“And, until it was found out that he was mad, we might hear no more about him.”

“Why should it be found that he was mad?” asked Bendigo.  “He was mad when he killed this innocent man, no doubt, because none but a lunatic would have done such an awful thing, or been so cunning after—­with the sort of childish cunning that gave him away from the start.  But once he’d done what this twist in his brain drove him to do, then I judge that his madness very likely left him.  If you caught him to-morrow, you’d possibly find him as sane as yourself—­except on that one subject.  He’d worked up his old hatred of Michael Pendean, as a shirker in the war, until it festered in his head and poisoned his mind, so as he couldn’t get it under.  That’s how I read it.  I had a pretty good contempt for the poor chap myself and was properly savage with my niece, when she wedded him against our wishes; but my feeling didn’t turn my head, and I felt glad to hear that Pendean was an honest man, who did the best he could at the Moss Depot.”

Brendon considered.

“A very sound view,” he said, “and likely to be correct.  On the strength of this letter, we may conclude that when he went home, after disposing of the body under Berry Head, your brother must have disguised himself in some way and taken an early train from Paignton to Newton Abbot and from Newton Abbot to Plymouth.  He would already have been there and lying low before the hunt began.”

“That’s how I figure it,” answered the sailor.

“When did you last see him, Mr. Redmayne?”

“Somewhere about a month ago.  He came over for the day with Miss Reed—­the young woman he was going to marry.”

“Was he all right then?”

Bendigo considered and scratched in his red beard.

“Noisy and full of chatter, but much as usual.”

“Did he mention Mr. and Mrs. Pendean?”

“Not a word.  He was full up with his young woman.  They meant to be married in late autumn and go abroad for a run to see my brother Albert.”

“He may correspond with Miss Reed if he gets to France?”

“I can’t say what he’ll do.  Suppose you catch him presently?  How would the law stand?  A man goes mad and commits a murder.  Then you nab him and he’s as sane as a judge.  You can’t hang him for what he did when he was off his head, and you can’t shut him up in a lunatic asylum if he’s sane.”

“A nice problem, no doubt,” admitted Brendon, “but be sure the law will take no risks.  A homicidal maniac, no matter how sane he is between times, is not going to run loose any more after killing a man.”

“Well, that’s all there is to it, detective.  If I hear again, I’ll let the police know; and if you take him, of course you’ll let me and his brother know at once.  It’s a very ugly thing for his family.  He did good work in the war and got honours; and if he’s mad, then the war made him mad.”

“That would be taken very fully into account, be sure.  I’m sorry, both for him and for you, Mr. Redmayne.”