"This is a pleasure I had meant to give myself before I quitted the city," declared the big man. "I've heard about you and I've taken off my hat to you more than once during the war. You might know me, too." "Everybody in our business knows you, Mr. Ganns. But I've not come hero-worshipping to waste your time. I'm proud you're pleased to see me and it's a great privilege to meet you; but I've looked in this morning about something that won't wait; and your name is the big noise in a letter I received from Italy to-day." "Is that so? I'm bound for Italy in the fall." "The question is whether this letter may change your plans and send you there sooner." The elder stared, took a golden box out of his waistcoat pocket, opened it, tapped it, and helped himself to a pinch of snuff. The habit explained his somewhat misshapen nose. It was tobacco, not alcohol, that lent its exaggerated lustre and hypertrophied outline to that organ. "I hate changing my itinerary, once made," replied Mr. Ganns. "I'm the most orderly cuss on earth. So far as I know, there's but one man in all Italy is likely to knock my arrangements on the head; and I'll see him, if all's well, in September next." Brendon produced Jenny's letter. "The writer is niece of that man," he said and handed the communication to Mr. Ganns. Peter put on his spectacles again and read slowly. Indeed Mark had never seen a letter read so slowly before. 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?" "Yes; I've appealed to my chief and got permission to pick this up again. My holiday's due and I'll go to Italy instead of Scotland. I was in it from the first, you know." "I do know--I know all about it, from my old pal, Albert Redmayne. He wrote me the most lucid dispatch that ever I read." "You can go, Mr. Ganns?" "I must go, boy. Albert wants me." "Could you get off in a week?" "A week! To-night." "To-night, sir! Do you reckon that Mr. Redmayne is in any danger?" "Don't you?'" "He's forewarned and you see he's taking great precautions." "Brendon," said Mr. Ganns, "run round and find when the night boat sails from Dover, or Folkestone. We'll reach Paris to-morrow morning, I guess, catch the _Rapide_ for Milan, and be at the Lakes next day. You'll find we can do so. Then telegraph to this dame that we start _a week hence_. You take me?" "You want to get there before we're expected?" "Exactly." "Then you do think Mr. Albert Redmayne is in danger?" "I don't think about it. I know he is. But as this mystery has only just let loose on him and he's got his weather eye lifting, it will be all right, I hope, for a few hours. Meantime we arrive."