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Updated: June 21, 2025
It presented a man of meditative countenance, wide forehead, and steadfast eyes. He wore a beard, mustache and whiskers, and his hair was rather long. "Is that like him?" "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.
He has been here some days, hidden in one of the caves down the coast westward. He wouldn't tell me where, but no doubt it is near where we found him. He is ragged and wounded. One of his hands ought to be attended to." "And still you say he behaved like a sane man, Mrs. Pendean?" asked Brendon. "Yes except for what seemed an insane fear. And yet fear was natural enough under the circumstances.
He broke off abruptly, puffed a villainous cloud of smoke, and went back to his wire netting. But he turned a moment and spoke again as Brendon proceeded. "Madonna is at home," he shouted and Mark understood to whom he referred. He had reached "Crow's Nest" in five minutes and it was Jenny Pendean who welcomed him. "Uncle's in his tower," she said. "I'll call him in a minute.
"Full particulars have been circulated," explained Brendon, but the inspector attached no importance to that fact. "We know how often foreign police catch a runaway," he said. "This is no ordinary runaway, however. I still prefer to regard him as insane." "In that case he'd have been taken before now. And that makes what was simple before more and more of a puzzle in my opinion.
But they put off their call a day to suit some theatrical rehearsal; by which means they lost the entertainment they promised themselves, for by the time they did come Chèrie was ready for them and, with appropriate shyness, let it be known that she herself was engaged to Mr. Brendon Smith.
The colour was glorious, that rare but perfect reflection of the richest hues that autumn brings to the beech and the bracken. And she had blue eyes blue as the gentian. Their size impressed Brendon. He had only known one woman with really large eyes, and she was a criminal. But this stranger's bright orbs seemed almost to dwarf her face.
Mark Brendon thanked them for their information and repeated his growing conviction that the subject of their speech had probably committed suicide. "Every hour which fails to account for him increases my fear," he said.
"Please don't," she said. "It really is not necessary. Be so good as to let me pass, sir," she added, looking her obstructor steadily in the face. He hesitated. "This is all rot!" he declared angrily. "You can't think that I'm fool enough to be put off like this." She glanced at Brendon, who stood by her side, tall and threatening. Her eyebrows were lifted in expostulation.
She took his big hand and pressed it between her own. "God 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."
And that was the end of their conversation, for Brendon frowned in silence and Giuseppe began to slack the engines as they reached the landing stage. "Something tells me I shall meet you again, Marco," he said as they shook hands and prepared to part; and Brendon, who shared that impression strongly enough, nodded. "It may be so," he answered.
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