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Updated: May 18, 2025
Redmayne lives, or else leave the train at Bevano, take steamer on Maggiore, cross to Lugano, and cross again to Como. That way we land right at Menaggio. There's not much in it for time." "We'll go that way, then, and I'll see the Lakes." Peter Ganns spoke little while he partook of a light meal. He picked a fried sole and drank two glasses of white wine.
"Is he at home?" "Yes; he went to bed many hours ago." "Avoid him," answered Mark. "Avoid him as far as possible, without rousing his suspicion. Your torments may be at an end sooner than you think for." He departed without more words. But he presented himself early on the following day. And it was Jenny who first saw him. Then Peter Ganns joined them. "How is uncle?" asked Mr.
"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." And what the Almighty Mind may be pleased to think of any human performance is for the present hidden with Him alone. He did not make the tiger to eat grass or the eagle to feed on honey. My wife's deeper sanity and clearer vision always inclined her to distrust our American acquaintance, Peter Ganns.
"Michael Pendean," he said, "you are arrested for the murder of Robert Redmayne and Bendigo Redmayne." "And add 'Albert Redmayne," growled Ganns. He leaped aside with amazing agility as he spoke, for the culprit had seized the weapon nearest his hand and hurled a heavy saltcellar from the table at Peter's head.
Brendon had never seen the Italian lakes before and he fell silent in the presence of such beauty; nor did Mr. Ganns desire to talk. They sat together and watched the panorama unfold, the hills and gorges, the glory of the light over earth and water, the presence of man, his little homes upon the mountains, his little barques upon the lake. At Luino they left the steamer and proceeded to Tresa.
He spoke in a gentle, kindly voice, with little Southern gestures. He was clad in a great Italian cloak and a big, slouchy hat, which between them, almost served to extinguish the bookworm. "Oh, that Peter Ganns were here!" he sighed again and again, while he thrust himself as near as possible to a great coal fire, and Jenny told him every detail of the tragedy.
"Look us up early, Mark," he directed. "Albert tells me there are some old pictures at Como that have got a lot of kick in them. Maybe we'll all go down the lake for a pleasure party to-morrow, if he thinks it good." For a moment Brendon and Jenny stood alone before he departed; and she whispered to him. "Something has happened to Doria to-night. He is struck dumb since his walk with Mr. Ganns."
It might have been in some cryptic tongue which Mr. Ganns could only with difficulty translate. Having finished he handed the communication back to Brendon and indicated a desire for silence. Mark lit a cigarette and sat surveying the other from the corner of his eye. At last the American spoke. "What about you? Can you go?"
Ten days after Peter Ganns had read this narrative and its sequel at his snug home outside Boston, there awaited him, upon his breakfast table, a little parcel from England. The packet suggested an addition to Peter's famous collection of snuffboxes. He had left certain commissions behind him in London and doubted not that a new treasure awaited him. But he was disappointed.
Anyway I must get a move on this fortnight, for to stop longer in Italy is impossible. Yet how am I going to beat it and leave my old friend at the mercy of this threat? While I'm alongside him, he's safe, I guess; but what may happen as soon as I turn my back?" "Can I not help you?" But Mr. Ganns shook his head.
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