A month of arduous work he devoted to this stage of the inquiry, and his investigation produced nothing whatever.  Not a skipper of any vessel involved could furnish the least information and no man resembling Robert Redmayne had been seen by the harbour police, or any independent person at Plymouth, despite sharp watchfulness.

A time came when the detective was recalled to London and heartily chaffed for his failure; but his own unusual disappointment disarmed the amusement at his expense.  The case had presented such few apparent difficulties that Brendon’s complete unsuccess astonished his chief.  He was content, however, to believe Mark’s own conviction:  that Robert Redmayne had never left England but destroyed himself—­probably soon after the dispatch of his letter to Bendigo from Plymouth.

Much demanded attention and Brendon was soon devoting himself to a diamond robbery in the Midlands.  Months passed, the body of Michael Pendean had not been recovered, and the little world of Scotland Yard pigeon-holed the mystery, while the larger world forgot all about it.

Meantime, with a sense of secret relief, Mark Brendon prepared to face what had sprung out of these incidents, while permitting the events themselves to pass from his present interests.  There remained Jenny Pendean and his mind was deeply preoccupied with her.  Indeed, apart from the daily toll of work, she filled it to the exclusion of every other personal consideration.  He longed unspeakably to see her again, for though he had corresponded during the progress of his inquiries and kept her closely informed of everything that he was doing, the excuse for these communications no longer existed.  She had acknowledged every letter, but her replies were brief and she had given him no information concerning herself, or her future intentions, though he had asked her to do so.  One item of information only had she vouchsafed and he learned that she was finishing the bungalow to her husband’s original plan and then seeking a possible customer to take over her lease.  She wrote: 

“I cannot see Dartmoor again, for it means my happiest as well as my most unhappy hours.  I shall never be so happy again and, I hope, never suffer so unspeakably as I have during the recent past.”

He turned over this sentence many times and considered the weight of every word.  He concluded from it that Jenny Pendean, while aware that her greatest joys were gone forever, yet looked forward to a time when her present desolation might give place to a truer tranquility and content.

The fact that this should be so, however, astonished Brendon.  He judged her words were perhaps ill chosen and that she implied a swifter return to peace than in reality would occur.  He had guessed that a year at least, instead of merely these four months, must pass before her terrible sorrow could begin to dim.  Indeed he felt sure of it and concluded that he was reading an implication into this pregnant sentence that she had never intended it to carry.  He longed to see her and was just planning how to do so, when chance offered an opportunity.