“You’d say trail Jenny?”

“That is what I would say.  Sooner or later she’ll make an excuse to be off to the mountains alone.  Let her start and then follow her up with Brendon.  The problem is surely simple enough:  to catch this red Redmayne.  If you cannot do it, tell the police and the doganieri.  There is a force of smuggler hunters always on the spot and ready to your hand.  Describe this savage, human fox and offer a big reward for his brush.  He will be caught quickly enough then.”

Mr. Ganns nodded and stood still.

“I shouldn’t wonder if that may not have to be done; but I’d a deal sooner take him ourselves if we could.  Anyway I must get a move on this fortnight, for to stop longer in Italy is impossible.  Yet how am I going to beat it and leave my old friend at the mercy of this threat?  While I’m alongside him, he’s safe, I guess; but what may happen as soon as I turn my back?”

“Can I not help you?”

But Mr. Ganns shook his head.

“Can’t work in cahoots with you, son, because I begin to fear you are right when you say your wife’s against us; and a man isn’t to be trusted to pull down his own wife.”

“If that’s all—­”

They proceeded slowly and Peter kept the ball of conversation rolling while he pretended to be very busy with his plans and projects.  He promised also that, when Jenny went to the hills alone, he and Brendon would secretly follow her.

Then a very strange thing happened.  As the first firefly streaked the dusk and the ruined shrine rose beside the way, a tall man suddenly appeared in front of it.  He had not been there a moment before, yet now he bulked large in the purple evening light, and it was not yet so dark but his remarkable features challenged the beholders.  For there stood Robert Redmayne, his great, red head and huge mustache thrusting out of the gloom.  He stared quite motionless.  His hands were by his sides; the stripes of his tweed jacket could be seen and the gilt buttons on the familiar red waistcoat.

Doria started violently, then stiffened.  For a moment he failed to conceal his surprise and cast one look of evident horror and amazement at the apparition.  He clearly knew the tall figure, but there was no friendship or understanding in the bewildered stare he now turned upon the shadow that filled the path.  For a moment he brushed his hand over his eyes, as though to remove the object upon which he glared; then he looked again—­to find the lane empty and Ganns gazing at him.

“What’s wrong?” asked Peter.

“Christ!  Did you see him—­right in the path—­Robert Redmayne?”

But the other only stared at Giuseppe and peered forward.

“I saw nothing,” he said; whereupon like lightning, the Italian’s manner changed.  His concern vanished and he laughed aloud.

“What a fool—­what a fool am I!  It was the shadow of the shrine!”

“You’ve got the red man on your nerves, I guess.  I don’t blame you.  What did you think you saw?”