It was evidently intended to keep
the rabbits from the cultivated flower beds which had been dug from
the green slope of the coomb.
He heard a singing voice and perceived that it was Doria, the motor
boatman. Fifty yards from him Mark stood still, and the gardener
abandoned his work and came forward. He was bare-headed and smoking
a thin, black, Tuscan cigar with the colours of Italy on a band
round the middle of it. Giuseppe recognized him and spoke first.
"It is Mr. Brendon, the sleuth! He has come with news for my
master?"
"No, Doria--no news, worse luck; but I was this way--down at
Plymouth again--and thought I'd look up Mrs. Pendean and her uncle.
Why d'you call me 'sleuth'?"
"I read story-books of crime in which the detectives are 'sleuths.'
It is American. Italians say 'sbirro,' England says 'police
officer.'"
"How is everybody?"
"Everybody very well. Time passes; tears dry; Providence watches."
"And you are still looking for the rich woman to restore the last of
the Dorias to his castle?"
Giuseppe laughed, then he shut his eyes and sucked his evil-smelling
cigar.
Pages:
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131