"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.
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