“You think, then, that Doria and Robert Redmayne may be running in double harness?  And perhaps you think that Jenny Doria knows this fact and that in this secret knowledge her present misery lies?”

“No need to drag her in; but your own question suggests the possibility.”

“Not against my own knowledge.  She could be a willing party to no crime.  It is contrary to her inherent character, Ganns.”

“And yet you’re a detective ’first and last and always’—­eh?  One would think that I wanted you to put her through the third degree.  Not that I ever put any man or woman through it myself.  It is dirty business and quite unworthy of our great service.  We’ll leave Mrs. Doria, then, and concentrate on her husband.  There are a lot of very interesting things to find out about Doria, my boy.”

“You forget that he only came into this business at ‘Crow’s Nest.’”

“How can I forget what I don’t know?  Why do you say he only came into it at ‘Crow’s Nest’?  He may have come into it at Foggintor.  Perhaps he and not Robert Redmayne, or any other, cut Michael Pendean’s throat?”

“Impossible.  Consider.  Is not Michael’s widow Doria’s wife?”

“What, then?  I’m not saying she knew he was the murderer.”

“Another thing:  Doria was the servant of Bendigo Redmayne at the time.”

“And how do you know even so much?”

Brendon showed impatience.

“My dear Ganns, that’s common knowledge.”

“Common nothing!  You can’t swear he was the servant of Bendigo Redmayne on the day that the murder was committed.  To prove as much would entail an amount of solid research that might surprise you.  Of this crowd, only Doria for certain knows when he joined up at ‘Crow’s Nest.’  His wife may, or may not, know.  I’m quite unprepared to take Giuseppe’s word for the date.”

“That’s why you wanted Bendigo Redmayne’s log then?”

“One of the reasons certainly.  The diary may be here yet.  You can use your eyes when we are away and try to find it.  If you are allowed to stumble on it, note particularly any pages torn out or erased or faked.”

“You still believe that those about Mr. Redmayne are criminals ?’’

“I believe that it becomes necessary to prove they are not.  Perhaps you’ll succeed in doing so before we return.  There’s a devil of a lot of clearing to be done yet before we begin building.  What beats me frankly is the fact that my old friend Albert is still alive.  I can see no reason whatever why he should be—­and a dozen why he should not.”

“Thanks to your forethought in coming unexpectedly, perhaps.”

“With all the will and wit in the world you can’t prevent one man from killing another if he wants to do so—­that is, assuming the would-be murderer is at liberty and unknown.  One more thing, Mark.  When I leave with Mr. Redmayne, I disappear altogether, and so does he.  It must be understood that nobody here is going to hear anything about us till we come back again.  If you want me very urgently, you must telegraph to New Scotland Yard, where my direction will be known, but nowhere else.  And look after yourself sharply too.  Don’t run any needless risks on trust.  You may be in danger and certainly will be if you get on the scent.”