“Did he see and recognize you?”

“That I do not know.  Probably he did.”

Mr. Redmayne lighted a cigar which he took from a box on a little table by the open hearth.  He drew several deep breaths before he spoke again.

“This is a very disquieting circumstance and I greatly wish it had not happened,” he said.  “There may be no cause for alarm; but, on the other hand, when we consider the disappearance of my brother Bendigo, I have a right to feel fear.  By some miracle, Robert, for the last six months, has continued to evade capture and conceal the fact of his insanity.  That means I am now faced with a most formidable danger, Jenny, and it behooves me to exercise the greatest possible care of my person.  You, too, for all we can say, may be in peril.”

“I may be,” she said.  “But you matter more.  We must do something swiftly, uncle—­to-day—­this very hour.”

“Yes,” he admitted.  “We are painfully challenged by Providence, my child.  Heaven helps those who help themselves, however.  I have never before, to my knowledge, been in any physical danger and the sensation is exceedingly unpleasant.  We will drink some strong tea and then determine our course of action.  I confess that I feel a good deal perturbed.”

His words were at variance with his quiet and restrained expression, but Mr. Redmayne had never told a falsehood in his life and Jenny knew that he was indeed alarmed.

“You must not stop here to-night,” she said.  “You must cross to Bellagio and stay with Signor Poggi until we know more.”

“We shall see as to that.  Prepare the tea and leave me for half an hour to reflect.”

“But—­but—­Uncle Albert—­he—­he might come at any moment!”

“Do not think so.  He is now, poor soul, a creature of the night.  We need not fear that he will intrude in honest sunshine upon the haunts of men.  Leave me and tell Ernesto to admit nobody who is not familiar to him.  But I repeat, we need fear nothing until after dark.”

In half an hour Jenny returned with Mr. Redmayne’s tea.

“Assunta has just come back.  She has seen nothing more of—­of Uncle Robert.”

For a time Albert said nothing.  He drank, and ate a large macaroon biscuit.  Then he told his niece the plans he was prepared to follow.

“Providence is, I think, upon our side, pretty one,” he began, “for my amazing friend, Peter Ganns, who designed to visit me in September, has already arrived in England; and when he hears of this ugly sequel to the story I confided in his ears last winter, I am bold to believe that he will hasten to me immediately and not hesitate to modify his plans.  He is a methodical creature and hates to change; but circumstances alter cases and I feel justified in telling you that he will come as soon as he conveniently can do so.  This I say because he loves me.”

“I’m sure he will,” declared Jenny.

“Write me two letters,” continued Albert.  “One to Mr. Mark Brendon, the young detective from Scotland Yard, of whom I entertained a high opinion; and also write to your husband.  Direct Brendon to approach Peter Ganns and beg them both to come to me as quickly as their affairs allow.  Also bid Giuseppe to return to you immediately.  He will serve to protect us, for he is fearless and resolute.”