Ralston Murray loved us very much, but he didn't wish for our advice. Indeed, he wished for nothing at all from any one—except to be let alone.
He had said to Gaby Jennings that he would always want Rosemary back whatever he heard about her past; but now, believing Gaby's story with its additional proofs, at all events he had no more hope of getting her back. In his eyes she was another man's wife. He did not expect to see her again in this world.
Jim and I could do nothing with him: Jim was helpless because he also, at heart, believed Gaby, and defended Rosemary only to please me; I had ceased to be of use, because I could give no reason for my faith in her. What good to say: "There must be some awful misunderstanding!" when there were those cablegrams from Baltimore and Washington? Gaby would not have shown copies of her own messages with the address of her correspondent, if she hadn't been willing that Murray should make inquiries as to the man's identity and bona fides.
We could not persuade him to wait, before keeping his promise to Mrs. Jennings, until he had heard from America. He knew what he should hear, he said. Besides, a promise was a promise. He didn't care whether Paul had stolen his heirlooms or not, but there was no proof that he had, and people must be presumed innocent until they were found to be guilty. Nor did he care what Jennings' designs on him might be. It was too far-fetched to suppose that the man had any designs; but no greater kindness could now be done to him, Ralston, than to put him for ever out of his misery.
This was mad talk; but in a way Ralston Murray went mad that day when he lost Rosemary. No doctor, no alienist, would have pronounced him mad, of course. Rather would I have seemed insane in my defence of Rosemary Brandreth. But when the man's heart broke, something snapped in his brain. All was darkness there. He had turned his back on hope, and could not bear to hear the word.
We did persuade him, in justice to Rosemary, to let us cable a New York detective agency whose head Jim had known well. This man was instructed to learn whether Gaby's friend had told the truth about Captain Brandreth and his wife: whether she had sailed for Europe on the Aquitania, upon a certain date; and whether the pair had been living together before Mrs. Brandreth left for Europe.
When news came confirming Gaby's story, and, a little later, mentioning that Mrs. Brandreth had returned from abroad, Ralston said: "I knew it would be so. There's nothing more to do." But I felt that there was a great deal more to do; and I was bent on doing it. The next thing was to induce Jim to let me do it.
To my first proposition he agreed willingly. Now that I had shot my bolt, there was no longer any objection to employing detectives against the Jenningses. Indeed, there was a strong incentive. If their guilt could be proved, Ralston Murray would not be quite insane enough to keep Paul on as his doctor.
We both liked the idea of putting my old friend Mr. Smith on to the case, and applied to him upon our own responsibility, without a word to Murray. But this was nothing compared with my second suggestion. I wanted to rush over to America and see for myself whether Rosemary was living in Washington as the wife of Guy Brandreth.
"What! You'd leave me here, and go across the Atlantic without me on a wild-goose chase?" Jim shouted.