It was Giuseppe Doria who had come to move the body,
and there seemed little doubt that Brendon's would-be murderer was
the other.
"'Corpo di Bacco,' perhaps, but not corpo di Brendon, my friend,"
murmured Mark to himself. Then he turned northward, traversed some
harsh thickets that barred the plateau, and reached a mule track, a
mile beneath, which he had discovered before daylight waned. It led
to Menaggio through chestnut woods.
The operations of the detective from the moment that he fell
headlong, apparently to rise no more, may be briefly chronicled.
When his enemy drew up and fired pointblank upon him, the bullet
passed within an inch of Brendon's ear and the memory of a similar
experience flashed into his mind and led to his subsequent action.
On a previous occasion, having been missed at close quarters, he
pretended to be hit and fell apparently lifeless within fifteen
yards of a famous malefactor. The ruse succeeded; the man crept back
to triumph over an inveterate foe and Brendon shot him dead as he
bent to examine a fancied corpse.
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