“I do not mind whether you believe it or no.  Feel as savage as you please.  For that matter I feel rather savage myself.  There is a new ferocity creeping into me.  If you keep company with a wolf, you will soon learn to howl—­that’s why I howl a good deal in secret, I can tell you.  Soon I shall howl so that everybody will hear.  So now you know how it is with me.  I am outside her secrets and feel no wish whatever to learn them, save as they affect me.  If she will give me a few thousand pounds and let me vanish out of her life, I shall be delighted to do so.  I did not marry her for her money; but since love is dead, I shall like a little of the cash to start me at Turin.  Then she is free as air.  It will pay you quite well to try and arrange the bargain.”

Brendon could hardly believe his ears, but the Italian appeared very much in earnest.  He chattered on for some time.  Then he looked at his watch and declared that he must descend.

“The steamer is coming soon,” he said.  “Now I leave you and I hope that I have done good.  Think how to help me and yourself.  What she now feels to you I cannot tell.  Your turn may come.  I trust so.  I am not at all jealous.  But be warned.  This red man—­he is no friend to you or me.  You seek him again to-day.  So be it.  And if you find him, be careful of your skin.  Not that a man can protect his skin against fate.  We meet at supper.”

He swung away, singing a canzonet, and quickly vanished, while Brendon, overwhelmed by this extraordinary conversation, sat for an hour motionless and deep in thought.  He could hardly plough his path through what appeared a jungle of flagrant falsehood.  But where another man had striven to find underlying purpose in this diatribe and consider Doria’s object in choosing him for a confessor, Brendon, while swift enough to regard the attack on Jenny as foul and false, yet did not hesitate to believe that which his own desire drove him to believe.  He sifted the grain from the chaff, doubtfully guided by his own passion, and saw the Italian’s wife free.  But he could not see her false.  He scorned the baleful picture that Giuseppe had painted and guessed that his purpose was to cut the ground from under Jenny’s feet and accuse her of those identical crimes that he himself had committed.  His attitude to Doria was affirmed, and from that hour he believed, with Peter Ganns, that the Italian knew the purposes of the unknown and was assisting him to achieve them.  But again his spirit picked and chose.  He did not remember how Ganns also, though in more temperate words than Doria’s, had warned him for the present to put no trust even in Jenny.  He trusted her as he trusted himself; and that also meant distrusting her husband.

He considered now his own course of action and presently proceeded to the region in which Robert Redmayne had been most frequently reported.  Certain appearances were chronicled and, before Ganns returned to England, the theory had been accepted that the fugitive hid and dwelt aloft in some fastness with the charcoal burners.  Now Brendon felt the need to probe this opinion and determined, if possible, to find the lair of the red man.