Assunta told them how an Italian had reached the steps in a skiff from Bellagio; how he had called her and broken the evil news that Signor Poggi was fallen dangerously ill; and how he sent entreaties to his friends to see him without delay.

“Virgilio Poggi has had a fatal fall and is dying,” said the messenger.  “He prays Signor Redmayne to fly to him before it is too late.”

Assunta dared not delay the message.  Indeed, knowing all that this must mean to her master, she delivered it instantly, and five minutes after hearing the dreadful news, Albert Redmayne, in great agony of mind, had embarked, to be rowed toward the promontory where his friend dwelt.

Assunta declared that her master had been gone for an hour, if not longer.

“It may be true,” said Jenny, but Brendon knew too well what had happened.

The group formed under Peter’s command and he issued his directions swiftly.  He cast one look at Mark which the detective never forgot; but none saw it save Brendon himself.  Then he spoke.

“Row this boat back to the steamer, Brendon,” he said, “and tell them to take you across to Poggi as quick as may be.  If Redmayne is there, leave him there and return.  But he’s not there:  he’s at the bottom of the lake.  Go!”

Mark hastened to the boat and one of the officers who had come with Ganns wrote a dozen words on a sheet from a notebook.  With this Brendon reached the black steamer and in another moment the vessel disappeared at full speed under the darkness in the direction of Bellagio.

Then Peter turned to the rest and bade them all, with Jenny, accompany him to the dwelling room.  Supper had been laid here but the apartment was empty.

“What has happened,” explained Peter, “is this:  Doria has used the only certain means of getting Albert Redmayne out of this house, and his wife has doubtless aided him to the best of her power by arresting the attention of my colleague whom I left in charge.  How she did it I can easily guess.”

Jenny’s horrified eyes flamed at him and her face grew rosy.

“How little you know!” she cried.  “This is cruel, infamous!  Have I not suffered enough?”

“If I am wrong, I’ll be the first to own it, ma’am,” he answered.  “But I am not wrong.  What has happened means that your husband will be back to supper.  That’s but ten minutes to wait.  Assunta, return to the kitchen.  Ernesto, hide in the garden and lock the iron gate as soon as Doria has passed through it.”

Three big men in plain clothes had these remarks translated to them by the fourth, who was a chief of police.  Then Ernesto went into the garden, the officers took their stations, and Mr. Ganns, indicating a chair to Jenny, himself occupied another within reach of her.  Once she had tried to leave the room, but Peter forbade it.

“Fear nothing if you’re honest,” he said, but she ignored him and kept her thoughts to herself.  She had grown very pale and her eyes roamed over the strange faces around her.  Silence fell and in five minutes came the chink of the iron gate and the footfall of a man without.  Doria was singing his canzonet.  He came straight into the room, stared about him at the assembled men, then fixed his eyes upon his wife.