CHAPTER XIX

A LEGACY FOR PETER GANNS


If at any time I entertained one shadow of regret in the execution
of those who had traduced me and so earned their destruction, it was
after we had dwelt for a season with Albert Redmayne beside Como.
The lake itself is so flagrantly sentimental and the environment so
serene and suggestive of childlike peace and good-will that I could
almost have found it in my heart to lament the innocent book lover's
taking off. But Jenny swiftly laughed me out of these emotions.

"Keep your tenderness and sentiment for me," she said. "I will not
share them."

We might have killed Albert a thousand times and left no sign--a
fact that brings me to that part of my recital I most deplore. But a
measure of delay was necessary that we might learn the market value
of his books--otherwise Virgilio Poggi would doubtless have robbed
us after the old man's death. There was a medieval history of the
Borgia family I should myself have greatly treasured under happier
circumstances.

Nevertheless, though things difficult and dangerous we had
triumphantly achieved, before this task for a child we failed; and