“You have secrets from me—­though I have let you know my own secret,” she murmured, preparing to obey him.

“If I keep anything from you, it is for your own good—­for your own security,” he replied.

She left him then and in a few moments returned with her husband.  He was full of curiosity and under his usual assumption of cheerfulness Brendon perceived considerable anxiety.

“An adventure, Signor Marco?  I know that without you telling me.  Your face is solemn as a raven and you walked stiffly as you came to the door.  I saw you from the silkworms.  What has happened?”

“I’ve had a squeak of my life,” replied Mark, “and I’ve made a stupid mistake.  You must pay all attention to what I’m going to tell you, Doria, for we can’t say who is in danger now and who is not.  The shot that very nearly ended my career yesterday might just as easily have been aimed at you, had you been in my place.”

“A shot?  Not the red man?  A smuggler perhaps?  You may have stumbled upon some of them, and knowing no Italian—­”

“It was Robert Redmayne who fired upon me and missed by a miracle.”

Jenny uttered an exclamation of fear.  “Thank God!” she said under her breath.

Then Brendon told the story in every detail and explained his own ruse.  He related nothing but the truth—­up to a certain point; but beyond that he described events that had not taken place.

“Having made the faked figure, I hid just before dusk fairly close to it intending, of course, to keep watch, for I was positive that the murderer, as he would suppose himself to be, must come back after dark to hide his work.  But now ensued an awkward contretemps for which I had not provided.  I found myself faint—­so faint that I began to be alarmed.  I had not eaten since the morning and the food and flask which I had brought with me were half a mile and more away.  They remained, of course, where I had left them when I started to chase Redmayne.  It was a choice between attempting to reach the food while I could do so, or stopping and growing chilled and every moment weaker.

“I am not made of iron and the day had been rather strenuous for me.  I was bruised and lame and utterly played out.  I decided that I should have time to reach my food and return to my hiding-place before the moon rose.  But it was not such an easy or speedy business as I had expected.  It took me a long time to get back to the starting-place and when I did, a search was needed before I found my sandwiches and flask of Chianti.  Never was a meal more welcome.  I soon felt my strength returning and set off in half an hour on the journey back to the plateau.

“Then my troubles began.  You’ll think the wine got into my head and it may have done so; but at any rate I lost the path most effectually and presently lost myself.  I began to despair and had very nearly given up any further attempt to return when, out of the trees, blinked the white face of the precipice under Griante’s crown and I recognized the situation.  Then I went slowly and silently forward and kept a sharp lookout.