Part 29 (2/2)
”I have only thought of Giuseppe Doria in connection with myself, never in connection with Uncle Bendigo and Uncle Albert. Uncle Bendigo died--if he is dead--before I consented to marry Doria--before he asked me to do so. But keep my mistake from my uncle. I don't want him to know I'm miserable.”
”You must decide where to put your trust, my dear,” answered Mr.
Ganns. ”Otherwise you may find yourself on dangerous ground.”
She weighed her answer.
”You are thinking of something,” she said.
”Naturally. What you have told me as to your relations with your Italian husband offers considerable food for thought. But consider very carefully. You cannot run with the hare and hunt with the hounds. How many a bad man and, for that matter, how many an innocent man, has come to grief in the attempt. Tell me this. Does Giuseppe know that you no longer love him?”
She shook her head.
”I have hid it. The time has not come to let him know that. He would be revenged, and G.o.d knows what form his revenge might take. Till I have escaped from him, he must not dream that I have changed.”
”That's your feeling? Well, the questions are two. Do you know enough about him to a.s.sist and justify your escape and, if you do, are you prepared to confide your knowledge to me?”
”I do not know enough,” she answered. ”He is a very clever man under his light-hearted and easy-going manners. He is, I believe, faithful to me, and he takes care never to be unkind in the presence or hearing of a third person. But this I think: that he knows very well what you've just told me--that all the Redmayne money must sooner or later be mine.”
”And yet he behaves to you as though he were a devil? That's not very clever of him.”
”I can't explain. Perhaps I have said too much. His cruelty is very subtle. Italian husbands,--”
”I know all about Italian husbands. We'll talk over this again when you have had time to think a little. There's a reason for your hate and distrust of him, no doubt. You would not pretend such emotions.
He's faithful, you say, so perhaps that reason is linked with knowledge you do not care to impart to me--or anybody? Perhaps it embraces the mystery man we want to catch--Robert Redmayne? Does Doria know more about him than you or I do! And you have found it out? There may be quite a number of things that make you hate Doria.
So think it over and consider if to hear any of them would help me.”
Jenny looked at Peter with profound interest.
”You are a very wonderful man, Mr. Ganns.”
”Not a bit--only practiced in the jig-saw puzzle we call life.
Attach no special importance to what I have just said, or the possibilities I have just thrown out. I may be altogether wrong. I have only at present your word that Signor Doria is not a kind husband. I may not agree with you when I know him better. You may not be a judge. Your first husband was perhaps so exceptional that the norm of husbands is unknown to you. My mind is quite open on the subject, because I have often found that a wife knows much less about her husband's character than do other people. Remember that hate blinds quite as frequently as love; and love turned to hate is a transformation so complicated that it takes a cunning psycho-a.n.a.lyst to interpret it. Therefore to know the importance of your fears, I must know more about you yourself.
”We'll leave it at that--and all you need think of me at present is that I want to serve you. But I am an old bird, while Brendon, on the contrary, is still young; and youth understands youth. Remember that in him you have a steadfast and faithful friend. I shan't be jealous if you can tell him more than you can tell me.”
Jenny's lips moved and were again motionless. He perceived that she had started to say one thing, but would now say another. She took his big hand and pressed it between her own.
”G.o.d bless you!” she said. ”If I have you for a friend, I am content. Mr. Brendon has been very good to me--very, very good. But you are more likely to serve Uncle Albert than he.”
They parted presently and Jenny returned to the house, while the detective, finding a comfortable chair under an oleander bush, sniffed the fragrance of the red blossom above him, regretted that his vice had largely spoiled his sense of smell, took snuff and opened his notebook. He wrote in it steadily for half an hour; then he rose and joined Albert Redmayne.
The elder was full of an approaching event.
”To think that to-day you and Poggi meet!” he exclaimed. ”Peter, my dear man, if you do not love Virgilio I shall be broken-hearted.”
”Albert,” answered Mr. Ganns. ”I have already loved Poggi for two years. Those you love, I love; and that means that our friends.h.i.+p is on a very high plane indeed; for it often happens that nothing puzzles us more infernally than our friends' friends. In our case, however, so entirely do we see alike in everything that matters, that it is beyond possibility you should be devoted to anybody who does not appeal to me. By the same token, how much do you love your niece?”
Mr. Redmayne did not answer instantly.
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