Part 6 (1/2)
”Yes; but it does not show his expression. It is not quite natural--he was more animated than that.”
”How old was he?”
”Not thirty, Mr. Brendon, but he looked considerably older.”
Brendon studied the photograph.
”You can take it with you if you wish to do so. I have another copy,” said Mrs. Pendean.
”I shall remember very accurately,” answered Brendon. ”I am tolerably certain that poor Mr. Pendean's body was thrown into the sea and may already be recovered. That appears to have been Captain Redmayne's purpose. Can you tell me anything about the lady to whom your uncle is engaged?”
”I can give you her name and address. But I have never seen her.”
”Had your husband seen her?”
”Not to my knowledge. Indeed I can say certainly that he never had.
She is a Miss Flora Reed and she is stopping with her mother and father at the Singer Hotel, Paignton. Her brother, my uncle's friend in France, is also there I believe.”
”Thank you very much. If I hear nothing further, I go to Paignton this evening.”
”Why?”
”To pursue my inquiry and see all those who know your uncle. It has puzzled me a little that he has not already been found, because a man suffering from such an upset of mind could make no successful attempt to evade a professional search for long. Nor, so far as we know, has he apparently attempted to escape. After going to Berry Head early this morning, he returned to his lodgings, ate a meal, left his motor bicycle, and then went out again--still in his tweed suit with the red waistcoat.”
”You'll see Flora Reed?”
”If necessary; but I shall not go if Robert Redmayne has been found.”
”You think it is all very simple and straight-forward, then?”
”So it appears. The best that one can hope is that the unfortunate man may come back to his senses and give a clear account of everything. And may I ask what you design to do and if it is in my power to serve you personally in any way?”
Jenny Pendean showed surprise at this question. She lifted her face to Brendon's and a slight warmth touched its pallor.
”That is kind of you,” she said. ”I will not forget. But when we know more, I shall probably leave here. If my husband has indeed lost his life, the bungalow will not be finished by me. I shall go, of course.”
”May I hope that you have friends who are coming forward?”
She shook her head.
”As a matter of fact I am much alone in the world. My husband was everything--everything. And I was everything to him also. You know my story--I told you all there was to tell this morning. There remain to me only my father's two brothers--Uncle Bendigo in England, and Uncle Albert in Italy. I wrote them both to-day.”
Mark rose.
”You shall hear from me to-morrow,” he said, ”and if I do not go to Paignton, I will see you again to-night.”
”Thank you--you are very kind.”
”Let me ask you to consider yourself and your own health under this great strain. People can endure anything, but often they find afterwards that they have put too heavy a call on nature, when it comes to pay the bill. Would you care to see a medical man?”
”No, Mr. Brendon--that is not necessary. If my husband should be--as we think, then my own life has no further interest for me. I may end it.”