“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 assume 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 quantity 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 God!  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?”