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.