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CHAPTER XIX
THE INQUIRY AGENT
As George stepped out of the front door he came face to face with Bawdsey, who was mounting the steps. The man seemed excited, and carried a carelessly folded newspaper which he had apparently been reading. He did not seemed pleased to meet Brendon, and looked at him in a suspicious manner.
"I didn't expect to see you here!" he said, with a certain degree of roughness.
"I did not know that this house was interdicted to me," replied Brendon, sharply. He liked neither the tone nor the peremptory manner of Bawdsey, and, moreover, was not prepossessed in his favor by the report which Lord Derrington had made of the man's duplicity. "I am glad to meet you, however," continued George, "as I wish to have a few words."
"I am too busy to give you any time," retorted Bawdsey, and tried to enter the house.
"Nevertheless, you will give me a quarter of an hour," said George, blocking the doorway with his stalwart form. "What I have to say cannot be left until a more convenient period."
"I tell you I am busy, Mr. Brendon."
"And I tell you that I intend to have this interview," rejoined Brewton, imperiously. "You talk a great deal about gratitude, Bawdsey, yet you are unwilling to put yourself out for me in the least degree."
Bawdsey became penitent at once. "It is true, Mr. Brendon. But I am very worried." He cast a glance at the newspaper in his hand. "However, you have first call upon my time, so we will go to my room."
"That's as it should be."
No more words passed. Bawdsey mounted the stairs and led George into the well-remembered room. Brendon took a chair, and Bawdsey, with an anxious look, threw himself into another. The man's face was flushed, his red hair was in disorder, and his eyes were bright. As a rule he was calm and self-controlled, so George conjectured that something particularly important must have occurred to upset him. However, Bawdsey's troubles were none of his business, and he began talking at once of his reason for seeking the interview. "I had a conversation with Lord Derrington the other evening," he said deliberately, "and we talked of you."
"Then you heard no good of me," replied Bawdsey, with a sneer. "Lord Derrington does not like me."
"That matters little. No liking can exist between a man in Lord Derrington's position and his paid servant."
"Oh, you call me that, do you, sir?"
"What else are you? Lord Derrington engaged you as his agent to watch me, and that you have done."
"Not lately. I have given you a free hand."
"In any case I have a free hand," said George, loftily. "You were grateful enough for my service in saving your life to release me from your espionage, but had you not done so I should have taken means to put a stop to your dogging my footsteps."
"You would not have known had I not told you, Mr. Brendon."
"Oh, yes, I should. In any case, I should have seen my grandfather, and he would have told me."
"No, sir. He is your enemy."
"That is where you are wrong, Bawdsey. He is my friend."
The detective looked astonished. "Do you mean to say that Lord Derrington has climbed down?" he demanded incredulously.
"It is strange, is it not," said George, in a bantering tone, "but, as a matter of fact, after a long conversation, Lord Derrington and myself came to understand one another. He intends to recognize me as his heir."
"Has he then learnt where the marriage took place?" asked Bawdsey, starting from his seat, and again glancing anxiously at the newspaper which lay on a small table at his elbow.
"No. We have yet to find that out. But he is quite satisfied from the hints of the late Mrs. Jersey that a marriage did take place, and he wishes to make amends to me for his unjust conduct as regards my mother's memory and myself."
"Whew! What means did you take to force him to recognize you?"
"I used no force at all," responded Brendon, very dryly.
"Lord Derrington would not climb down unless he were made to."
"As a matter of fact he did. The olive branch was held out by him. All this is none of your business, Mr. Bawdsey, and I only tell it to you to clear the ground for what I am about to say."
"It's something disagreeable, I bet," said Bawdsey, scanning the set face of his visitor.
"Your penetration does you credit, sir. It is disagreeable."
Bawdsey settled himself comfortably in his chair. "Then the sooner we grasp the nettle the sooner will the pain be over," he said, with quite an Eastern wealth of parable. "But first, Mr. Brendon, I should like to know your exact position."
"Oh, that is easily explained, and there is no reason why you should not know what all London will know soon. Lord Derrington will join with me in searching for the register of marriage, and meanwhile will recognize me as his grandson and the heir to his estates."
"Not a very large income for a future peer," murmured Bawdsey.
George took no notice of this. "In a fortnight I leave my Kensington rooms and take up my residence with Lord Derrington in St. Giles Square. Then I shall assume my real name of George Vane."
"And you will marry Miss Ward, I suppose."
"That is entirely my business," said George, placidly. "You will gain nothing by insolence, Bawdsey."
The man rose with a wounded air. "Upon my word, Mr. Vane," he said, giving George his correct name to show that he recognized his new position, "I have not the slightest intention of being insolent. I am glad for your sake that things are as they are, and pleased for my own, since Lola may now give up thoughts of you and turn to me."
"That's all very well, Bawdsey," said Brendon quietly. "You profess a great friendship for me, but how can I trust you?"
"I have never deceived you yet."
"I have not given you the chance of doing so; but if the opportunity offered, and it was convenient to you, I am quite sure you would sell me-as the saying goes-to the highest bidder."
"Why should you doubt me?" asked Bawdsey, still wounded.
"I can only judge the future by the past, and since you are quite ready to play Lord Derrington false-"
"Who says that?" cried the man, sitting down, but looking defiant.
"I say so. Lord Derrington has told me all."
"All what?" demanded Bawdsey, willfully ignorant.
"All that took place on the night when you came to this house to impersonate him."
Bawdsey laughed, and his face cleared. "If that is your disagreeable business, sir, I can easily put that to rights."
"Can you explain why you drugged him, why you threatened him?"
"I did not threaten him."
"Lord Derrington informed me that you threatened to get him into trouble. That was why he consulted me, and that is why I have come to tell you that if you fight Lord Derrington you will fight me also. Lord Derrington is old, but I am young, and I am quite equal to dealing with you."
"I never denied that," said Bawdsey, calmly. "I quite recognize that you are a strong man, Mr. Vane, although it is not to my interest to admit as much."
"That's your business," rejoined George, coolly. "I play with all my cards on the table. What those are which you have concealed I do not know, but I am quite prepared to play the game. And at the present moment you need not call me by my father's name. I have not yet assumed my position. When I do, George Vane will have nothing to do with you."
"But George Brendon has," said Bawdsey, with a flash of his eyes. "Don't press too hard, Mr. Brendon. I am willing to do you a service, and you are misjudging me."
"I am sorry you should think so. Let us cease this bickering. I am willing to hear what you have to say."
"If you are satisfied with my explanation, will you endeavor to get Lola to marry me?"
"That has nothing to do with me."
"But you have influence with her."
"It shall not be used to make her miserable. I know nothing about you save what my grandfather told me, and his report does not bias me in your favor. For all I know you might make poor Lola the worst husband in the world."
Bawdsey shrugged his shoulders. "Lola is well able to look after herself," he said. "I think I mentioned that before. But if you are satisfied with what I am about to tell you, will you help me?"
"I'll do my best," said George, impatiently. "Lola is sure to lose this engagement sooner or later through her vile temper. I do not want to see her on the streets again, and she may as well be supported by you in a respectable manner as by any one else. Besides, as you truly say, she can take care of her own skin. But I shall not advise her to marry you unless you prove to me that you did not intend to blackmail Lord Derrington."
"Nothing was further from my thoughts," said Bawdsey, earnestly; "it was to my interest that your grandfather should hold his tongue about my having been to this house-"
"He would not have known had you not told him voluntarily."
"Oh, yes, he would have discovered in some way. I thought it best to be on the right side by confessing voluntarily what I had done. I said I could get him into trouble-and I admit that I did threaten him so far-simply to make him hold his tongue."
"You were afraid lest you should be accused of the crime?"
Bawdsey looked at George in surprise. "That possibility never crossed my mind," he replied calmly. "I certainly did not kill the woman. Do you think I did, Mr. Brendon?"
George shrugged his shoulders. "Going by circumstantial evidence-"
"Oh!" Bawdsey flipped away that objection with a snap of his fingers, "that's all right; I will explain. No, Mr. Brendon; why I wished Lord Derrington to be silent was that I might carry out my plans so as to learn who killed Mrs. Jersey."
"Then you are looking after the case?"
"On behalf of Lord Derrington. He has an idea that the assassin became possessed of a confession which Mrs. Jersey left behind her-"
"How do you know she left it?"
"Because I knew Mrs. Jersey very well, and, as I told you long since, I was once a boarder here. One day she let slip that she had some one in her power, and would leave the evidence of that power behind her so that her niece might benefit. I told this to Lord Derrington. He insisted that I should try and discover the assassin so as to get that confession, which compromises him, back again. To spur me on he has promised me a reward of a thousand pounds should I obtain the confession and the conviction of the assassin. As I want money to marry Lola, I am doing my best. I came to live here for that purpose. Lord Derrington talking of my visit to the house on the night of the crime would have jeopardized my plans therefore I was obliged-as you say-to threaten him so as to make him keep silent. So far, do you blame me, Mr. Brendon?"
"No," replied George, after some thought, "the end justifies the means. But you might have adopted less rascally means."
"I have not adopted any. I have not asked Lord Derrington for money, so I am not a blackmailer; nor do I intend to claim from him anything but what is justly mine."
"And what is justly yours, if you please?"
"The reward of one thousand pounds for the discovery of the assassin."
"Oh! Have you learned who killed her?"
"Not yet, but I may learn. At present I confess I am in fault."
George pondered a little. So far Bawdsey spoke frankly enough; but he could not help mistrusting him. However, since the man was in the telling vein, he thought it best to betray no doubts lest Bawdsey should turn rusty. "Well, the discovery is in your own hands," he said, "and I sincerely trust you will gain that thousand pounds. I am as unwilling as my grandfather that Mrs. Jersey's connection with this unfortunate business should become public. I am perfectly convinced that the person who took that confession stabbed the unfortunate woman."
"Do you think so?" asked Bawdsey, stealing a glance at the newspaper.
George nodded. "The confession was written. I learned that much from Margery. Mrs. Jersey told her it was a story. Well, as the confession was not found among Mrs. Jersey's papers when she died, it must have been taken by someone. But I can't think what interest such a thing can have had for any one unless-"
"Unless what, Mr. Brendon?"
"Unless it contained the name of the person who assassinated my father."
"How could Mrs. Jersey know that?"
"She was at San Remo when my father was killed; she loved him and she used to follow him. How I learned these things, Bawdsey, does not matter. But it is just possible that Mrs. Jersey-or Eliza Stokes as she was then-might have some knowledge of who committed the crime. If that was set down in her confession (as is highly probable), I can quite understand that the original assassin killed her to gain a dangerous document such as it undoubtedly was."
"Then you think that the assassin of your father was also the assassin of Mrs. Jersey?"
"I fancy so, as I can explain the disappearance of the confession in no other way. And if I remember rightly, Bawdsey, it was you who said that the San Remo crime was connected with the one committed in this house."
"I did say so," replied Bawdsey, thoughtfully. He pondered for a few minutes and then looked up briskly. "Well, Mr. Brendon, that point cannot be settled without proof, and there is no use our wasting time in indulging in vain speculations. Let me tell you about the night I went to see Mrs. Jersey."
"Go on," said Brendon, crossing his legs. "I am all attention."
"I knew before your grandfather came to see me that you were about to pass the night here. Lola told me."
"Yes, I was foolish enough to tell her; though, to be sure, I had no great reason to conceal my visit to Train. I never knew that a murder would take place. So Lola told you?"
Bawdsey nodded. "She did. But I never intended to bother about the matter, as I did not think there was anything in your visit. But Lord Derrington came and put a different complexion on the affair. It was his belief that you intended to force Mrs. Jersey into confessing about the marriage."
"I came to appeal to her," said Brendon, dryly. "There was no thought of forcing in my mind."
"Lord Derrington judged you by himself and thought there might be. I rather agreed with him. Then, knowing his temper, I fancied if he went to see Mrs. Jersey there would be a row and a scandal, and I did not want that to happen. I was making a very good thing out of Lord Derrington," admitted Bawdsey, frankly, "and if a scandal had taken place my occupation would have been gone. I therefore determined to drug him and to go myself."
"But why in his coat?"
"I thought that Mrs. Jersey might not admit me."
George pounced upon him at once. "There was no need that she should do so. You took the latch-key my grandfather carried."
"Oh, you know that, do you?" said Bawdsey, composedly. "Then I may as well be absolutely frank."
"It is your best course."
"Oh, I'm not on my trial, Mr. Brendon. It is only my friendship for you that is making me speak out."
"I accept that excuse. Go on."
Bawdsey shrugged his shoulders to show his annoyance at the uncompromising attitude of his visitor. "I feared lest Mrs. Jersey should order me out of the house unless I could gain time by being mistaken for Lord Derrington. I drugged the old gentleman, and then, taking his coat and the latch-key, I went to see Mrs. Jersey."
"At what time were you there?"
"Some time before twelve. I cannot say for certain. Well, Mr. Brendon, I let myself in with the latch-key, and I found the house by the red light over the door. In former years it had been my custom to guide myself in that way. I told Lola so."
"Why did you tell her that?"
"Oh, she knew that you were going late to the house and made a fuss about the chance of your being lost in the fog. I said that probably Train would tell you of the red light, and that you could guide yourself by that."
"Humph. Lola was always unnecessarily kind," said George. "Well?"
"Well, I closed the door softly and went into the sitting-room."
"You knew where that was?"
"Of course. Don't I tell you I once lived in this house? I entered the sitting-room. The lamp was burning, and Mrs. Jersey was seated at the table." Bawdsey shuddered. "There is no need to tell you more. I left the room at once, for the sight horrified me."
"Why did you pause in the hall?"
"I thought I heard a footstep on the stairs, and the shock gave me one of my fits-the fear of open spaces, you know. How did you come to learn that I paused in the hall?"
"Because I had come down the stairs to see who was with Mrs. Jersey."
"Ah! Then it must have been your footstep I heard," said the detective. "Well, I soon recovered, and left the house."
"What about the stiletto?"
"It was lying on the floor near the table. I saw it glittering in the lamplight. As there was blood on it and I saw the wound, I knew that Mrs. Jersey had been killed by it. I slipped it into my pocket with a vague idea that thereby I might trace the assassin."
"Did you leave it purposely in the coat?"
"No," said Bawdsey, frankly. "I did not. I was so moved and-as a woman would say-flustered by the death, that I forgot all about it. Lord Derrington woke up and went home. I said nothing about the murder to him at the time. I had not the nerve. It was only after he departed that I remembered the stiletto. I thought he might make a row and accuse me of the crime. But he said nothing, and I judged it wise to let sleeping dogs lie. So that is all I can tell you, Mr. Brendon, and you will see that I am not such a bad man as you try to make out."
"Oh, you have spoken clearly enough," said George. Then after a pause, "Yes, I think you are honest, so far as I can judge. I trust you."
Bawdsey looked delighted. "Will you have a glass of wine with me to show that?" he asked rising.
"On the Arab principle of bread and salt?" said Brendon. "Certainly."
Bawdsey nodded in a pleased manner, and went to his sideboard at the end of the room. George mechanically took up the newspaper. His eyes were caught by a cross-heading-"Strange Affair in an Essex Church," and by the words "destruction of the registers." Just as he was about to glance over the article, never thinking what it meant to him, Bawdsey returned with the wine and two glasses. He uttered an exclamation of dismay when he saw the paper in George's hand.
"Hang it, I never meant you to see that!" he said.
"Why not?" replied George. "Is it this news about a lady trying to tear the registers?" He started and looked at Bawdsey, who was uneasy and pale. "It's Lola!" said George.
"No, and yet-why should you not know? I believe it is Lola, though no name is mentioned."
George picked up the paper again and read rapidly. No name was mentioned, as it was said that the strange lady who had been arrested refused to give any name. It seemed that she went to Wargrove Church and asked to see the registers for a certain year-the registers of marriage. The sexton took the fee and showed the books. Then it appeared that the strange lady searched for an hour. The sexton left the vestry for a few minutes. When he returned he saw that she had torn a page out of the book. Being taken by surprise she had tried to conceal her theft, but the sexton seized her, rescued the torn page, and called for assistance. The end of it was that the strange lady-who was described as having a foreign air-was arrested and placed in prison. "It is Lola," said George, breathlessly.
"Yes," assented Bawdsey, also pale. "She evidently tried to destroy the evidence of your mother's marriage."
George gave a cry. "Wargrove," he said, "Wargrove in Essex. It was in the parish church that the marriage took place. And Lola knew-Lola-" he paused. The eyes of the two men met.
CHAPTER XX
THE TROUBLE OF LOLA
It was four o'clock when George left Bawdsey. The two had spoken little of the newspaper paragraph which informed them of Lola's escapade. Although her name was not mentioned there was no doubt in the mind of Brendon that she was the culprit. The newspaper gave the year of the book when the sheet was torn, and that corresponded to the year when Percy Vane married-or had been supposed to marry-Rosina Lockwood. And this was the explanation of Lola's absence from town. She had not fled from the rebuke of Brendon, but had gone to do him an injury by destroying the evidence of his parents' marriage. This finally was the meaning of her wild threat to Dorothy. By preventing George from proving his legitimacy, Lola hoped to put a final end to his chance of making Miss Ward his wife.
Bawdsey was much upset over the news. He would have flown immediately to Wargrove, but some special business kept him in town. However, he purposed to go the next morning by the first train. Bawdsey did not think that Brendon had sufficient interest in Lola to go down to Wargrove at once. But George was going that very day, all the same. Lola could not have known that his parents had been married at Wargrove without having seen Mrs. Jersey's confession wherein the fact was probably mentioned.. Therefore she must have obtained the confession in some way. How she achieved this, George could not conjecture. Then he thought of Lola's hot Spanish blood, of the stiletto-a peculiarly foreign weapon-and shuddered. It occurred to him that Lola herself must have stabbed the woman.
However, he put this thought aside for the moment and set about getting to Wargrove. On consulting an A. B. C. he found that a train left Liverpool Street Station for Southend at ten minutes past five, and that Wargrove was a tiny rural town which could be reached in an hour. Ever quick and expeditious in his movements, George had entered a Strand shop to buy the railway guide, and, having ascertained about the train, he simply stepped into his cab and ordered the man to drive to Liverpool Street. At the appointed time he was on his way down the country.
This precipitancy of action was due to a dread lest Bawdsey should change his mind and see Lola, first. Certainly the detective had spoken frankly, and his conduct appeared to be dictated by sentiments of honor. Nevertheless, George felt that Bawdsey was playing a part and that this apparent honesty was not his real character. It behooved him to be on his guard against him; and to know as much about the death of Mrs. Jersey as Bawdsey did, so as to able to counterplot him if necessary. From the fact that she was in Wargrove, Lola evidently had possession of the confession. If Bawdsey saw her he would doubtless try and get it from her, to learn the name of Percy Vane's assassin. George wished therefore to forestall Bawdsey, and to make Lola surrender the confession-always presuming she had it-to himself. For this reason he departed quickly for Wargrove. At the Liverpool Street Station he examined all the passengers as they entered the train. Bawdsey did not put in an appearance, and as the next train would not depart for another two hours George felt that he had stolen a march on the detective. Bawdsey would never think that he had acted with such promptitude.
It was a dull journey, as Brendon was worried by a commercial traveler who would talk politics. George put him off as civilly as possible, and finally turned his prattle-for it was little else-to his own advantage by asking for the whereabouts of Wargrove. It seemed that the new town of Wargrove was the place where the train stopped, but Old Wargrove was three miles distant, and it was there that the parish church was situated. The commercial traveler followed up this information with many details concerning the manners and customs of the natives, which bored George to distraction. However, he listened quietly, and paid as little attention as was consistent with politeness. His officious companion watched for the station, and roared out the name when the train stopped. George thanked him and alighted, glad to be relieved of such a weary talker. And till the train was moving the man leaned out of the window shouting directions as to the best way to reach Old Wargrove.
As it proved there was no necessity for George to go there. Lola was stopping in the policeman's house prior to her removal to the prison at Chelmsford. Her attempt at robbery had been committed on the previous day, and Brendon thought she would have already been removed. However, he was informed that there was some delay owing to the illness of the Chelmsford inspector, and therefore Lola would have to remain in Wargrove for another twelve hours. Brendon was glad to hear this, as it would save him a long journey. He thanked the policeman who had explained, and was directed by the man to the house of his superior officer, which was on the outskirts of the town. George soon found a semi-detached house with a notice on it, and on knocking at the door explained his errand to a brisk little woman. She pursed up her lips, looked inquisitively at him with bright eyes, and called her husband. The policeman was a burly, slow-witted, fat man who seemed nervous on being asked for a sight of the prisoner, for such Lola was to all intents and purposes. He did not want to exceed his duty. George produced a sovereign, but the official, although his eyes twinkled, hesitated to take the bribe. It was then that Mrs. Policeman came to Brendon's assistance.
"Nonsense, Jeremiah," she said briskly. "Let the young gentleman see his young lady. She's dying to have a sight of him."
"How do you know that she is my young lady?" asked George.
Mrs. Policeman nodded with her arms akimbo. "Why she's been crying out in that foreign way of hers for George-George-"
"That is my name certainly."
"And you are her gentleman. She told me what you were like, and cried all the time, poor soul. Tall, fair, with eyes of blue."
"It's all very well," grumbled Jeremiah. "But 'tis against the law."
"You can be present at our interview if you like."
"There, Jeremiah, you can't have the gentleman saying fairer than that." Here the sharp little woman nudged her husband's arms. This was a hint for him to swallow his scruples and take the sovereign. Jeremiah agreed, and shortly the sovereign was in his pocket and he was leading George to a back upstairs room.
"We'd have put her in the best parlor," he said, "as I always like to make 'em comfortable. But she'd have run away, so we was obliged to keep her in the room with the bars on the window."
"Poor Lola," thought George, as he conjured up the small stuffy room and the barred window.
But the room was not so comfortless as Jeremiah stated, thanks to Mrs. Policeman. It was small, certainly, but it was neatly furnished as a bed-sitting-room. The window was certainly barred, but there was no other sign that it was a prison cell. Before introducing George to this abode, it struck Jeremiah that the prisoner had been inquired for as "the young lady." He stopped Brendon at the door. "Might you know her name, sir?"
"Of course I know it," replied George, promptly. "Don't you?"
"Now I do," said Jeremiah, with a heavy nod, "but it was a rare time afore she'd speak. My missus got it out of her. Loler Veal it is, she says, and she's by way of being on the stage."
"She is the most celebrated dancer in London, and her name is Lola Velez," said George. "I don't suppose she'll be punished much for this. She's mad at times."
"Oh, if she's mad she'll get off lightly, but them parish register to be torn-it's bad work that. My father were a sexton," explained Jeremiah, soberly.
"And naturally you think Mademoiselle Velez has committed the most atrocious of crimes. But don't stand chattering here, my good fellow. I have to return by the nine train."
"I'll wait outside," said Jeremiah, on whom Brendon's generosity and peremptory manner had made an impression, "but you won't give her poison, or knives, or that, sir?"
George laughed. "No. She is the last person to use them if I did supply her with such articles."
"She's a lively young woman," said the policeman, and slowly unlocked the door. George was admitted, and then Jeremiah, so as to give the lovers-as he thought them-an opportunity of meeting unobserved, retired, locking the door after him. Lola and George were together.
She was seated by the window staring out into the darkness. On the table was a small lamp, and a fire burned in the grate. Lola started up when the door closed again. "Who is-who is?" she asked in her rapid way, and came toward him.
"Lola," began George, but he got no further. She ran forward and flung herself with tears at his feet, clutching his legs and wailing:
"Oh, my dear one, hast thou come in anger? Trample me, make me as earth, beloved, but be not enraged-ah, no-ah, no!"
"Lola. Get up and don't be a fool," said Brendon, speaking roughly to brace her nerves.
She rose, sobbing, and crept to a chair in a slinking manner, quite unlike her usual free grace. She did not raise her eyes, and George was pained to see the change. Badly as she had acted, he felt sorry at beholding her depressed, and like a sick beast in confinement.
"Lola," he said, taking a chair near her, "I have come as your friend."
"Not in anger-ah, but yes, in anger."
"I am not angry. I am very sorry."
"Ah, but in your eyes-they sparkle. I see Mees Vards. I do try to steal the church books. You are furiously enraged."
"Look at me and see."
But Lola would not, so George took her chin and made her gaze directly into his eyes. Lola's were filled with tears, but after a time she began to smile. "Ah, you are not enraged, it was for you I did it. I wish my dear George to myself-all-all."
"You know that is impossible."
"But it is not. I will have you."
"Not at all," said George, deliberately. "You will marry Bawdsey."
"That pig-cow, horrible and miserable. Non. Ah, non!" She sprang to her feet. "Jamais. Ah grand jamais! I do swear," and producing a small black crucifix from her dress she kissed it vehemently.
She was a most impossible person to deal with, being as wild as a tigress and as impulsive as a child. George made her resume her seat, and drew his chair close to her. Much delighted, Lola took his hand within her own and looked at him affectionately. Brendon did not like the position at all, but it was necessary to humor Lola if he wished to arrive at the truth. He spoke to her very directly.