“So the forgery is trotted out once more; and it is not enough that Jenny shall report to her uncle the advent of Robert Redmayne beside Como.  An independent witness is demanded and Assunta Marzelli sees the big man with the red mustache, red hair and red waistcoat.  She also records the tremendous shock to her mistress that resulted from this sudden apparition.  Remember that Jenny’s husband was still supposed by Albert to be in Turin.  Then the old game is played; Doria presently arrives in person; they toy with their subject; they enrich it with details; awaken the alarm of their unhappy victim and send for you, designing to treat you in the same manner as before.

“Nor does Albert’s appeal to me hasten their operations.  Who is Peter Ganns?  A famous American bull.  Good!  They will have another victim at their chariot wheels.  It shall be an international triumph.  Albert Redmayne must be murdered before an audience worthy of the occasion.  The combined detective forces of the States, of Italy, of England, shall seek Robert Redmayne and succour Albert; but the one shall evade capture, the other perish under their eyes.”  He turned to Brendon.  “And they brought it off—­thanks to you, my son.”

“And paid for it—­thanks to you,” answered Mark.

“We are but men, not machines,” answered the elder.  “Love thrust a finger into your brain and created the inevitable ferment.  Of course Pendean was lightning quick to win his account from that.  He may have even calculated upon it when he made Jenny beg your aid at the outset.  He knew what men thought of her; he had doubtless taken stock of you at Princetown and probably learned that you were unmarried.  So, when time has passed and you can look back without a groan, you will take the large view and, seeing yourself from the outside, forgive yourself and confess that your punishment was weightier than your error.”

In gathering dusk the train thundered through the valley of the Rhine while, above, the mountain summits melted upon the night.  A steward looked into the carriage.

“Dinner is served, gentlemen,” he said.  “I will, if you please, make your beds while you are absent.”

They rose and went together to the saloon carriage.

“I’m dry, son, and I’ve sure earned a drink,” said Peter.

“You’ve earned a vast deal more than I or any man can ever pay you, Ganns,” said Brendon.

“Don’t say it, or think it.  I’ve done nothing that you wouldn’t have done if you had been free.  And always remember this:  I shall never blame you, even when I think with dearest affection of my old friend.  I shall only blame myself, because the final, fatal mistake was mine—­not yours.  I was the fool to trust you and had no excuse for doing so.  You were not to be trusted for a moment just then, and I ought to have known it.  ’Twas our limited capability that made you err, that made me err, that made Michael Pendean err.  The best laid plans of mice and men—­you know, Mark.  The villain mars his villainy; the virtuous smudge their white record; the deep brain suddenly runs dry—­all because perfection, in good or evil, is denied to saints and sinners alike.”