in order that he might not guess that his share in it was known; and he told how, on the morrow, the Dorias and himself had returned to the spot and found the empty grave with foot-marks of native boots about the margin. He added that Jenny, four days later, had reported a glimpse of a man whom she believed to be her uncle; but it was dark at the time and she could not be positive, though she felt morally sure of him. He was standing two hundred yards from the Villa Pianezzo in a lane from the hills and had turned and hastened away as she approached.
To this statement Peter listened with the deepest attention and he did not disguise his satisfaction when Mark made an end.
"I'm mighty glad for two things," he said. "First that you're in the land of the living, my son, and that a certain bullet passed your ear instead of stopping in that fine forehead of yours; and I'm glad to know what you've told me, because it fits in tolerably well and strengthens an argument you'll hear later. Your little trap was quite smart, though I should have worked it a bit different myself. However, you did a very clever thing, and to take Doria into your confidence afterward was up to our best traditions. Your opinion of him needn't detain us now. There only remains to hear what you may have to say on the subject of his pretty dame."
"My opinion of a very wonderful and brave woman remains unchanged," Brendon answered. "She is the victim of a hateful union and for her the situation must get worse, I fear, before it can get better. She is as straight as a line, Ganns; but of course she knows well enough that her husband's a rascal.
"Needless to say I haven't dropped her a hint of the truth; but while she is loyal in a sense and very careful, on her side, to leave her sufferings or suspicions vague, she doesn't pretend she's happy and she doesn't pretend that Doria is a good husband, or a good man. She knows that I know better. She has been longing for your return and it is a question with me now whether we shall not do wisely to take her into our confidence. If she knew even what we know, she would no doubt see much light herself and afford much light for us. As to her good faith and honour, there can be no question whatever."
"Well—so be it. I've heard you. Now you've got to hear me. We are up against a very marvellous performance, Mark. This case has some of the finest features—some unique even in my experience. Though, as history repeats itself, I dare say there have been bigger blackguards than the great unknown—though surely not many."
"Robert Redmayne?"
Peter broke off for a brief exposition. He took snuff, shut his eyes and began.
"Why do you harp on 'Robert Redmayne,' like a parrot, my son? Just consider all I've said on that matter and the general subject of forgeries for a minute. You can forge anything that man ever made, and a good few things that God has made. You can forge a picture, a postage stamp, a signature, a finger print; and our human minds, accustomed to pictures, postage stamps, finger prints, are easily deceived by appearances and seldom possess the necessary expert knowledge to recognize a forgery when we see it. And now we are dealing with people who have forged a human being, for that is what the red man amounts to.
"Didn't you do the same thing last week? Didn't you forge yourself and leave yourself dead on the ground? Whether the real Robert Redmayne is actually a stiff, we can't yet swear, though for my part I am pretty well prepared to prove it; but this I do know, that the man who shot at you and missed you and ran away was not Robert Redmayne."
Brendon demurred. "Remember, I'm not a stranger to him, Ganns. I saw and spoke with him by the pool in Foggintor Quarry before the murder."
"What of it? You've never spoken with him since; and, what's more, you've never seen him since, either. You've seen a forgery. It was a forgery that looked at you on your way back to Dartmouth in the moonlight. It was a forgery that robbed the farm for food and lived in the cave and cut Bendigo Redmayne's throat. It was a forgery that tried to shoot you and missed."
Mr. Ganns took snuff again and continued.
But as the course of his inquiries belong to the terrible culmination of the mystery and cannot here be told with their just significance, it will suffice to record that Brendon presently found his brain reeling before a theory so extravagant that he would instantly have discredited it from any lesser lips than those of the famous man who propounded them.
"Mind," concluded Peter, who had spoken without ceasing for nearly two hours, "I'm not saying that I am right. I'm only saying that, wild though it sounds, it fits and makes a logical story even though that story beats all experience. It might have happened; and if it didn't happen, then I'm damned if I know what did, or what is happening at this moment. It is a horrible thing, if true; but it's a beautiful thing from the professional point of view—just as a cancer, or a battle, or an earthquake can be beautiful when put in a category outside humanity."
Brendon delayed his answer and his face was racked with many poignant emotions.
"I can't believe it," he replied at length, in a voice which indicated the extent of his mental amazement and perturbation; "but I shall nevertheless do exactly as you direct. That is well within my power and obviously my duty."
"Good boy. And now we'll have something to eat. You've got it clear? The time is all important."
Mark scanned his notebook in which he had made voluminous entries. Then he nodded and shut it.
Suddenly Mr. Ganns laughed. The other's book reminded him of an incident.
"A funny little thing happened yesterday afternoon that I forgot," he said. "I'd turned in, leaving my notebook by my head, when there came a visitor to my room. I was asleep all right, but my heaviest sleep won't hold through the noise of a fly on the windowpane; and lying with my face to the door I heard a tiny sound and lifted one eyelid. The door opened and Signor Doria put his nose in. I'd pulled the blind, but there was plenty of light and he spotted my vade-mecum lying on the bed table a couple of feet from my head. Over he came as quiet as a spider, and I let him get within a yard. Then I yawned and shifted. He was gone like a mosquito, and half an hour later I heard him again. But I got up and he didn't do more than listen outside. He wanted that book bad—you can guess how bad."
For two days Mr. Ganns declared that he must rest; and then there came an evening when he privately invited Doria to take a walk.
"There's a few things I'd like to put to you," he said. "You needn't let on to anybody else about it and we won't start together. You know my favourite stroll up the hill. Meet me at the corner—say seven o'clock."
Giuseppe gladly agreed.
"We will go up to the shrine of Madonna del farniente," he declared; and when the time came, Peter found him at the spot. They ascended the hill side by side and the elder invited Doria's aid.
"Between ourselves," he began, "I am not too well pleased with the way this inquiry is panning out. Brendon's all right and means as well as any bull that ever I worked with. He does a clever thing here and there—as when he shammed death up on the mountain; but what was the sense of setting that trap and then missing his man? I shouldn't have done that. You wouldn't have done it. In plain words there's some dope coming between Mark and his work, and I should like to hear what you think of him, you being an independent witness and a pretty shrewd cuss. You've had a chance to study his make-up, so tell me what you think. I'm tired of fooling around this job—and being fooled myself."
"Marco is in love with my wife," answered Giuseppe calmly. "That is what's the matter with him. And, as I don't trust my wife in this affair and still believe that she knows more about the red man than anybody else, I think, as long as she hoodwinks Brendon, he will be no manner of use to you."
Peter pretended to be much astonished.
"My stars! You take it pretty cool!"
"For the good reason that I am no longer in love with my wife myself. I am not a dog in the manger. I want peace and quietness. I have no use for intrigues and plots. I am a plain man, Signor Pietro. Mystery bores me. Moreover I live in fear of getting into a mess myself. I do not see where I come in at all. My wife and this unknown rascal are after something; and if you want to get to the bottom of this, watch her—not me. The blow you fear may fall at any moment."
"You'd say trail Jenny?"
"That is what I would say. Sooner or later she'll make an excuse to be off to the mountains alone. Let her start and then follow her up with Brendon. The problem is surely simple enough: to catch this red Redmayne. If you cannot do it, tell the police and the doganieri. There is a force of smuggler hunters always on the spot and ready to your hand. Describe this savage, human fox and offer a big reward for his brush. He will be caught quickly enough then."
Mr. Ganns nodded and stood still.
"I shouldn't wonder if that may not have to be done; but I'd a deal sooner take him ourselves if we could. Anyway I must get a move on this fortnight, for to stop longer in Italy is impossible. Yet how am I going to beat it and leave my old friend at the mercy of this threat? While I'm alongside him, he's safe, I guess; but what may happen as soon as I turn my back?"
"Can I not help you?"
But Mr. Ganns shook his head.
"Can't work in cahoots with you, son, because I begin to fear you are right when you say your wife's against us; and a man isn't to be trusted to pull down his own wife."
"If that's all—"
They proceeded slowly and Peter kept the ball of conversation rolling while he pretended to be very busy with his plans and projects. He promised also that, when Jenny went to the hills alone, he and Brendon would secretly follow her.
Then a very strange thing happened. As the first firefly streaked the dusk and the ruined shrine rose beside the way, a tall man suddenly appeared in front of it. He had not been there a moment before, yet now he bulked large in the purple evening light, and it was not yet so dark but his remarkable features challenged the beholders. For there stood Robert Redmayne, his great, red head and huge mustache thrusting out of the gloom. He stared quite motionless. His hands were by his sides; the stripes of his tweed jacket could be seen and the gilt buttons on the familiar red waistcoat.
Doria started violently, then stiffened. For a moment he failed to conceal his surprise and cast one look of evident horror and amazement at the apparition. He clearly knew the tall figure, but there was no friendship or understanding in the bewildered stare he now turned upon the shadow that filled the path. For a moment he brushed his hand over his eyes, as though to remove the object upon which he glared; then he looked again—to find the lane empty and Ganns gazing at him.
"What's wrong?" asked Peter.
"Christ! Did you see him—right in the path—Robert Redmayne?"
But the other only stared at Giuseppe and peered forward.
"I saw nothing," he said; whereupon like lightning, the Italian's manner changed. His concern vanished and he laughed aloud.
"What a fool—what a fool am I! It was the shadow of the shrine!"
"You've got the red man on your nerves, I guess. I don't blame you. What did you think you saw?"
"No—no, signor; I have no nerves. I saw nothing. It was a shadow."
Ganns instantly dismissed the subject and appeared to attach no importance whatever to it; but Doria's mood was altered. He became less expansive and more alert.
"We'll turn now," announced Peter half an hour afterwards. "You're a smart lad and you've given me a bright thought or two. We must lecture Mark. It may be better for you, as her husband, to pretend a bit, even though you don't feel it. Let me know privately when Mrs. Doria is for the hills."
He stopped, kept his eye on Giuseppe and took a pinch of snuff.
"Maybe we'll get a move on to-morrow," he said.
Doria, now self-possessed but fallen taciturn, smiled at him and his white teeth shone through the gloom.
"Of to-morrow nobody is sure," he answered. "The man who knows what is to happen to-morrow would rule the world."
"I'm hopeful of to-morrow all the same."
"A detective must be hopeful," answered Giuseppe. "So often hope is all that he has got."
Chaffing each other amiably they returned together.