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Title: Greensea Island
       A Mystery of the Essex Coast

Author: Victor Bridges

Release Date: December 18, 2021 [eBook #66969]
[Most recently updated: September 24, 2022]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

Produced by: Al Haines

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREENSEA ISLAND ***




  GREENSEA ISLAND

  A MYSTERY OF THE ESSEX COAST


  BY

  VICTOR BRIDGES

  AUTHOR OF "A ROGUE BY COMPULSION,"
  "THE CRUISE OF THE SCANDAL," ETC.



  G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
  NEW YORK AND LONDON
  The Knickerbocker Press

  1922




  Copyright, 1921
  by
  Victor Bridges


  Made in the United States of America




  To
  MARGARET




GREENSEA ISLAND



CHAPTER ONE

I was leaning over the starboard railing, waiting for a boat, when
Ross, the ship's doctor, came sauntering along the deck, puffing
contentedly at a large Manilla cigar.

"Hullo, Dryden!" he observed, in that pleasant drawling voice of his.
"Busy as usual?"

Having just completed five hours' strenuous toil, supervising the
unlading of cargo, I could afford to treat his effort at sarcasm with
the contempt that it deserved.

"Are you coming ashore?" I asked.

He shook his head.  "I'm not the second officer of the _Neptune_;
I've got work to do.  We are expecting another bundle of Dagoes on
board at three o'clock, and I must be around to examine their beastly
eyes."  He knocked off the end of his cigar, which fluttered down
into the blue water of Leixoes Harbour.  "Besides," he added, "what
on earth's the good of going ashore?  There's nothing fresh to see in
Oporto."

"There's probably something fresh to smell," I replied hopefully.
"Anyhow, I'm going.  I'm sick to death of the ship, and I want to
stretch my legs."

His glance travelled ironically downwards.

"I should have thought they were quite long enough already," he said.
"If you grow any bigger you will have to give up the sea, or else
join the White Star.  There will be no room for you on the Planet
Line."

"Well, I shan't break my heart about it," I returned, laughing.
"I've had quite enough of the gay and bounding ocean to last me the
rest of my time."

He nodded sympathetically.  "It's a dog's life," he admitted.  "I
have often thought of chucking it myself and setting up as a Harley
Street specialist.  The only objection is my incurable honesty and
truthfulness."

"In about a week," I remarked, "you would be packing up and bundling
off to Timbuctoo or Yokohama or somewhere.  You've not got a simple,
restful nature like mine; you are one of those people who have to
keep on wandering about because their consciences won't let them
rest."

"It's not my conscience," he replied cheerfully.  "I knocked the
nonsense out of that years ago.  It's nothing but a silly habit I've
drifted into.  If one paddles about the world long enough one gets a
sort of taste for it into one's blood, and when once that happens a
man's lost.  It's worse than drink or opium."  He leaned back against
the rail and surveyed me with mock seriousness.  "Let my fate be a
warning to you, Dryden.  If you feel any yearnings for a nice little
wife, and some chickens in the back garden, and a corner seat in the
parish church, you get out of this while you're still young and
innocent.  Otherwise, in a few years' time, you will be just such
another case as I am."

"It's the horrible possibility of that," I explained, "that makes me
want to go ashore."

He laughed good-humouredly.  "Well, go ashore then; and while you're
about it you might see if you can pick me up a new pipe.  My old
one's getting positively insanitary."  He glanced down it at the boat
which was coming alongside.

"By the way," he added, "you may come across the beautiful Miss de
Roda if you're lucky.  She went off about half an hour ago."

"What, alone?" I asked.

"Quite alone," he returned encouragingly.  "Uncle's still too seedy
to go bucketing about as a chaperon."

"Well, I wonder he allowed her on shore by herself," I remarked.
"It's the last thing I should have expected considering the way he
has bottled her up all the blessed voyage."

Ross smiled indulgently.  "He probably thinks she's safe against
ordinary temptations.  I expect it's only romantic-looking second
officers that he's frightened of."  He walked with me to the head of
the ladder.  "I suppose you'll want a boat to fetch you," he added.
"Don't forget we sail at six sharp."

"Oh, that will be all right," I replied, preparing to descend.  "I'm
not sure what time I shall be back, so I'll get one of those ruffians
on the beach to bring me off."

I climbed down and took my place along with a couple of passengers
who had also been seized with a belated desire to set foot on the
soil of Portugal.  A minute later we were moving rapidly across the
harbour towards the long stone jetty.

All the way in, despite the chatting of my companions, my thoughts
kept flitting persistently round the two people Ross and I had been
discussing.  One meets many and various types of humanity on a South
American liner, but from the very first Señor de Roda and his niece
had aroused my especial interest.

They had joined the ship at Manaos, and I had happened to be standing
on the deck at the very moment when they had come on board.  Two
things had struck me about them instantly; one was the fact that de
Roda himself looked wretchedly ill, and the other that his niece, on
whose arm he leaned heavily as he came up the gangway, was quite the
prettiest girl I had ever seen in my life.  I am not much of a hand
at describing anyone's appearance, but if you can imagine yourself
coming face to face with one of Greuze's most lovely pictures,
suddenly brought to life and a little sunburned, you will get some
faint idea of my sensations at that particular moment.  I am glad
that no one was with me, for I know that I stood there gaping at her
with a sort of stupefied admiration of which I should never have
heard the last during the remainder of the voyage.

To de Roda, on the other hand, I had only devoted the briefest of
glances.  That, however, had left me with the impression of a tall,
powerfully built man of middle age, prematurely bent by illness, and
with a sallow face, from which two dark eyes looked out with a
curious and rather forbidding intensity.

The next moment they had passed me, and with an effort I had jerked
myself back into something like my usual self-possession.

Later on the same day, when I had happened to run across the purser,
I had made some enquiries concerning the new arrivals.  Except for
supplying me with their names, however, he had been unable to give me
any information, beyond the fact that they had booked through for the
full voyage to London, and that they had taken the two best cabins
still available.

It was from Ross that I subsequently gleaned the few further
particulars I knew about them.  His medical services had been called
in the first evening, and he had been in fairly regular attendance
throughout the whole voyage from Manaos to Oporto.

From one or two remarks he let drop I gathered that de Roda was
suffering from some form of heart trouble, and that although this
might, and probably would, get better for a time, any permanent
recovery was out of the question.  The girl, it appeared, was his
patient's niece, and, unlike her uncle, who was an obvious South
American through and through, she herself was half English, and spoke
the language as fluently and readily as she did Spanish or Portuguese.

Ross declared that she was as charming to talk to as she was
beautiful to look at, but this was a statement that so far I had no
opportunity of putting to a practical test.  Throughout the entire
voyage both uncle and niece had kept as strictly to themselves as any
two people could possibly do on an ocean-going steamer.  For the
first day or so de Roda's state of health had rendered it advisable
that all his meals should be served in his cabin, and it was not
until we were half way across that either of them had appeared in the
saloon.  Even then they had made arrangements with the steward that
they should have a private table, and so far as I knew they were only
on the barest speaking terms with any of the other passengers.

Very occasionally they would stroll round the deck in each other's
company, de Roda invariably holding his niece's arm and staring out
in front of him with a sombre look that was distinctly discouraging
to any casual advances.  Now and then in the afternoons Miss de Roda
would establish herself in a quiet corner with a book and a deck
chair, but the few more intrusive spirits who had attempted to take
advantage of this fact did not seem to have met with any startling
success.

Personally, I had made no effort to follow in their steps.  I will
confess straight away that this was not due to any indifference on my
part, for she occupied my thoughts in a curiously persistent and
disturbing fashion.  My duties, however, left me little time for
talking to the passengers, and, apart from that, I had no wish to try
and force my acquaintance upon a girl who so obviously desired to be
left alone.  At times I could not help wondering whether her attitude
in the matter was not dictated rather by loyalty to her uncle's
wishes than by any natural inclination for solitude; but still, that
made no difference to the facts of the case, which were sufficiently
obvious for any but the most thick-skinned individual.

So far as I was concerned, this slight touch of mystery only added to
her attractiveness.  In spite of our never having spoken to each
other, I found that with each day of the voyage my interest in her
increased rather than lessened, a circumstance which I had been at
some particular pains to keep entirely to myself.  As a rule I have
not the least objection to being chaffed, but for once in a way I
rather shrank from the raillery which Ross would certainly have
indulged in if he had had the remotest inkling of my real feelings.

In the middle of these meditations of mine we came alongside the
jetty, from which two or three nondescript longshoremen had been
eyeing our arrival with apathetic interest.  For its size, Leixoes
seems to contain a remarkable number of leisured citizens, whose only
source of income appears to be the scanty earnings of their
hard-working wives.

My two companions were anxious to have a look round the village
before proceeding farther, so, leaving them to their own devices, I
walked up the beach and boarded an electric tram which was just about
to start for Oporto.  Half an hour's run along the sandy road brought
me to that straggling city, which, with its mediæval charm and
shoddy, unfinished modern "improvements," gives one an illuminating
picture of Portuguese history.

I descended in the old quarter on the quay, where the tall,
tumble-down houses, with their quaint open fronts, still stare out
picturesquely over the broad waters of the Douro.  A glass of
excellent iced beer in a neighbouring café washed away most of the
dust which had collected in my throat, and then, feeling remarkably
at peace with the world, I strolled off up the hill in the blazing
glare of an almost tropical sunshine.

For perhaps an hour I wandered leisurely about the town, buying one
or two things which I wanted--including Ross's pipe--and thoroughly
enjoying the sensation of being once more on solid ground.  Then,
having nothing better to do, I turned my steps to the English Club,
where, through the kindness of the members--a very genial and
hospitable crowd--any officer of the Planet Line was always a welcome
guest.

Here I found one or two old acquaintances, including the British
Consul.  All of them hailed me in the friendliest fashion.  What with
cigars and talk and more iced drinks, the time slipped away so
rapidly that I suddenly woke up to the fact that I was cutting things
rather fine with regard to the return journey.  I had intended to
walk back to Leixoes, but this was out of the question now, so,
bidding my kind hosts a hasty good-bye, I made my way to the
celebrated Rolling Square, where I found another obliging tram
waiting my convenience.

As I stepped inside, the very first person who met my eyes was Miss
de Roda.  For the time I had quite forgotten that she was on shore,
and the spectacle of her sitting there quietly in the corner gave me
such a start that with a sudden unintentional movement I trod heavily
upon the conductor's toe.  The explosion that followed, punctuated by
my apologies, naturally attracted her attention.  She glanced up with
a half-suppressed smile quivering round the corners of her lips, and
behind it I thought I could detect a faint trace of friendly
recognition.  Anyhow, I hesitated no longer.  Taking my courage in
both hands, I walked up the tram to where she was sitting and raised
my cap.

"I hope you won't mind my introducing myself," I said.  "I am the
second officer of the _Neptune_, and I think that you are one of our
passengers."

A slight but charmingly graceful movement of her head encouraged me
to take the vacant seat beside her.

"My name," I added, "is Dryden--John Dryden--the same as the poet."

She looked at me with a faint gleam of amusement still lurking in the
depths of her beautiful brown eyes.

"I know you by sight, Mr. Dryden," she said.  "I have seen you on the
ship."  Then she paused.  "You must be proud of your name," she
added.  "It is a very distinguished one."

"It was very nearly extinguished just now," I replied.  "At least,
judging by what I could understand of the conductor's remarks."

She laughed softly--a low musical laugh that gave me a curious little
stab of pleasure.

"One can't blame him," she remarked.  "You must be a dreadfully heavy
weight to come down suddenly upon anyone's toe."

I could hardly explain to her the real reason for my clumsiness, so I
took refuge in a piece of shameless dishonesty.

"I was in a hurry," I explained.  "I had been talking to some friends
in the English Club, and I suddenly realised I should only just have
time to get back.  Hence the catastrophe!"

She glanced at her watch.  "We have left it rather late," she
admitted.  "I have been doing some commissions for my uncle, and they
kept me a good deal longer than I expected."  She looked up at me
with a slight trace of anxiety.  "I suppose there is really no danger
of our missing the ship?" she asked.

I shook my head.  "None at all.  If there were I should have taken a
taxi.  We shall be at Leixoes by half-past five, and it's only a ten
minutes' row to where the _Neptune's_ lying."

"Provided that we can get a boat," she added.

"Oh, there'll be no difficulty about that," I said.  "There are
generally plenty on the beach, and if it came to the worst we could
always signal to the ship."

My reassurances seemed to have the desired effect, for she leaned
back in her seat with a relieved expression, and obviously dismissed
the matter from her thoughts.

It is not an easy thing to carry on a natural and unbroken
conversation in a Portuguese tram, handicapped as one is by the pace
at which the vehicle travels and the perpetual gong-ringing in which
all drivers so joyously indulge.  Still, considering the difficulties
under which we laboured, we certainly got along together remarkably
well.  Long before we reached Leixoes I was in full agreement with
Ross's statement that my companion was just as charming to talk to as
she was beautiful to look at, and all the way I was secretly blessing
the lucky accident which had given me the chance of making her
acquaintance.

One thing I noticed, however, and that was that although she talked
freely about the voyage and about her impressions of Oporto, she made
no further reference either to her uncle or to her own affairs.  I
need hardly add that I was particularly careful to avoid saying
anything which might sound like an attempt to introduce either topic,
but the fact only strengthened my previous opinion that her
self-imposed solitude on board was due to some private reason rather
than to any natural aversion to society.

This belief was increased by the faint but curious suggestion of
reserve which seemed to linger in the background, even when she was
speaking about the most unimportant matters.  It gave me the
impression that she regarded our conversation as a sort of unexpected
holiday--a holiday which for some mysterious reason she had no real
right to indulge in.  Its only effect, however, was to render her
still more attractive, and I felt quite resentful against the
unnecessary efficiency of the Portuguese tram service, when we gonged
our way noisily into Leixoes five minutes after the appointed time
for our arrival.

Disentangling ourselves from the rest of the company, we made our way
down to the beach.  Out in the harbour we could see the _Neptune_
busily engaged in getting up steam, while a few trading boats still
clustered round her side, making a final effort to coax money out of
her now wary passengers.

As we reached the shore a swarthy and rather truculent-looking
gentleman, decorated with silver ear-rings, came forward to meet us.

"You want to go to sheep?" he enquired, waving a dirty hand in the
direction of the _Neptune_.

I eyed him with some disfavour, but there appeared to be only one
boat on the beach, so it was no good being too fastidious.

"Bring her along to the edge of the jetty," I said, "and we'll get in
there."

With a shrill whistle through his fingers he summoned another and
equally unattractive individual to his aid, and the pair of them
commenced to haul their boat down into the water.

Miss de Roda and I walked along the causeway.

"I'm sorry I can't find you a handsomer crew," I said, "but it's a
question of Hobson's choice."

"Oh, they will do very well," she answered, smiling.  "They are
probably the most respectable people really."  Then she paused.
"It's a bad habit to judge by appearances," she added, with what
seemed to me the least touch of bitterness in her voice.

I looked at her steadily.  "Perhaps you're right," I admitted.  "All
the same, it's one of those bad habits that I'm rather a believer in."

To this remark she returned no answer, and the next minute the boat,
with its two unprepossessing occupants, came drifting alongside.  We
took our places in the stern, facing the gentleman with the silver
ear-rings, who was pulling stroke.  At closer quarters I thought I
had never seen a more sinister-looking rascal in my life, an
impression which was in no way mitigated by a large,
businesslike-looking knife, which he wore stuck in a sheath suspended
from his belt.

At a very leisurely pace we moved away from the jetty and headed in
the direction of the ship.  Neither of the men appeared to be putting
the least energy into his work, and at any other time I should have
called their attention to the fact in pretty straight language.  As
it was, the prospect of spending a few more minutes in my companion's
society reconciled me to their slackness, though the furtive way in
which they kept glancing at us annoyed me almost beyond endurance.

We had covered about half the distance, and were still some two
hundred yards from the _Neptune_, when, without any warning, both men
suddenly ceased rowing and rested their oars on the water.

I looked up at them sharply.  "What are you doing?" I said.  "Get on
at once."

The fellow with the silver ear-rings eyed me with provoking insolence.

"No--no," he said.  "You pay us now.  You pay us two pound and then
we take you to sheep."

Now the proper fee for a harbour boat at Leixoes is two shillings, so
for a moment the audacity of this demand almost took away my breath.
I suppose my face showed what I felt, for before I could speak Miss
de Roda leaned across and touched me on the arm.

"Please don't let my being with you make any difference, Mr. Dryden,"
she said.  "Do exactly what you think best."

I had quite recovered myself by this time, and the cool way in which
she accepted the situation filled me with secret pleasure.

I addressed myself to the leader of the mutiny.

"I shall pay you your exact fare," I said, "and if you take my advice
you will go on at once."

He met my gaze with an expression of truculent defiance.

"Two pound," he repeated, "or we take you over there and leave you."
He waved his hand in the direction of the desolate sandbanks which
stretched along the farther side of Leixoes harbour.  "You not get
boat then," he added, grinning maliciously; "you stop there and lose
sheep."

It has always been an axiom of mine that when you have got to have a
row the quicker and more vigorously you start work the better.  The
man's face was only a few feet away from me, and, without a second's
hesitation, I made a swift lunge forward, and struck out with all the
force that I was capable of.  He saw what was coming and grabbed for
his weapon, but just as he drew it from its sheath the blow crashed
home on the point of his chin, and sent him reeling over backwards
into the arms of his companion.  Slipping from his hand, the knife
tinkled down on to the floorboard of the boat, and the next instant I
had snatched it up and was standing over the confused heap of arms
and legs which represented the vanquished enemy.

"Now," I said, "are you going on, or am I going to chuck you both
into the harbour?"

For a moment there was no answer; then, with an effort, the gentleman
in the bow slithered out from under his companion and sat up,
blinking and gasping.  He was evidently a poor-spirited ruffian
compared with the other, for his face had gone the colour of putty,
and he eyed me with absolute terror.

"You had better make up your mind quickly," I added.

He nodded his head vigorously.  "Yes, yes," he exclaimed; "we take
you to sheep"; and, without waiting for any further developments, he
seized hold of his discarded oar and plunged it furiously into the
water.

"Well, you won't do it by rowing round in a circle," I observed.  "We
must try what first aid for the injured will do."

I picked up a rusty tin from under one of the seats, and, filling it
with water, poured the contents over the head of the sleeping beauty,
who still lay in a huddled mass between the two seats.  For such a
simple remedy it worked with surprising efficiency.  There was a
grunt, followed by a convulsive start, and then, shaking himself like
a drenched Newfoundland dog, the patient slowly arose from his
recumbent attitude.

I scowled at him ferociously.  "Oh, you've waked up, have you?" I
said.  "Catch hold of your oar, and don't let me hear another word
from you before we reach the ship."

If looks could kill I should have dropped dead in the boat, but,
nature having fortunately arranged otherwise, no such unpleasant
tragedy occurred.  Without a word he proceeded to carry out my
instructions, and the next moment we were moving on towards the
_Neptune_ at a considerably brisker pace than we had hitherto
achieved.

Going back to my place in the stern, I reseated myself beside Miss de
Roda.

"You have made me change my opinion," she said, in a delightfully
tranquil voice.  "In future I shall attach more importance to first
impressions."

"I hope you didn't mind," I answered apologetically.  "I couldn't
think of anything else to do for the moment."

She shook her head, with the same gleam of amusement in her eyes that
I had seen before.

"On the contrary," she said, "I am extremely obliged to you.  I have
the greatest possible objection to being cheated."  She paused, and,
bending sideways, looked out ahead of us.  "I wonder if anybody on
the ship saw what happened," she added.  "There seem to be several
people leaning over the side."

I fancied I could detect a faint trace of anxiety in her voice, as
though she rather dreaded the possibility she referred to.

"I don't suppose so," I said comfortingly.  "The sun's in their eyes,
and we were some distance off."

"It's only my uncle I am thinking of," she exclaimed.  "As long as no
one says anything to him it doesn't matter in the least.  He is not
very well, you know, and I shouldn't like him to be upset or--or
annoyed."

She brought out the last word with some hesitation, and then stopped,
as though rather regretting that she had made use of it.

"I'm sure it will be all right," I repeated.  "There's something very
deceptive about the Portuguese atmosphere.  If anybody imagines they
saw anything, I shall let them know that they were making a mistake."

By this time we had drawn close enough to the _Neptune_ to be able to
distinguish the small group of people who were watching our approach.
It was with a certain feeling of discomfort that I recognised amongst
them the burly figure of Ross, for I knew that, whatever the others
might have missed, nothing would have escaped his singularly
observant eye.  Still, I comforted myself with the thought that he
was the last person who would be likely to gossip unnecessarily, and
that it was only I myself who would be the victim of his amiable
banter.

As our two boatmen brought us alongside the ship in sullen silence, a
sailor who had been waiting at the top of the ladder ran down and
caught hold of the gunwale.  I guessed from his expression that he
also had been an intelligent witness of our little disturbance, a
suspicion which was fully confirmed by his opening remark.

"Been 'avin' trouble with 'em, sir?" he enquired.

I assisted Miss de Roda out of the boat, and collected the one or two
small parcels which I had brought with me.

"It was a case of sudden illness," I explained.  "One of our friends
here was taken faint, and I had to pour some water over his head.  He
is feeling better now."

The sailor said nothing, but I saw him glance with an appreciative
grin at the scowling face of the supposed invalid, which was
beginning to show distinct traces of its recent contact with my fist.
This scowl became even darker when I handed over a two shilling
piece, and stepped up unconcernedly on to the bottom rung of the
ladder, leaving the knife lying behind me on the seat.  I fancy that
its owner would have given all his earthly possessions to jump up
after me and plunge it into my back, but if so his longing had to
share the fate of many another splendid aspiration in this
disappointing world.

As I reached the deck, under a fire of rather curious glances from
the small knot of passengers who had gathered there, I noticed Miss
de Roda, a little distance apart from the others, apparently waiting
to speak to me.  Ross, who was still leaning over the rail, made no
effort to attract my attention, so, passing through the group, I
walked up to where she was standing.

"Here is my shilling, Mr. Dryden," she said, holding out her hand;
"and thank you very much for saving me the other nineteen."

I took the coin she offered me and put it into my pocket.

"I think I shall bore a hole in it," I said, "and wear it as a medal.
A naval victory like ours deserves some recognition."

She laughed softly.  "There will always be one person who remembers
it," she said, "if that's any satisfaction."

Something prompted me to take a bold step.

"May I come and talk to you sometimes when I see you on deck?" I
asked.  "Please tell me straight out if you would rather I didn't."

A troubled look came into her eyes, and for a moment she hesitated.

"It isn't a question of what I should like," she said slowly.  "You
see, I have to think of my uncle.  He is not at all well, and he has
a very strong objection to our making any fresh acquaintances on
board."

I daresay my face showed what I thought of Señor de Roda, for she
continued a little hastily: "You mustn't imagine that he is unkind or
disagreeable.  Indeed, in a way I--I agree with him.  Please don't
think me ungrateful, but it will be much the best if we just say
good-bye now."

There was something almost wistful in the way she spoke, which at
once softened my resentment without in any way altering my
disappointment.

"Couldn't we split the difference?" I suggested.  "Let me have one
more talk with you, and then, if it's got to be good-bye, I'll try
and say it as cheerfully as possible."

There was a moment's pause.  "Very well," she said.  "I sometimes go
up on deck for a few minutes before breakfast.  If you care to come
and talk to me to-morrow morning, please do."

I took off my cap, and with a very slight bow she turned towards her
cabin, leaving me standing there in a tangle of interesting, and, so
far as I was concerned, quite novel emotions.

I woke up to perceive Ross sauntering towards me, with his hands in
his pockets and a mischievous twinkle in his grey eyes.

"Hullo!" he observed.  "Got my pipe?"

I nodded.  "I have bought you a beauty," I said.  "You will be a
credit to the ship."

"There's a telegram for you in your cabin," he went on; "a cable from
England, I think.  It came on board just after you had gone ashore."

"A cable from England!" I repeated.  "I wonder who the Dickens it's
from."

He chuckled softly.  "Can't say," he replied, "unless it's a message
from King Arthur offering you a seat at the Round Table.  I believe
they're getting devilish short of knights errant."

I stepped up to him and took him gently but firmly by the arm.

"I think you want a drink, Ross," I said.  "You had better come along
down with me, and I'll give you a whisky and soda."




CHAPTER TWO

I led him across the deck until we reached the companion, when I
released my grip on his elbow.

"Tell me, you old scoundrel," I said, "did anyone except you and that
confounded sailor see what was going on?"

He chuckled again.  "What can you expect," he enquired, "if you will
choose the public ocean on which to perform these feats of chivalry?"

"There wasn't any chivalry about it," I said.  "The blighters tried
to blackmail us into giving them a couple of quid.  In fact, they had
the infernal cheek to threaten to put us ashore on the sands if we
didn't pay up."

Ross smiled provokingly.  "I should have thought that would have just
suited you," he observed.  "You would make a very nice Paul and
Virginia."

"It wouldn't have suited Miss de Roda," I returned.  "As it is, she's
worried to death with the idea that someone will go and tell her
uncle about that scrap in the boat.  She thinks it will give him
another heart attack, and, seeing the sort of doctor we've got on
board, I must say I rather sympathize with her."

He took my shaft quite imperturbably.

"I thought you would get the poor girl into trouble sooner or later,"
he remarked.  "Still, thanks to me, it's not as bad as it might have
been.  I was the only one on board with a pair of glasses, and, when
the others asked me what was happening, I told them the gentleman you
sloshed on the jaw had managed to catch a crab.  It was some crab, by
the way, wasn't it?  I hate lying, but I knew that your natural
modesty would shrink from anything like a public ovation."

I stopped outside my cabin.  "Ross," I said feelingly, "you may be a
bad doctor, but you're a damned good pal.  You shall have a double
whisky for this."

I led the way in and closed the door behind us.

"Besides," he continued, settling himself down on my bunk, "there's
no risk of Uncle Philip dropping dead.  He has bucked up a lot the
last day or two, thanks to my extraordinary skill."

I mixed a generous peg, and brought it across to where he was sitting.

"I can't quite make out the Señor de Roda," I said.  "He looks as if
he had something on his mind--something he was always brooding over."

Ross took a long and appreciative drink.  "He has had a rotten time
somehow," he replied; "that's quite certain.  I should put him down
as a naturally healthy man who had been broken up by bad feeding and
rough living."  He paused.  "But I expect you're pretty well up in
the family history now?" he added drily.

"That's the weak point of your profession," I retorted.  "When you
don't know you generally guess wrong.  As a matter of fact I only met
Miss de Roda in the tram coming down from Oporto.  There wasn't much
time for private enquiry work, even if I had felt like it."

"You didn't do so badly," returned Ross, wagging his head.  "There is
nothing women like so much as a little display of primitive
brutality.  It's just your luck to have had the chance.  That sort of
thing never comes my way."  He finished his drink and put down the
tumbler.  "Aren't you going to open your wire?" he asked.  "There it
is on the table."

"By Jove!" I exclaimed.  "I'd forgotten all about it."

I crossed the cabin, and, slitting the flap of the little blue
envelope, pulled out the flimsy sheet of paper inside.  It was headed
"London, May 26th," and underneath was the following message:


    "Regret inform you your uncle, Richard Jannaway, died 17th inst.
    As next of kin you inherit.  Please call 117 Bedford Row as soon
    as you reach England.--Wilmot and Drayton, solicitors."


For several seconds I stood there contemplating this document, in
such complete surprise that at last Ross got up a little anxiously
from where he was sitting.

"Nothing wrong, I hope?" he asked.

Without a word I handed him the slip, and he in turn read through its
contents.

"My sainted aunt!" he exclaimed.  "Have you come into a fortune or
what?"

"I haven't the faintest notion," I said.

There was a short pause.  Then once more he glanced through the
message which he was still holding in his hand.  "Who was Mr. Richard
Jannaway?" he demanded.  "And what's all the mystery about?"

I picked up the whisky and helped myself to a drink.

"He was my mother's brother," I said.  "I know hardly anything about
him besides that.  I was under the impression that he was dead years
ago."

"Haven't you ever seen him?"

I shook my head.  "He left England when I was a baby.  I believe he
was a pretty bad egg one way and another--the sort of black sheep
that every respectable family rolls out occasionally.  I have got
some vague idea that he went to South America, but so far as I know
there has never been any news of him from that day to this."

Ross reseated himself on the bunk and stared at me with vast
enjoyment.

"You've struck the main reef, my son," he observed.  "It's the sort
of thing one reads about in a shilling shocker.  He's probably made a
huge fortune cornering castor oil or something, and when you get back
you'll find yourself a prancing millionaire."

"It's much more likely he's left me a bundle of debts," I said
sceptically.

"Don't you believe it," persisted Ross.  "I've got a wonderful
instinct for lucky people, and the very first time I saw you I smelt
money.  I don't suppose you'll ever do another honest day's work in
your life--at least, not after you reach London."

As he spoke the jangling sound of the shore bell echoed loudly
through the ship.

"Anyhow, I must go up and make a final effort at it now," I said.  "I
am due on the bridge in five minutes, and I shouldn't like to leave
the service with a tarnished record."

Ross hoisted himself to his feet and handed me back the wire.

"I shall retire to my cabin and read Marcus Aurelius," he announced.
"He is very consoling with regard to the favouritism and injustice of
life."

As people go I don't think I am very easily upset, either by good
luck or the reverse.  Still, I must admit that, in spite of what I
said to Ross, the totally unexpected news which Messrs. Wilmot and
Drayton had been kind enough to forward me had certainly set my heart
beating a little more briskly than usual.  There is something
peculiarly stimulating in the thought that one may have come into a
fortune--especially to a second officer in the Merchant Service,
whose capital consists of about seventy pounds in cash and a
miscellaneous collection of shore-going clothes.

All through my watch, while we were creeping out of Leixoes harbour,
and thrashing our way up the desolate coast of Spain, the pleasant
possibilities of the situation kept turning themselves over in my
mind.  As I had told Ross earlier in the afternoon, I was sick of my
present life--sick to death of it.  Ever since the war I had been
helping to trundle the _Neptune_ backwards and forwards between
London and Brazil, and any faint attraction the job might once have
possessed had long since vanished into thin air.  I had already
practically made up my mind to chuck it at the first favourable
opportunity, and now it looked as if Fate were suddenly offering me a
chance such as I had never hoped for even in my wildest dreams.  If
this mysterious uncle of mine had really left me anything worth
having I could start out on my fresh career with all the advantages
of a leisurely and deliberate choice.  What that choice would be I
had not exactly determined.  When one is twenty-six, and as fit as a
fiddle, the world contains so many delightful openings, it is
difficult to decide in a hurry which is the most congenial.

Even when I was back in my cabin and stretched out comfortably in my
bunk, I still found my mind sufficiently busy to keep me wide awake.
Another and highly interesting thought had suddenly dawned upon me,
and that was that if Ross's predictions were in any way right, I
should now be in a much more justifiable position to pursue my
acquaintance with Miss de Roda.

Lying there in the dark, I seemed to see her face as plainly as if
she were standing just in front of me.  Those wonderful eyes and the
soft curve of her lips stood out before me with a strange, bewitching
vividness.  Slowly and with a curious pleasure I went through again
all our conversation during the drive down from Oporto.  It had been
simple enough on the surface--the mere exchange of ordinary cheerful
commonplaces suitable to the situation--but once more I seemed to
catch that faint, tantalising atmosphere of reserve and mystery which
was none the less real for being so utterly intangible.

The more I thought it over the more certain I felt that in her own
opinion there was some impenetrable barrier which cut her off from
the possibility of making friends with anyone on board.  Her uncle's
wishes may have had something to do with it, but there seemed to me
little doubt that she herself shared his views in the matter, and was
fully determined to carry them out.

It was not exactly an encouraging conclusion, but I refused to let it
depress me.  Barriers, after all, are only made to be attacked, and
on the whole I rather like a certain amount of opposition.  It adds
so enormously to the value of the prize after one has succeeded in
getting one's own way.

I meditated upon this satisfactory truth a little longer, and at last
with a feeling of drowsy contentment over the prospect of seeing and
talking with her the next morning, I turned over comfortably on my
side and dropped off to sleep.

It is not always that nature is so obliging as to harmonize with
one's feelings, but from what I could see through the porthole when I
woke up the next morning it appeared to me that the weather was
thoroughly in keeping with my own good spirits.  When I reached the
deck I found no reason for changing my opinion.  Under a sky of
cloudless blue and through a sparkling, sunlit sea the _Neptune_ was
steadily churning her way northwards, leaving a broad white wake of
foam stretching away half a mile behind her.  Even the usually
expressionless face of the first officer was wreathed in a satisfied
smile as he paced slowly up and down the bridge.

By half-past seven one or two passengers had already made their
appearance, but it was not until a few minutes after eight that I at
last caught sight of Miss de Roda.  She was standing by herself
looking out over the stern railing, and the sudden thrill that ran
through me when I recognised her showed me that my feelings must have
been travelling at a very creditable pace during the last twenty-four
hours.

There was not much time before breakfast, so, without any unnecessary
delay, I at once made my way aft.  She looked up as I approached, and
the swift fear I felt that she might have repented making the
appointment vanished immediately before the friendly smile with which
she returned my greeting.

"Good morning, Mr. Dryden," she said, "and if you've any
consideration for my feelings, please don't tell me it's a beautiful
day.  I have heard that from three different people already."

I looked at her with deep contentment.  She was wearing a plain linen
frock that showed off the graceful lines of her figure, and
altogether she was as fresh and delightful a picture as ever
gladdened the eye of sinful man.

"I am sorry," I said regretfully.  "I had made up one or two very
bright remarks on the subject, but under the circumstances I'll keep
them for somebody else."  I paused.  "How is Señor de Roda this
morning?" I asked.  "I hope he hasn't heard anything about our
adventures in the harbour?"

She shook her head.  "Not a word apparently.  I am beginning to think
that nobody saw us after all, except the sailor who spoke to you."

In a few words I acquainted her with what Ross had told me the
previous evening--a piece of information which she received with
obvious thankfulness.

"I have always liked Dr. Ross," she said.  "He is so kind and cheery.
Is he a special friend of yours?"

"We have been together for a dozen voyages," I explained, "and so far
we have managed to get along without squabbling."

"A dozen voyages!" she repeated, opening her eyes.  "You must be
getting a little tired of the _Neptune_, aren't you?"

"She has lost some of her first charm," I admitted frankly.  "I have
been thinking of applying for a separation for some time."

She looked up at me with a friendly interest that I found very
refreshing.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I don't know exactly," I replied.  "It depends to a certain extent
upon Messrs. Wilmot and Drayton."

There was a short pause.

"They sound like two very important people," she said, wrinkling her
forehead, "but I am afraid I have never heard of either of them."

"Neither had I until I got back yesterday," I returned.  "Then I
found a cable from them in my cabin telling me that my uncle was
dead."

She gave a little exclamation of sympathy.  "Oh, I am so sorry," she
began.  "I'm afraid----"

"It's quite all right," I interrupted cheerfully.  "I never saw him
in my life, and I believe he was several kinds of a blackguard.  The
only reason they wired to me was because I happen to be the next of
kin, and as he died without making a will I suppose I come into his
goods and chattels--if there are any to come into."

"But don't you know?  Didn't they give you any details?"

I shook my head.  "Nothing at all.  I may be a millionaire, or he may
have left me a parrot and an old suit of clothes.  I should think the
latter was much the more likely of the two, but Ross won't have it at
any price.  He says that he has got a kind of second sight about
money matters, and that he's always felt I was born to be one of the
idle rich."

She laughed easily.  "I do hope he's right.  Aren't you tremendously
excited about it?"

"I am trying not to be," I said.  "You see, the more one expects the
greater the disappointment."

"Who was your uncle?" she asked, after a moment's silence.  "Another
namesake of the poet?"

"He wasn't a Dryden at all," I explained.  "He was my mother's
brother, and his name was Richard Jannaway."

I had given my answer quite casually, but its effect was so startling
that for a moment I stood there petrified with astonishment.  Every
vestige of colour had fled from my companion's face, and she was
staring at me with an expression of incredulous horror.

"Good heavens!" I exclaimed involuntarily.  "What is it?  What's the
matter?"

By a tremendous effort of will she managed to pull herself together.

"It's nothing," she answered, with amazing coolness.  "I--I once knew
somebody of that name, but it couldn't possibly have been the same
person."

"I don't know," I said slowly; "there can't be very many Richard
Jannaways in the world."  Then I paused.  "My uncle spent most of his
life in South America," I added deliberately.

I saw her hand tighten on the railing that she was holding until the
knuckles stood out white and distinct under the skin.

"South America?" she repeated in a low whisper.

The same panic-stricken look had come back into her face, as though
the two words confirmed all the strange dread which the first mention
of my uncle's name had suddenly aroused.

I came a step nearer to her.  "For God's sake tell me what's the
matter," I said again.  "If there's anything in the world----"

I was interrupted by the noise of the breakfast gong, which came
booming up from below in a loud, insistent clamour.

With another obvious effort my companion regained her self-control,
and, letting go of the railing stood up in front of me, white and
breathless.

"Mr. Dryden," she said, "please don't ask me any questions.  There is
something I can't explain to you now--something I can never explain.
I can only assure you that what you have told me makes no real
difference between us.  It was always quite impossible that we could
ever be friends."

"Nothing is impossible unless one admits it," I returned doggedly.

She made a little despairing gesture with her hands.

"You don't understand," she said; "and, please God, you never will."

For one moment we remained facing each other in a strained, unnatural
silence; then, without another word, she turned away towards the
companion, and disappeared down the steps into the saloon.

To say that I was utterly flabbergasted would be nothing but the
literal truth.  It had all happened so unexpectedly, and with such
astounding abruptness, that for a second or so I felt like a man who
had inadvertently dropped a lighted match into a large can of petrol.
Indeed, no actual explosion could have reduced me to such a complete
state of amazed bewilderment as that in which I stood staring at the
spot where she had vanished.

Then, quite suddenly, my senses seemed to come back to me.  I caught
sight of several passengers advancing towards the companion, and,
taking out my case, I lighted myself a cigarette, and strolled very
slowly in the direction of the stern.  At this hour the stretch of
deck behind the donkey engine house was absolutely deserted.  A
better place for a little quiet meditation could scarcely have been
found, and, leaning over the railing, I set about the process with as
much steadiness as my disturbed faculties would permit.

One thing seemed absolutely certain.  Whatever Miss de Roda's
original views may have been as to the wisdom of continuing her
friendship with me, it was her sudden discovery about my uncle which
had been wholly responsible for the extraordinary change in her
manner.  If I had told her that I was the nephew of Judas Iscariot
the result could hardly have been more striking.  The mere mention of
Richard Jannaway's name had been sufficient to fill her with such
amazement and horror that she had been quite incapable of making any
attempt at hiding her feelings.

This fact of itself would have been sufficiently remarkable, but to
me its significance was doubly increased by the way she had behaved
the previous day during our little discussion with the boatmen.  Any
girl who could have shown such perfect coolness under the
circumstances must be gifted with a spirit and nerve that were not
easily shaken.  I was, therefore, convinced that it must have taken
some very real and urgent sense of danger to upset so completely her
usual self-control.

Having arrived at this point, I found myself utterly at sea.  Beyond
the fact that the mystery was in some way or other connected with my
uncle I had practically nothing to go upon.  If the family
recollections of that distinguished gentleman could be trusted, he
had probably thrown himself heartily into all kinds of mischief
during the course of his South American career, and since the de
Rodas came from that part of the world it was quite possible that the
name of Richard Jannaway might be connected with some black,
unwholesome memory which overshadowed both their lives.

Señor de Roda was just the sort of man who suggested a mysterious
past.  His obvious avoidance of any sort of society, and the brooding
depression which always haunted his sallow face, were exactly in
keeping with the idea.  The more I thought it over the more probable
it seemed that at some period in his life he had been mixed up with
my disreputable relation, and I began to feel an acute desire for a
little genuine information about the tatter's history.

The most likely people to be able to gratify this curiosity appeared
to be Messrs. Wilmot and Drayton.  However secretive their late
client may have been, they would at least know more about him than I
did, and such facts as they possessed might well be the
starting-point for further discoveries.

There was no other chance of enlightenment that I could see except by
renewing my interrupted conversation with Miss de Roda.  This plan,
difficult as it might be to put into practice, appealed to me on two
grounds.  In the first place, I was ready to jump at any suggestion
which would bring me into further contact with her, and secondly, I
felt perfectly certain that if she chose she could give me a good
deal more interesting information than I was likely to get in Bedford
Row.

The abrupt way she had left me was not exactly an encouraging omen,
but it was possible that after she had recovered from her first
agitation she might take a different view of the matter.  Anyhow, I
made up my mind that if an opportunity came along I would be ready
enough to grasp it, and with this resolve I at last tossed away the
burned-out stump of my cigarette, and went off to hunt up a belated
and much-needed breakfast.

It is one thing to come to a sound decision, however, and quite
another to get the chance of carrying it out.  All the rest of that
day, though I kept a particularly watchful eye upon every likely part
of the deck, I never so much as caught a glimpse of the one figure
that I was looking for.  The remainder of the passengers promenaded
up and down in the sunshine with maddening persistence, but Miss de
Roda herself remained as obstinately invisible as though she had
vanished from the ship.

At one time I almost made up my mind to send along a note to her
cabin asking her to meet me.  Second thoughts, however, soon led me
to abandon the idea.  She could be in no possible doubt about my
feelings on the matter, and if she didn't choose to gratify them, any
attempt to persuade her would be worse than futile.  There was
nothing to do but to put up with the situation as philosophically as
I could, a course of action in which I was assisted by a natural and
happy tendency not to worry unnecessarily about anything that cannot
be helped.

Late in the day, after we had rounded Ushant and were making our way
up Channel, the fine weather which had so far kept us company
suddenly petered out.  We ran into a grey, drizzling mist, which,
although not thick enough to retard our speed to any great extent,
was a most unpleasant change after the perfect conditions of the last
twenty-four hours.  Things got worse rather than improved as we drew
nearer to the mouth of the Thames, and when we stopped to pick up our
pilot off the Nore the rain was coming down with a pitiless energy
that would have damped the ardour of the most enthusiastic patriot.

Under these depressing conditions we crept up the river and came to
our berth off the docks.  We were not due to make our entrance until
eight o'clock the next morning, and it was with a feeling of thorough
thankfulness for the fact that I went down to my cabin, and, throwing
off my wet clothes, took the chance of a few hours' well-earned sleep.

It was still raining dismally when I turned out, but the short rest
had restored me to my usual good spirits.  While dressing, I
determined that before going on deck I would write a brief line to
Miss de Roda wishing her good-bye.  I knew that, even if she were
willing to see me, which was very unlikely, I should probably be much
too busy for the next hour or so to attend to anything but my
immediate duties.  A second officer is never likely to run short of
work while his ship is entering a harbour dock.

I therefore routed out a sheet of notepaper and an envelope, and,
sitting down on my bunk, scribbled the few following words by the
grey light which filtered in through the port-hole:


    "DEAR MISS DE RODA,--As you will probably be leaving the ship
    before I get a chance of seeing you, I am sending you a line to
    say good-bye--for the present.  I am not going to ask you any
    questions, as you don't want me to, but I should like you to know
    that there is nothing in the world which I should allow for a
    moment to stand in the way of my friendship with you.  Whatever
    the difficulties are, I mean to find them out and put an end to
    them.  Till then I shall have to content myself with thinking
    about you, as I can't see you; but please remember that always
    and any time, if I can be of the slightest service to you, you
    have only got to let me know.  For the next few days I shall be
    staying on the ship; after that a letter addressed to the head
    office of the Planet Line in Cockspur Street will always reach me.

  "Yours sincerely,
      "JOHN DRYDEN."


In reading this through I felt that it was not altogether what I had
wanted to say; but I am not much of a hand at letter-writing, and,
anyhow, it was too late to start altering it.  I put it in the
envelope, and on my way along the corridor I gave it to one of the
stewardesses, and asked her to hand it on privately to Miss de Roda.
Then, having done all I could, I went up on deck and set about the
task of earning my inadequate salary.

In a shroud of mist we crept in through the grey dock entrance,
amidst the usual bustle and excitement which always accompanies the
process of coming alongside.  Passengers were already trooping up
with their hand-bags and lining the rail nearest the shore, but I was
much too occupied with my various duties to have any time to try and
distinguish one from the other.  Bit by bit we sidled slowly into our
appointed berth, while a small crowd of people who had gathered on
the dock under dripping umbrellas began to exchange cheerful
greetings with their expectant friends on board.

At last the warps were made fast, and up the lowered gangways came
the customary knot of port officials.  Knowing that I should be
wanted, I left my station in the bows, where everything was now
secured, and started to come back aft.  On my way I ran into Ross,
who, hidden in a long mackintosh and smoking his new pipe, was
watching the scene with his usual good-tempered indifference.

"Anything I can do for you ashore, Dryden?" he asked.

I stopped.  "Are you landing at once?" I asked.

He nodded.  "I've got to go up to the office with my papers.  I shall
be back in about half an hour."

I unbuttoned my coat and took out the cable from Messrs. Wilmot and
Drayton.

"Well, if you can manage it," I said, "you might ring up these people
and make an appointment for me.  Any time after twelve will do."

He took the wire and stuffed it away in his pocket.

"Leave it to me, my lad," he said.  "I'll see they have a red carpet
down for you all right."

I passed on through the jostling crowd of passengers, and, going down
below, proceeded to lend a hand in the various formalities which
attend the arrival of an incoming vessel.  This process must have
occupied the best part of an hour, and by the time I was free Ross
had got through his business and returned to the ship.  I came across
him at the entrance to the smoking-room, where he was squatting
peacefully on an upturned cabin trunk.

"It's all right about your appointment," he observed.  "Half past
twelve's the time, and you can take it from me that you're on a red
hot winner.  They nearly fell down when I mentioned your name.

"You're a fine liar, Ross," I said sceptically, "but I'm much obliged
to you all the same."

By eleven o'clock we had got everything cleared up, and, as my
services were no longer required, I went down to my cabin to change
into shore-going kit.  On my way I met the stewardess to whom I had
entrusted my note for Miss de Roda.  In reply to my enquiry she
informed me that it had been safely delivered, but that the "young
lady" had left the ship without giving her any message or answer.
This, however, was only what I had expected, so I was able to accept
the news with becoming fortitude.

The rain was still falling heavily when I set foot on the dock, but a
pleasant tingle of excitement over my approaching interview lifted me
above the consideration of such trifles.  I made my way to the
nearest underground station, and established myself in the corner of
a first-class smoker in company with an excellent cigar on which I
had omitted to pay duty.  I felt that on such a critical occasion a
little extravagance was distinctly permissible.

On reaching the Temple I changed into a taxi, and instructed the
driver to take me to the address which Messrs. Wilmot and Drayton had
given me.  It was a slow journey, for the Strand and Chancery Lane
were both under repair, as usual, a state of affairs which
necessitated frequent and abrupt stoppages.  At last, however, we
managed to worm a passage across Holborn, and a few minutes later we
swung round the corner into the sedate and peaceful atmosphere of
Bedford Row.

No. 117 was the last house in the street--a large, old-fashioned
Georgian building, that seemed to breathe out a reassuring air of
comfortable respectability.  I threw away the stump of my cigar, and,
getting out on to the pavement, handed the driver his fare.  As I did
so, or rather, as I turned towards the house, I suddenly caught sight
of a man who was leaning up against the railings a few yards farther
on.  Under ordinary circumstances I don't suppose I should have given
him a second glance, but there was something in his manner--some
curious suggestion of a furtive interest in my movements--which at
once attracted my attention.  Not being handicapped by any natural
shyness, I stopped where I was and had a good square look at him.  He
was not what you would call an attractive individual, and any faint
claims to beauty he might once have possessed had been seriously
marred by a broken nose, which even at that distance was distinctly
visible.

As soon as he caught my eye he turned away with an air of badly
assumed indifference, and sauntered off up the street.  I watched him
for a second or two, wondering whether I could have been mistaken, or
whether he was really as interested in me as he seemed.  I even had
some momentary idea of going after him, and asking him what the devil
he wanted, but since he made no attempt to stop or look back, I came
to the conclusion that he was not worth bothering about.  It seemed
wildly improbable that a complete stranger could be hanging around
there with a deliberate purpose of spying on me; and, anyhow, if I
ever ran across him again I should certainly recognise him at once by
his broken nose.

With this reflection I dismissed the incident from my mind, and,
pushing open the door of No. 117, stepped forward into the hall.




CHAPTER THREE

I found myself in a broad passage, panelled on each side, and ending
in a solid-looking stone staircase which led up to the floor above.
There was a partly open door on my right, and through the aperture I
could see the head of an elderly gentleman peering forward over a
desk.  He looked up at the sound of my footsteps.

"Good morning," I said.  "My name's John Dryden, and I want to see
either Mr. Wilmot or Mr. Drayton."

He got up in a leisurely fashion and came round from his seat.

"If you will take a chair," he observed, "I will see whether Mr.
Drayton is disengaged.  Mr. Wilmot has been defunct for the past
seven years."

I was about to offer my condolences, but, without waiting to hear
what I had to say, he shuffled past me, and in a crab-like fashion
began to ascend the staircase.  I filled in the interval by strolling
across to the fireplace and looking at the books which decorated the
mantelpiece.  They were a jolly lot, beginning with Webster's
Dictionary, and working up through a rising grade of frivolity to
Whitaker's Almanack, which last was carefully encased in a brown
paper cover, as though to disguise its rather unseemly tendencies.  I
was just wondering which of them was the old gentleman's favourite
reading when the sound of his returning steps became audible outside.
A moment later he reappeared on the threshold.

"If you will accompany me," he observed, "Mr. Drayton will see you."

Placing my umbrella in the stand, I followed him up to the next
landing, where he pushed open a door in front of us, and then stood
back to allow me to enter.

It was a large, lofty room, lighted by three long windows facing into
Bedford Row.  Apart from several rather dilapidated easy chairs and a
number of black tin boxes, its only furniture appeared to be an
enormous table, plentifully strewn with papers and one or two musty
packets of deeds.

Mr. Drayton, who was sitting at this table, rose on my entrance and
stepped forward to meet me.  He was a well-dressed man of about
forty-five, with a strong, humorous face and a pair of very honest
blue eyes.  I took a fancy to him at once.

"How d'you do, Mr. Dryden?" he said, offering me his hand.  "You
received my cable all right then?"

"I did," I replied, exchanging grips with him, "and I've come along
as soon as I could manage it.  We only got in at eight o'clock this
morning."

He pulled forward an easy chair.  "Sit down," he said; "sit down and
make yourself comfortable.  By the way, have a cigar?"  He came back
to the table, and, picking up a box of excellent-looking Larenagas,
held them out for my inspection.

"Well, I've only just this moment finished one," I said, "but still,
that's no reason why I shouldn't have another."

"Certainly not," he remarked cheerfully.  "Anybody who can smoke two
cigars running ought to take full advantage of the gift."

He lighted one for himself, and then, pulling up a second chair, sat
down opposite me.

"I am sorry we were not able to communicate with you sooner," he
began, in a rather more serious tone, "but as a matter of fact we had
some difficulty in finding out your address.  Your uncle seems to
have known nothing about you beyond the bare fact of your existence."

"I am not surprised," I said.  "I was in much the same blissful
position with regard to him."

The lawyer nodded.  "Yes," he observed drily, "I gathered that.  To
be quite candid with you, Mr. Dryden, your uncle had no particular
wish that you should benefit by his death.  He omitted to make a will
because he was utterly indifferent about the disposal of his
property.  He told me, to use his exact words, that he didn't 'care a
curse what happened to it after he was dead.'"

"He seems to have been a genial sort of chap," I said.  "How did you
run across him?"

Mr. Drayton tilted his chair in the direction of the table, and
picked up a bundle of miscellaneous papers fastened together by a
clip.

"He came to us originally in rather a peculiar fashion.  About two
years ago we had been acting in a police court case on behalf of a
man called Bascomb--a professional boxer.  Bascomb had had a fight in
the street with another fellow, whom he accused of cheating him, and,
according to the doctor's evidence, he'd come within an inch or two
of murder.  Luckily for him there had been nothing against him
before, and, as the other fellow was known to be a bad lot, we
managed to get him off with a month's hard labour.

"The next day Mr. Jannaway called here at the office.  He had seen an
account of the case in one of the papers, and he wanted us to give
him Bascomb's address.  He told me quite frankly that as soon as the
month was up he was ready to engage the man as a servant."

"He must have had a sporting taste in domestics," I observed with
interest.

"Well, perhaps it wasn't quite so extraordinary as it sounds,"
continued Mr. Drayton, with a laugh.  "Bascomb had been in the
Marines before taking up with the ring, and he'd had some experience
in that class of job.  Indeed, one naval officer he had worked for
came and gave evidence for him at the court."

"How did it turn out?" I asked curiously.

"As far as I know it was a complete success.  Bascomb seemed very
grateful for the unexpected chance, and as he has been in your
uncle's employment ever since, I suppose he must have proved quite
satisfactory.  Anyhow, Mr. Jannaway appeared to be perfectly
contented with him."  He paused and turned over two or three of the
papers which he was holding in his hand.  "All this is a little
beside the point, however.  Our real dealings with Mr. Jannaway, so
far as you are concerned, began last November.  On the third of that
month he came to see me again, and asked me if I would act for him in
a matter of business.  There was an island being advertised for sale
off the Essex coast.  It was a place called Greensea--a small
property of about six and a half acres in the mouth of the Danewell
River."

"Greensea!" I echoed.  "Why, I know it quite well!  I was in the
Harwich Patrol the last part of the war, and we were always running
in and out of the estuary."

"That's very interesting," said Mr. Drayton, "and, what's more, it
saves me a good deal of trouble.  If you are already acquainted with
your new estate, there's no need for me to try and describe it for
you."

I sat up pretty sharply in my chair.  "Do you mean to say that
Greensea Island belongs to me?" I exclaimed.

"It certainly does," he answered smilingly, "unless someone else
turns up with a better claim to it.  Your uncle bought the place
through us on November the tenth, and, like all the rest of his
effects, it goes to his next of kin."

For a moment I sat there, hardly able to believe my ears.  If I had
been asked to name any legacy more entirely to my taste I think I
should have had some difficulty in doing so.  All my life, ever since
I was quite a small boy, I have had a curious longing to be the owner
of an island.  I think it was reading one of Anthony Hope's books
which originally implanted this desire in my soul, but anyhow, it has
always been a secretly cherished dream of mine which I hoped some day
to be able to put into practice.  To find a life-long wish like this
suddenly and unexpectedly gratified was such a startling experience
that it was only natural I should be momentarily "knocked out."

"What special attraction your uncle saw in the place," continued Mr.
Drayton, "I haven't the remotest notion.  There is nothing on the
island except the house, and even at low water it's cut off
completely from the shore.  Personally, I can't imagine a more
unpleasant spot to settle down in!  Still, there it was; he had
evidently made up his mind to buy it, and, as he raised no objection
about the cost, we hadn't much difficulty in fixing things up for
him.  We gave two thousand three hundred and sixty pounds for it, and
a very good price too--from the previous owner's point of view."

I reached out for the matches and re-lit my cigar, which in the
absorption of the moment I had allowed to go out.

"And what did he do with it when he'd got it?" I demanded.  "Go and
live there?"

Mr. Drayton nodded.  "He went straight down the day after the
agreement was signed.  There were a few improvements and alterations
which he wanted done, but they were all carried out after he was in
the house.  As far as I know he never left the place again."

I felt my interest in this remarkable uncle of mine increasing with
each fresh discovery about him.

"Was he all alone?" I asked.  "Hadn't he got anyone living with him?"

"Only Bascomb and a dog," replied Mr. Drayton, "a great savage brute
as big as a small donkey.  It used to run about loose most of the
time, and from what I saw of it I should imagine that nobody would
have dared to set foot on the island even if he had been invited.
Not that it made much difference, because, as a matter of fact, your
uncle never invited anyone.  He shut himself up entirely, and, except
for Bascomb and the local doctor who attended him in his last
illness, I don't believe he ever saw or spoke to another living soul."

"What was the matter with him?" I enquired.  "Was he off his chump?"

The lawyer shrugged his shoulders.  "More or less, I should think.
At least, it's difficult to account for his conduct any other way.
Up till then he had been living the life of an ordinary middle-aged
man about town.  One doesn't throw up all that sort of thing suddenly
and go and bury oneself in a God-forsaken place like Greensea unless
one's got a screw loose somewhere."  He paused.  "Besides," he added,
"there's no doubt that his mind gave way during his last illness.  He
was quite incapable of recognising me when I went down to see him,
and, according to Dr. Manning, he remained in exactly the same state
until he died."

"When was that?" I enquired.  "You didn't tell me in your cable."

Once again Mr. Drayton referred to his papers.

"He was taken ill suddenly on March the twenty-third.  I think he got
a chill, or something of the sort; anyhow, Bascomb wired to me the
next day that he was very seedy, and I ran down there in the
afternoon.  I found him delirious, and altogether about as bad as
anyone could possibly be.  Bascomb had got hold of a doctor--a fellow
called Manning, who spends most of his time on a barge in the river,
which he has fitted up as a kind of shooting-box.  He doesn't
practise as a rule, but when he saw how urgent the matter was he had
very kindly come over and taken up his quarters in the house.  He
seemed to be doing everything that was possible, and as he declared
that he was quite ready to stay there as long as he was wanted I
decided to leave the case in his hands.

"I heard nothing more for two days; then, on the afternoon of the
twenty-eighth, I got a telegram to say that your uncle had died
rather unexpectedly in the morning.  I sent back a wire to say I
would come down at once.  In a strictly legal sense I had no real
authority to act, but, since there appeared to be nobody else, I
thought I had better take the responsibility.

"Dr. Manning was still in the house when I arrived, which of course
simplified matters to a very great extent.  He had been in charge of
the case since the beginning, so there was no need for an inquest or
anything of that sort.  He was able to certify that the cause of
death was heart failure on the top of double pneumonia, and between
us we fixed up all the necessary arrangements for the funeral.

"The next thing I did was to go through your uncle's papers.  I knew
very little about him, and I hoped that I might come across something
which would put me in touch with his family.  He had never given me
the faintest hint about his private affairs--except for once
mentioning that he had a nephew called John Dryden, whom he believed
to be his next of kin.

"Well, to cut a long story short, I was very little wiser at the end
of my search than I was at the beginning.  I found practically
nothing, except a few receipted bills and one or two business letters
which dealt entirely with money matters.  If he had any private
papers he had evidently put them away somewhere or other in safe
custody before leaving London.

"Under the circumstances I acted as best I could.  I stayed there
until the funeral was over, and then I locked up everything and left
Bascomb in charge, with instructions that he wasn't to allow anyone
in the house without a written permission from me.  He's a queer,
sullen sort of fellow, but he seemed to have plenty of sense in his
way, and, as far as I could make out, to be thoroughly loyal and
trustworthy.

"When I got back to London my first step was to go and see your
uncle's bankers.  I explained the position to them, and I found them
quite ready to give me all the assistance in their power.  This
didn't amount to much, however.  They had no private documents or
anything of that sort; in fact, all they could really do was to let
me have a complete statement of the actual cash and securities in
their possession.

"I saw then that the only practical course was to get into
communication with you as soon as possible.  It was a bit of a
proposition, considering that I knew nothing whatever about you
except your name, but luckily I was able to secure the services of a
retired Scotland Yard Inspector called Martin Campbell, who is quite
the smartest man in London at that sort of thing.  (He is coming here
this morning, by the way, so you will probably meet him.)  Well, he
set to work, and in something less than three weeks he had managed to
run you to earth--or perhaps I should say to sea!  Anyhow, he found
out that you were second officer on the _Neptune_, and as the Planet
people told us that your ship was expected in Oporto on the third of
May, I decided to wait and cable you there.

"Meanwhile I went ahead with the business of establishing your claim
to the estate.  It was plain enough sailing now I had once got on to
your track, and by the time you reached Oporto all the preliminary
steps were more or less completed.  Of course, there are still a
number of legal formalities to be gone through.  You won't be able to
touch the money in the bank for some little while, but that is a
difficulty we can probably come to some arrangement over.  If you are
short of cash I have no objection to making you a personal advance.
As far as the actual title to the property is concerned, you can take
it from me that your position is a perfectly sound one."

He tossed the bundle of papers he had been holding on to the table,
and leaned back in his chair with an air of reassuring friendliness.

"It seems to me," I said gratefully, "that I'm pretty deeply in your
debt already.  I don't know why you should have taken all this
trouble on my account, but I'm sure I'm devilish obliged to you."

"There's nothing to thank me for," he returned whimsically.  "You can
put it down to professional enterprise.  Mr. Jannaway was a client of
mine, and it seemed to me I might as well make sure of you before
anyone else butted in!  We're an unscrupulous lot in Bedford Row as
far as business is concerned."

"It's lucky for me you are," I retorted, "otherwise I might have gone
on chasing about the world without any idea that I had suddenly
become a bloated capitalist."  I paused.  "By the way," I added
curiously, "how much money is there in the bank?"

Once again his eyes twinkled.  "I was waiting for that question," he
said.  "It's a great tribute to your self-control that you haven't
asked it before."

"To be quite honest," I confessed, "it's only just come into my head.
I was so interested in what you were telling me about my uncle that I
haven't been able to think of anything else."

He got up from his chair, and, retrieving his discarded papers, took
a seat on the corner of the table.

"Well, as a matter of fact," he began, "the position is rather odd.
If the estate only consists of what the bank holds, it amounts,
roughly speaking, to about ten thousand pounds.  That, of course, is
not counting in the value of Greensea Island."

There was a pause.

"What do you mean 'if'?" I asked.  "Is there a chance of some more
turning up?"

"There doesn't seem to be," he admitted; "all the same, it's very
difficult to fit in the present sum with the way in which your uncle
was living.  Ever since he opened the account he has kept about the
same balance, while on the lowest estimate he must have been spending
at least two thousand a year."

"But surely the bank must have some idea where he got it from!" I
objected.

"That's just what they haven't.  In the whole of that
period--practically four years--there were only three credit entries.
One is for twelve thousand, one for three thousand, and the other for
four thousand eight hundred.  On each occasion these sums were paid
in over the counter--in cash!"

"In cash!" I repeated half incredulously.  "Why he must have been
blackmailing Rothschild!"

My companion threw back his head and laughed boisterously.  "Well, if
that's the case," he replied, "it's a pity he hasn't left you the
family secret.  It's worth learning evidently."

I knocked off the ash of my cigar and sat back comfortably in my
chair.

"Oh, I don't know," I remarked.  "I'm not greedy.  Five hundred a
year will do very nicely for my simple needs."

"It will come to more than that," said Mr. Drayton.  "There is one
rather satisfactory piece of news I have been keeping in reserve."
He paused.  "I have been lucky enough to get you a tenant for
Greensea Island.  He is willing to pay a rent of two hundred and
fifty, and take it over just as it stands."

He brought out this offer with an air of satisfaction which showed me
plainly enough that he expected me to jump at it.  For a moment I
refrained from disillusioning him.

"Who is it?" I enquired with some curiosity.

"Well, as it happens, it's the very man we have been talking
about--Dr. Manning.  He wants to start a new yachting club, and he
thinks the island would make an ideal headquarters.  He seems to be
as keen as mustard on the idea, but of course I couldn't give him any
definite answer until I had seen you.  I told him that you would very
probably be here this morning, and he is going to ring me up at
half-past two and find out if you will accept his proposal.  I must
say I don't think you are likely to get a better one."

"I don't want a better one," I said.  "If Greensea Island really
belongs to me, I haven't the smallest intention of letting it.  I
mean to go and live there myself."

There was a brief silence.

"Are you serious?" demanded Mr. Drayton.

"Rather," I replied cheerfully.  "I've always wanted to have a
private island of my own, and now I've got one you don't suppose I'm
going to hand it over to anyone else?"

Something in my manner evidently convinced him that I was in earnest.

"Well, _chacun à son goüt?_" he observed, with a humorous shrug of
his shoulders.  "I can't see the attraction myself, but I suppose a
taste for that sort of thing runs in the family."

"Oh, I've no intention of becoming a hermit like my uncle," I
explained.  "There must be plenty of decent fellows in the
neighbourhood, and I've no doubt that I shall get all the society I
want.  It's the shooting and sailing and fishing that will be the
chief attraction to me."

"What about your engagement with the Planet people?" he asked.

"I am under a contract of sorts with them," I said, "but they'll
probably let me off if I ask them nicely.  There's no shortage of
second officers in the world."

"In that case," he remarked, "you can please yourself.  The property
will be yours in a few weeks, and if you want to go down there
straight away no one's likely to raise any objection."  He paused.
"At least, no one except Dr. Manning," he added.  "I am afraid he'll
be rather disappointed.  He seems to have set his heart on the idea."

"I am sorry to spoil his plans," I said, "but, after all, I suppose
he can start his club somewhere else.  Anyhow, it's no use his
thinking about Greensea; you might make that quite plain to him when
he rings up."

Mr. Drayton nodded.  "I will," he said, "and another thing I had
better do is to drop a line to Bascomb.  I presume you will be going
down there to have a look at the place as soon as possible, and it
would be just as well to let him know that you're the new owner.  By
the way, do you intend to take Bascomb over with the other fixtures?"

"I am quite ready to," I replied, "if he likes to come, and I can
afford to pay his wages.  I shall want someone to look after me, and
he sounds the right sort of chap."

Mr. Drayton tossed the stump of his cigar into the fireplace.

"How are you actually situated with regard to money?"  he enquired.

"I have got seventy or eighty pounds of my own," I said "It's not
exactly a fortune, but it ought to be enough to carry on with for the
present."

He relinquished his place on the edge of the table and sat down again
in the chair which he had been occupying when I first entered the
room.

"Well, it's just as you like," he remarked, "but if you are really
serious about this idea of yours, I think you had better let me make
you a small advance.  You needn't have any scruples, you know,
because I shall charge you interest on it.  There are bound to be a
certain number of things you will want to buy, and there's no
particular point in running yourself short of cash."  He looked round
at me enquiringly.  "What would you say to a couple of hundred pounds
at six per cent.?"

"I should say thank you," I replied promptly.  "It's rather a
lukewarm sort of a phrase, but I can't think of anything better for
the moment."

He pressed a small electric bell in the wall beside him.

"No need for thanks," he repeated.  "I shouldn't suggest it if it
wasn't a perfectly sound investment from my point of view.  I hope to
make a lot of money out of you before we've finished."

The door opened, and a solemn-faced young man with a large pair of
spectacles on his nose insinuated himself into the room.

"Are you busy, Sandford?" enquired Mr. Drayton, looking up from the
cheque that he was writing.

"Not particularly, sir," replied the solemn-faced young man.

"Well, this is Mr. John Dryden, whom I was speaking to you about.  We
are advancing him the sum of two hundred pounds at six per cent.
interest on the Jannaway estate.  You might make out a receipt for
him to sign and bring it in here as soon as it's done."

"Very good, sir," responded Mr. Sandford meekly; then he paused.
"Inspector Campbell is downstairs, sir," he added.  "He says he will
wait until you are disengaged."

The lawyer nodded.  "I shan't be very long," he replied.

Mr. Sandford withdrew as noiselessly as he had entered, and, tearing
off the cheque that he had written, my companion turned back to me.

"Now let me see," he observed thoughtfully; "what's the next thing
we've got to do?"

"The next thing," I said firmly, "is to go out together and have some
lunch.  I always make a point of giving a lunch party when I come
into a fortune."

"It's not a bad habit," he admitted, smiling.  "Unfortunately, I have
got this man Campbell waiting to see me."

"Bring him along too," I suggested.  "You can talk to him while we're
eating."

Mr. Drayton got up from his chair.  "We'll put it to him anyway," he
said.  "I don't suppose he'll say no.  One can generally trust a
Scotchman not to miss anything that's worth having."

He folded the cheque across in the middle and handed it to me.

"How about the receipt?" I asked.

"You can come back this afternoon and sign that.  There are one or
two other papers I shall have ready for you by then."

"That will just suit me nicely," I said.  "I can go round to Cockspur
Street first and interview the Planet people, then I shall know
exactly where I am."

Taking his hat from a peg behind the door, Mr. Drayton led the way
downstairs.  In the small room on the ground floor a large, burly man
with a close-cropped moustache and a chin like the toe of a boot was
standing with his back to the fireplace.

"Morning, Campbell," said Mr. Drayton.  "Let me introduce you to Mr.
John Dryden, whom you were clever enough to find for me."

The Inspector stepped forward.

"Pleased to meet you, sir," he observed, extending an enormous hand.

"Mr. Dryden has invited us both out to lunch," continued the lawyer.
"He wants us to assist him in celebrating his sudden accession to
wealth."

The Inspector moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue.

"Always glad to oblige a friend of yours, Mr. Drayton," he replied
affably.

"Well, come along then," returned the other, picking up his umbrella
from the stand.  "I've got to be back by half-past two, and I hate to
hurry over a meal when somebody else is paying for it."  He turned to
me.  "The Holborn's the nearest place," he added, "and the head
waiter is one of my clients."

"Providence is with us," I answered hopefully.

We stepped out into the misty drizzle of Bedford Row, and, making our
way down a couple of side alleys, emerged into the crowded main
thoroughfare almost opposite our destination.  A few minutes later we
were comfortably seated at a corner table in the big restaurant,
while the head waiter--an impressive gentleman with side
whiskers--hovered benignly in the foreground.

"I have come into a fortune," I explained to him, "and I want a lunch
which will be worthy of the occasion."

With the air of a man who is fully accustomed to deal with such
emergencies he picked up the menu card and began to offer
suggestions, commencing with cocktails and oysters, and wandering on
in a mellow way through saddle of mutton, roast duckling, and Stilton
cheese.  I accepted them _en bloc_, and crowned the order by
demanding a bottle of his best champagne--a finishing touch which
brought a wonderfully human expression into the naturally stern face
of the Inspector.

"I was doing a better day's work than I bargained for when I ran
across this gentleman's track," he announced contentedly.

"The Jannaway estate," observed Mr. Drayton, "has certainly passed
into the right hands."

"By the way," I said, turning to the Inspector, "when you were
hunting around after me did you happen to make any discoveries in
connection with my uncle?  He seems to have been a queer sort of
customer."

The Inspector passed his hand across his scrubby moustache.  "Aye,
sir," he said drily, "he was all of that and a bit over.  I can't say
I ever remember a gentleman who managed to keep his affairs more to
himself."

"But surely you picked up some information about him?" I persisted.

"Only what I passed on to Mr. Drayton," he replied.  "It didn't
amount to much, as he's probably told you."

"It certainly left one or two things to be explained," assented the
lawyer.  "Greensea Island, for instance.  I was just saying that Mr.
Jannaway's sudden resolve to imitate Robinson Crusoe was one of the
most extraordinary puzzles I've ever come across."

The Inspector pulled his chair closer to the table.

"I may be wrong," he said quietly, "but it's my belief that he was
frightened--frightened stiff, if you ask me."

I felt a sudden tingle of excitement in my heart, but I don't think I
showed any outward sign of it.

"Why do you think that?" I asked as coolly as possible.  "What on
earth could he have to be frightened of?"

The Inspector made a slight gesture with his hands.  "That I can't
tell you, sir.  I only know that when a man suddenly shuts himself up
on an island, and won't allow a living soul to land there without his
permission, he generally has some pretty good reason at the back of
it."

"Perhaps, after all, it was only a family weakness for solitude,"
struck in Mr. Drayton.  "Dryden here intends to do the same thing as
soon as he can arrange it."

"Well, hardly that," I said, forcing a laugh.  "I mean to go and live
there certainly, but there won't be any man-traps on my territory."

As I spoke the waiter came up with the cocktails, and in the short
but agreeable pause that followed I rapidly made up my mind that it
would be better for the moment not to press my enquiries about my
uncle any farther.  It would be difficult to do so without relating
the story of my meeting with Miss de Roda, and that was a step which
I had no intention of taking.  If she were really mixed up with some
sinister mystery concerning the dead man, I would at least take care
that her name should not be dragged into the matter as long as I was
able to prevent it.

Accordingly, with the arrival of the oysters, I took the chance of
steering the conversation into a rather less delicate channel by
asking the Inspector how he had managed to track me down with such
remarkable promptitude.  He was ready enough to describe his methods,
and from this point we drifted into a general conversation on
detective work and other exciting topics, which lasted us all through
the remainder of lunch.

Both my companions proved to be excellent talkers, as well as
thoroughly good fellows, and I felt quite sorry when at last Mr.
Drayton suddenly glanced at his watch and announced that it was time
for him to be getting back to the office.

"It's on your account," he explained, buttoning his coat.  "Our
friend the doctor will be ringing me up in a minute to find out
whether you are prepared to do a deal with him."

"Tell him I'm sorry," I said, "and say that if he can manage to
forgive me I shall look forward to making his acquaintance.  I don't
want to start by quarrelling with my nearest neighbour, especially
after the decent way he has behaved."

"I shouldn't think there was much fear of that," returned the lawyer
reassuringly.  "He seems to be a most amiable person, judging from
what I saw of him."  He held out his hand.  "Thanks for an A1 lunch,"
he added, "and I shall expect you back at the office some time
between four and five."

I paid my bill, and we parted from each other on the pavement
outside, but not before I had extracted from the Inspector (who had
confessed to being "partial to a day's shooting") a promise that he
would come down and spend a week-end with me at Greensea as soon as I
was comfortably settled in.  There was something about his stolid but
shrewd personality which distinctly appealed to me, and, in addition
to that I felt that, in view of the curious atmosphere which appeared
to brood over my new inheritance I might find him an uncommonly
useful friend.

My two companions started off together across Holborn, and, turning
down Chancery Lane, I set out for Cockspur Street, where the head
offices of the Planet Line are situated.  It was not without certain
misgivings that I mounted the big flight of stone steps and sent in
my card by one of the clerks with a request for an interview with the
secretary.  In spite of what I had said to Mr. Drayton, I was in
reality none too certain in my own mind that the management would be
sufficiently obliging to relieve me from the remainder of my
contract.  The prospect of another long, monotonous voyage to Manaos
and back was anything but an attractive one, and I waited for my
summons in the outer office with considerable anxiety.

Luck, however, proved to be on my side.  One of the principal
directors, whom I knew quite well to speak to, happened to be engaged
with the secretary at the very time when I was shown into the
latter's room.  Like myself, both these big-wigs had evidently
lunched well, and when I told them my story and put forward my
request they received it in the friendliest fashion possible.

"You may set your mind quite at rest, Mr. Dryden," said the director,
with a sort of pompous affability.  "I will lay your application
before the Board myself, and you can take it from me that there is
not likely to be any opposition.  We shall be sorry to lose you, of
course, but I am sure that none of my fellow directors would wish to
stand in your way.  Your record since you have been with us is one
which entitles you to every consideration."

Stifling a modest blush, I expressed my thanks as well as I could
manage; and after a little more conversation I shook hands with them
both and took my leave.

I went down the steps and into the street, feeling rather like a man
who has been unexpectedly released from gaol.  As if by the wave of a
fairy's wand, everything I wanted seemed suddenly to have come
tumbling into my lap.  I had an absurd desire to throw up my hat into
the air and indulge in a triumphant dance round the Nelson Column,
but the cold eye of a neighbouring policeman just saved me from this
social indiscretion.

A glance at my watch showed me that it was close on half-past three,
so, making my way across the square, I started back for Bedford Row.
This time I was not kept waiting on the ground floor.  Directly I
arrived the old clerk conducted me upstairs to Mr. Drayton, whom I
found fully prepared for me, with the papers that he wished me to
sign laid out on his desk.

"Well," he said, "you're a bit early, but I'm ready for you.  How did
you get on with your resignation?"

I told him of the gratifying fashion in which I had been received,
and he nodded his head, with the half-whimsical expression to which I
was becoming accustomed.

"Nobody could help being civil to you, Dryden," he said.  "You're so
refreshingly straightforward."

I thought of the reserve I had practised on him with regard to my
relations with Miss de Roda, and for a moment I felt very much of a
humbug.

"What happened about the doctor?" I asked, by way of covering my
embarrassment.  "Was he very upset when he found that I wouldn't
accept his offer?"

"He seemed a bit disgruntled; at least, it sounded like it over the
telephone.  I rather think he means to have another shot at you
himself."

"I suppose you made it quite plain to him that I was in earnest?" I
asked.

"Quite," returned the lawyer, "but he's evidently one of those
obstinate cusses who won't take no for an answer.  Anyhow, he
insisted on pressing me for your address.  I told him that as far as
I knew you were staying on the _Neptune_ for the present, so perhaps
he'll turn up and plead his cause in person."

"He'll have a journey for nothing if he does," I said.  "Still,
that's his pigeon, not mine."

I took a seat at the table, and, after reading through the various
documents, which Mr. Drayton explained to me in turn, I signed the
lot one after the other.

"Now we can go straight ahead," he observed, "and get the whole
business cleared up.  I have sent a line to Bascomb telling him that
you are his new employer, so you will be able to go and inspect your
property without any fear of his setting the dog on you."

"That's comforting," I said with a laugh.  "It would be a rotten
beginning to be torn in pieces on one's own landing-stage."  I rose
from my chair and began to collect my hat and umbrella.  "I shall run
down there to-morrow or the next day," I added.  "It just depends how
soon I can leave the ship."

"Well, let's hear how you get on," he said, giving me his hand, "and
if I can be of the slightest use to you in any way don't hesitate to
let me know.  That's the only excuse for a lawyer's existence."

I thanked him once more with a gratitude that was entirely genuine,
and, feeling how extraordinarily lucky I was to have dropped across
such a good friend just when I needed him, I turned up my collar and
set out again on my return journey to Charing Cross.

A clammy, drizzling mist still pervaded everything, but, disdaining a
cab in my present high spirits, I strode briskly along over the wet
pavements.  My inward cheerfulness must to some extent have been
reflected in my face, for on two occasions I noticed a
draggled-looking passer-by glance rather curiously at me, as though
he wondered what on earth I could find to be so happy about on such a
damnable afternoon.

When I reached the station I found that my luck was still in.  The
train I wanted was standing at the platform, and a minute later I was
being whirled eastwards in the comfortably padded seat of a
half-empty smoker.  It had certainly been a well-arranged and
satisfying day.

A short walk from Mark Lane, where I got out, brought me to the Docks
entrance.  The fog here was thicker than ever, and a general air of
murky desolation showed that work for the day had come to a
compulsory standstill.  I had taken my bearings in the morning,
however, and, without much fear of missing my way, I struck out into
the uninviting gloom.

On the near side of where the _Neptune_ was lying there was a long
stretch of empty dock, with a tall, double lamp-post guarding its
extreme point.  I made this landmark safely, and, keeping the edge of
the basin in view on my right, I advanced carefully along the wet
cobblestones.

I had covered perhaps some thirty yards, and was just thinking of the
hot whisky and water that I would order as soon as I got on board,
when I suddenly became conscious of a quick shuffle of footsteps
behind me.  Before I could so much as blink an eyelash something dull
and heavy came down with a sickening whack on the back of my head.
The soft hat that I was wearing was driven down violently over my
face, and, half-stunned by the blow, I stumbled forward on to my
hands and knees.

What happened after that will always remain a trifle blurred.  I have
a vague impression of trying to scramble to my feet, and of receiving
a violent shove which sent me sprawling sideways, with one arm and
leg dangling over the edge of the parapet.  I remember making a
frantic clutch at the slippery stone in a vain effort to save myself;
then the ground seemed to give way beneath me, and I went lurching
wildly down through space into the black water below.




CHAPTER FOUR

I am a pretty good swimmer as people go, but when one is fully
clothed and three parts dazed, a sudden plunge into a dirty dock is
apt to prove a trifle disconcerting.  I went under completely, and,
although I struck out at once with the blind instinct of
self-preservation, it was several moments before I managed to
struggle back to the surface.

Fortunately for me my hat had come off in the fall, and, treading
water with frantic energy, I was able to take a hasty survey of my
position.  Everything was more or less hidden by the mist, but a few
yards away I could just make out the black face of the dock wall
rising up dimly through the gloom.

If I hadn't been hampered by a sopping overcoat I could have covered
the distance in two or three strokes.  As it was, that cursed garment
clung round my legs with a persistency that nearly finished off my
career for good and all.  Twice I was dragged under again entirely,
and it was in a very exhausted state that I at last reached out a
hand and grabbed hold of a slimy iron ring that was sticking out of
the wall a foot or so above my head.

I was so utterly done that I could not have gone another foot.  I
just clung to this support, shaking the water out of my eyes, and
gulping down mouthfuls of fresh air into my half-choked lungs.  For
all I knew the gentleman who had shoved me in might still be standing
on the parapet above waiting to finish me off with a convenient
brickbat, but for the moment I was too occupied in getting my breath
to worry about him or anything else.

As that first feeling of suffocation passed off, however, the full
extent of my danger suddenly came home to me.  I realised with a sort
of dull shock that nothing except the ring stood between me and
death.  If I once let go my hold I knew that I should sink like a
stone, and, giddy and exhausted as I was, I could hardly expect my
strength to last out for more than a few minutes.

Taking a firmer grip with both hands, I stared up desperately at the
face of the wall.  There was not much encouragement there, for the
six feet of smooth and slippery concrete that met my eyes showed no
trace of a crack throughout its entire surface.  As far as I could
see, I was trapped like a rat in a bucket, and for the first time in
my life I felt a numbing chill of despair creeping through my heart.

With a last effort I twisted myself round and faced out into the grey
void of the dock.

"Help!" I shouted at the top of my voice.  "Help!"

With a staggering unexpectedness that nearly made me let go my grip,
an answering hail came back through the mist.

"Wot's the matter?  Were are you?'

"Here!" I sung out frantically.  "In the water.  Up against the wall."

"'Ang on, then," holloaed a gruff, encouraging voice.  "'Ang on!
mate!  I'm a-comin'."

From a little way off I heard the sudden splash and creak of oars,
and no music could have rivalled the beauty of that familiar sound.
Nearer and nearer it came, while with deadened fingers I clasped the
ring and battled fiercely against a growing feeling of faintness.  At
last, just when I felt that I could not hold on for another second, a
vague blur of light broke out before me in the darkness.  The ghostly
outline of a boat's stern loomed up suddenly into view, and then,
almost before I knew what was happening, a strong hand had gripped me
by the elbow, and I was being dragged in over the gunwale.  Grateful
but helpless, I flopped down on to the wet floorboards, where I lay
dripping and panting like a newly landed fish.

"Seems to me I come along about the right time, eh, mate?"

The gleam of a lantern flickered close above my head, and a bearded,
friendly face, half hidden by a sou'-wester, peered down into mine.

"A drop o' rum's wot you want," continued my rescuer.  "'Ere, 'ave a
go at this; that'll put some guts into yer."

He produced a small flat bottle from his pocket, and, kneeling down
beside me, tilted some of its contents into my mouth.  The stuff was
raw spirit of the fiercest kind, and as a prescription it certainly
carried out his prophecy.  With a spluttering gasp I struggled up
into a sitting position, while, replacing the cork, the owner of the
bottle contemplated his handiwork with an approving smile.

"Nothin' like a drop o' rum," he observed.  "There's many a bloke
walkin' round now who'd be dead and buried if them blarsted
teetotallers 'ad their way."

In a dazed fashion I began to try and express my gratitude, but he
cut me short by clapping me on the shoulder.

"That's orl right, mate!  You ain't the fust I've pulled out o' this
'ere dock--not by a long way."

He thrust the bottle back into his pocket, and, slipping an arm under
my shoulder, hoisted me up on to one of the seats.

"Reg'lar death trap in a fog," he went on, "an' I've told 'em so a
score o' times.  They ought to 'ave a chain along the edge be rights,
but Lor' love yer, they don't care 'ow many's drownded--not they!"

He picked up the lantern and replaced it in the bows.

"Were was you tryin' to get to, mate?" he enquired.

Once more I fought back the stupor which was stealing over my brain.

"Do you know the _Neptune_?" I asked.  "She came in early this
morning."

"The _Neptune_!" he repeated.  "W'y, she's lyin' just above us."

"I'm the second officer," I said, "and if you'll see me aboard I'll
be devilish grateful to you.  I've had a crack on the head that's
knocked me a bit silly."

"I'll get yer there orl right, sir," he replied at once, with a
sudden tinge of respectfulness in his voice.  "Just you sit quiet and
leave it to me, sir.  I'll 'ave yer back inside of a couple o'
minutes."

He seized his sculls, and the next moment we were moving, rapidly
along through the mist under the shadow of the dock wall.  I sat
there in a kind of half-conscious state, watching his figure swaying
backwards and forwards, and wondering vaguely how long it would be
before I slipped down again into the bottom of the boat.

I have a dim recollection of arriving at the foot of some dark, slimy
steps, and of scrambling feebly up with the help of my companion's
arm.  Then we were stumbling endlessly forward over the cobblestones,
till at last the mist changed into a yellow haze, and the huge bulk
of the _Neptune_ reared itself up on our right.

By a fierce effort of will I just summoned enough strength to drag my
failing legs up the gangway.  Beyond that I know nothing, for as my
feet touched the deck the world suddenly swayed round beneath me, and
I felt myself dropping helplessly into a black and bottomless gulf.

* * * * * * *

"Well, my lad, and what have you got to say for yourself?"

The voice sounded curiously familiar, and, opening my eyes, I blinked
up vaguely into the genial face of Ross.  For a second or two I lay
staring at him in a kind of dull perplexity.  Then, as if by magic,
all my drowsiness seemed to clear away, and I started up with a jerk
that sent a sharp stab of pain shooting through my head.

Ross put out a restraining hand.  "Whoa there!" he said.  "Take it
easy.  Take it easy."

I had already made a couple of interesting discoveries.  I was in
pyjamas, and I was sitting up in my bunk in my own cabin, with a
broad shaft of sunlight streaming in on me through the open porthole.

"Hullo!" I said, looking round.  "How long have I been here?"

Ross consulted his watch.  "It's twelve o'clock now," he replied,
"all but a few minutes.  You have been wallowing in exactly fifteen
hours of sweet and refreshing slumber."  He sat down on the edge of
my bunk and placed his fingers on my pulse.  "How do you feel now?"
he asked.

I considered the problem with some care.  "I've got a rotten head," I
said, "and I feel devilish hungry."

He let go my wrist and rose to his feet.

"Let's have a look at your nut," he remarked.

He bent down over me and very carefully parted the hair at the back
of my head.

"You'll do," he announced, after a brief inspection.  "You've had a
nasty bump of some kind, but there's no real damage done.  That's the
best of these thick skulls!"

In view of his medical services I allowed the insult to pass.

"Tell me, Ross," I said, "what happened when I got on board?  I
remember crawling up the gangway, but after that everything's a
complete blank."

"The most important thing that happened," he replied, "was the
interruption of my tea.  I was just sitting down peacefully when
someone came bursting in with the news that you were throwing fits on
the deck.  With my usual unselfishness I at once hurled down my bread
and butter and bundled up to render first aid.  I found you stretched
out like a piece of wet tripe, in charge of a whiskered old fossil,
who told me he had found you floating about the next door dock.  His
own view of the case was that you'd 'basked your napper up agin a bit
o' stone,' and from what I could see his diagnosis appeared to be
more or less accurate.  Anyhow, I gave him five bob for his
trouble--I thought you were worth that--and then I got hold of the
purser, who was still on board, and between us we carted you down
here and conducted a little post-mortem on our own.  There didn't
seem to be a vast lot the matter.  You certainly had a pretty healthy
bruise on the back of your head, but knowing that you'd got a skull
like an ox I wasn't much worried about that.  I thought you would be
all right if I let you sleep it off, so we shoved you into pyjamas
and tucked you up nice and comfy in your little white cot."

He paused, and, lighting himself a cigarette, contemplated me with a
humorous smile.

"There you have been ever since," he finished, "snoring away in the
most disgusting fashion.  They started shifting cargo at six o'clock,
and making the devil's own row about it, but it seemed to act on you
as a sort of lullaby.  You've simply lain there smiling and grunting
like a new-born infant, while I've had to hang around all the morning
waiting for you to wake up and make your apologies."

"You won't regret it," I said consolingly.  "I've got something in
the way of yarns for you that you don't hear every day in the week."

"Well, you had better get some grub inside you before you start it,"
he interrupted.  "No one can be really chatty on an empty stomach."
He moved towards the door.  "I believe there is still a cook lurking
about the premises somewhere," he added.  "You lie quiet and I'll go
and forage around and see what I can find."

He left the cabin, and, sinking back in a rather gingerly fashion, I
took up a comfortable position amongst the pillows.  In spite of a
racking headache, my mind itself seemed to be in excellent working
order.  The various events of the previous afternoon stood out clear
and distinct in my memory, and, lying there with my eyes shut, I
allowed my thoughts to travel slowly and carefully over the whole of
my experiences up to the moment when I had fallen unconscious upon
the _Neptune's_ deck.

From this retrospective effort one fact emerged with startling
clearness.  However wild and incredible it might seem, someone had
undoubtedly attempted to murder me.  There had been a whole-hearted
efficiency about the attack which rendered any other conclusion
impossible.  If I had merely been knocked on the head from behind I
might have attributed the kind attention to some prowling dock rat
who had suddenly seen the chance of picking up a little money, but
the recollection of that extra shove which had sent me sprawling into
the water put this explanation altogether out of court.  It was
murder, not loot, which had been my assailant's object, and nothing
but the providential thickness of my skull had robbed him of success.

So far from clearing up the riddle, however, this only made things
more unaccountable than ever.  Why on earth anyone in the world
should be thirsting for my blood was a problem for which I could find
no conceivable solution.  No doubt I have managed to make some
enemies amongst the various crews I have had to handle in my time,
but, after all, people don't attempt to split one's skull unless they
have a rather more pressing reason than mere personal dislike.

Gradually, and with a kind of half-incredulous hesitation, my
thoughts began to turn in another direction.  Could it be possible
that this adventure was in some way or other connected with my new
inheritance?  Ever since I had received that unexpected telegram at
Leixoes I seemed to have been moving in a vague atmosphere of mystery
and danger, which increased rather than lessened with each fresh
discovery that I made.  My interview with Miss de Roda had been a
strange enough opening to the whole business, while the various facts
that I had subsequently picked up from Mr. Drayton only served to
strengthen the impression left on me by that amazing incident.

There was now little doubt in my mind that my late lamented uncle had
been a pretty complete blackguard, and that in attributing his
passion for solitude to a guilty conscience the detective had been
more or less on the right track.  Quite possibly, as I had originally
guessed, de Roda himself had been mixed up with some of his shady
transactions, in which case it was only natural that the former's
niece should have been a trifle upset on hearing my news.  This at
least was a possible explanation, and, so far as I could see, the
only one that fitted in with the facts of the case.

Where it failed to be particularly illuminating, however, was with
regard to my attempted assassination.  Why my uncle's sins--if they
were sins--should be visited upon me in this prompt and drastic
fashion was a bewildering question which I was quite unable to
answer.  After all, I had had nothing to do with his confounded past,
and, unless there was another heir lurking in the background, it was
difficult to see how my departure from this planet could possibly
benefit anybody.

Besides, even if it did, there still remained the problem of my
assailant's identity.  With the exception of Ross and Mr. Drayton
himself no one had known of my appointment in Bedford Row, while even
I myself had been quite unaware what time I should be likely to
return to the ship.  If the attack had been deliberately planned, it
seemed almost certain that someone must have been spying on my
movements, since no other theory would account for their being on the
right spot at the right moment.

Suddenly, as if it were a sort of inspiration, there came back to my
memory the one incident of the previous day which so far I had
overlooked.  Who was the gentleman with the broken nose who had been
lounging about so suspiciously in the neighbourhood of Mr. Drayton's
office?  Had he really been waiting there for me, and could it have
been his hand that had stretched me out in that particularly neat
fashion upon the dock causeway?  Once again I recalled the furtive
eagerness with which he had been apparently watching my movements,
and the prompt way in which he had slunk off as soon as he had seen
that I was looking at him.  The more I thought it over the more
likely it seemed that he had been in some way or other connected with
my adventure, and I could have kicked myself for not having tackled
him then and there, in accordance with my first impulse.

Things being as they were, however, it was no good worrying over past
mistakes.  I had quite enough to occupy my attention with thinking
about the immediate future, which from all appearances promised to be
a singularly lively one.  From a purely commonsense point of view the
right thing to do was obviously to lay the whole matter in front of
Mr. Drayton.  I felt that I had in him a shrewd and friendly ally,
who would at once take every possible step to get to the bottom of
the mystery.  Unfortunately, I was faced with the same difficulty as
on the previous afternoon--I could not very well take him into my
confidence without telling him the complete story.  The same
objection held good in the case of Ross, the only other person I
could think of to whom I could turn for help.  I should have to tell
him something, of course, but, no matter what happened, I was still
determined not to introduce Miss de Roda's name into the affair so
long as it could possibly be avoided.

At this point in my meditations the door was pushed open, and Ross
himself came back into the cabin.  He was carrying a well-loaded
tray, from which an appetising odour of coffee mounted up into the
air.

"I didn't know what you wanted," he observed, "but I've managed to
rake together something in the way of a meal."

I glanced down at the rack of nicely browned toast, the tempting heap
of scrambled egg, and the little white rolls of fresh butter.

"It's not so bad," I remarked, "for a scratch effort."

"Well, you get outside it," he replied, "and then we'll hear what you
have got to say for yourself.  You don't mind my having a gasper, I
suppose?"

He seated himself on my sea-going chest, and, feeling in his
waistcoat pocket, produced a battered-looking packet of cigarettes.
While he was thus engaged I set to work on the tray in front of me,
and in a very little while I had polished off its contents with a
thoroughness that would have done credit to a flight of locusts.

"That's better," I said, with a contented sigh.  "Now take away the
tray and give me one of those poisonous things you're smoking.  I
must keep you company, if only in self-defence."

He did as I asked him, and, having secured a light, I settled back
into my old position amongst the pillows.

"Take it slow," he repeated encouragingly.  "We've got all the rest
of the day ahead of us."

Beginning at the moment when I left the ship, I started out to tell
him the story of my previous day's experiences.  I only made one
omission, and that was to leave out all reference to the broken-nosed
stranger in Bedford Row.  My idea that the latter might be in some
way or other connected with the de Rodas may have been a far-fetched
one, but, as I have said before, I had no intention of taking any
risks.  I knew that underneath Ross's careless manner there lurked an
uncommonly wide awake intelligence, and that the least hint might be
sufficient to put him on the right track.

I therefore cut out that particular incident completely, and went
straight ahead to a description of my meeting with Mr. Drayton and of
the various adventures which had followed our interview.  Step by
step I related the whole proceedings, until I had brought my story
right down to the moment when I had spun round and pitched headlong
on the unpleasantly solid planking of the _Neptune's_ deck.

Squatting on the chest and scattering tobacco ash generously all over
the floor, Ross listened to me with the closest attention.  He made
no attempt to interrupt me until I had finished, and even then he
remained for a moment peacefully smoking, and contemplating me with a
sort of amused interest.

"It's a shamefully unfair world," he observed at last.  "Here have I
been hunting for adventure all my life, and hardly ever finding it,
while, without so much as lifting a finger, you go and plop bang into
the middle of the finest shilling shocker I've ever heard of."  He
tossed away the stump of his cigarette through the open port-hole.
"I always said you were born to be the hero of a romance," he added;
"and, by Jove, you've struck it this time with both feet."

"I'll take your word for it," I replied ruefully.  "At present I feel
as if I'd struck it chiefly with my head."  I raised myself on my
elbow and looked across to where he was sitting.  "Tell me, Ross," I
said, "what do you make of it all?  Do you really think this cracked
skull of mine can have anything to do with the rest of the business?"

"Well, it looks a bit like it," he answered drily.  "I can't imagine
your having any personal enemy sufficiently savage to try and blot
you off the face of the earth.  You are such an amiable lad--as
second officers go."

"But there's no one I can think of who would benefit a farthing by my
death," I objected.

"You never know," he returned hopefully.  "There may be some
bloody-minded next of kin who is simply thirsting to step into your
shoes."  He paused.  "If it isn't that," he went on, "it must be one
of those family vendettas, like they have in Corsica.  Your uncle
probably played a rotten trick on somebody, and they've sworn an oath
to exterminate the entire breed."

"Thanks," I said with a laugh.  "You're a comforting sort of
blighter, Ross."

He hoisted himself up, and came across to where I was lying.

"It's all right," he said.  "I'm really devilish interested, and if
there's any way in which I can help you can count me in to the
limit."  He grinned mischievously.  "I couldn't help pulling your leg
though; the whole thing's so gorgeously fantastic."

"I suppose it is," I admitted.  "At the same time there's a good
solid chunk of fact about it somewhere--at least, judging by the way
my head's aching."  I lay back again on the pillow to try and ease
the pain.  "The question is," I added, "what the deuce am I to do
next?"

"The first thing to do is to get well," he answered.  "Then it seems
to me that your best plan will be to go down to this mysterious
island of yours and have a good squint round.  If there's any dirty
work going on you're more likely to get on the track there than
anywhere else."

"That's my notion," I agreed.  "In fact, I'd pretty well fixed up to
take a trip down there to-morrow.  You had better come along too if
you really want to make yourself useful.  I'll get a car, and we'll
do the thing in style."

He shook his head "Can't manage to-morrow.  I have promised to go and
look up my sister at Croydon.  Suppose we say Thursday instead.  You
will be none the worse for another day's rest."

"Thursday will do just as well," I said.  "It doesn't matter which
day as long as I send a line to this fellow Bascomb to say we're
coming."

"Right you are," he replied.  "It's just the sort of thing that will
suit me down to the ground.  I've always felt I had a bit of a turn
in the Sherlock Holmes line."  He stooped down and picked up the tray
off the floor.  "And now," he added more seriously, "that's quite
enough talking for the present.  What you've got to do is to lie
perfectly quiet and not worry yourself about anything.  I will look
in later and see how you are, and in the meanwhile you try and get to
sleep again if you can.  You will probably be as right as ninepence
in the morning, but one mustn't take too many liberties, even with a
skull like yours."

He nodded in an encouraging fashion, and, backing out carefully with
the tray, closed the door behind him.

I did my best to follow his advice, though it was not altogether an
easy business.  When one has fallen in love for the first time,
suddenly come into a fortune, and just escaped being murdered, even
the best disciplined mind is apt to prove a little restive.  However,
in spite of my headache I managed at last to sink into a welcome
state of drowsiness, which lasted until well on into the afternoon.

About five o'clock a steward brought me another light meal.  By this
time I was feeling distinctly better, and, after I had done justice
to the food and enjoyed a comfortable pipe, I dropped off into a
really sound sleep without any further difficulty.

It was broad daylight when I awoke again, to find Ross, fully dressed
in shore-going kit, standing beside my bunk.

"Had a good night?" he enquired kindly.

"Not so bad," I said, stretching myself with a yawn.  "What time is
it?"

"Nearly nine," he answered.  "I looked in after tea yesterday, but
you were well down to it then, so I didn't disturb you.  Headache
better?"

"It's more than better," I said thankfully.  "It's gone."

"Well, don't presume on it.  Take things nice and easy this morning.
Just potter around and order the car, and write and tell this
prize-fighter gentleman of yours that we're coming down to inspect
the island to-morrow.  You had better give him instructions to wash
the dog and shave himself properly.  There's nothing like putting
servants in their right place to start with."

"You needn't bother," I said with some dignity.  "I know what's due
to my position."

He took himself off with a parting chuckle, and, rolling out of my
bunk, I made my way to the bathroom, where a refreshingly cold tub
put the finishing touch to my complete recovery.

I was returning along the corridor when I ran into the steward, who
was coming towards me with a note in his hand.

"I was looking for you, sir," he announced.  "A special messenger has
just brought this letter aboard.  He said there was no answer."

He handed me the envelope, which I glanced at with some curiosity.
It was addressed in a hand that was quite unfamiliar to me--a small,
clear writing with a good deal of character about it.

"I hope you're better, sir?" the man added politely.

"Yes, thanks," I said.  "I am quite all right this morning.  You can
lay breakfast for me in the saloon; I shall be along in about a
quarter of an hour."

I turned into the cabin, and throwing my towel and sponge on to the
table, I slit open the envelope and pulled out its contents.  One
glance at the signature sent a queer, familiar thrill trickling
through my heart.


"DEAR MR. DRYDEN,--There is something which I feel I ought to say to
you, but I cannot very well tell you in a letter.  If you are still
on the ship and you get this note in time, will you meet me outside
the Dover Street Tube Station at half-past two this afternoon?  I
shall not keep you more than a few minutes.

  "Yours sincerely,
      "CHRISTINE DE RODA."


Christine!  Christine de Roda!

Somehow or other it was exactly right--just the name I should have
chosen out of all others if providence had had the happy inspiration
to consult me in the matter.

Repeating it aloud to myself with a curious sense of satisfaction, I
sat down on the bunk with the letter in my hand.  For a moment or so
the whole thing seemed almost too good to be true.  In spite of the
fact that I had told her to write to me if there was any way in which
I could be of use, this prompt summons was about the last thing that
I had really expected.

Turning to the note, I read it through a second time from start to
finish.  It was written on half a sheet of paper, and there was no
address, and nothing to show from what part of London it had been
sent off.  Perhaps the messenger could have given me some
information, but he had doubtless left the ship by this time, and I
could hardly dash after him in my pyjamas in order to question him on
the point.

What, I wondered, could the mysterious "something" be which had led
her to make this sudden and apparently impulsive appointment?  In her
own opinion it must be a matter of urgent importance, otherwise I
felt pretty certain she would not have taken such a step.  Could it
possibly have anything to do with my adventure in the next door dock?
If that were the case, her good offices were certainly a trifle
belated, though it warmed my heart to think that she might be feeling
anxious on my account.

Anyhow, above everything else there emerged the one radiant fact that
within a few hours I should be seeing her and talking to her again.
In view of that, all other matters seemed ridiculously unimportant,
and it was in a very cheerful mood that I jumped up from my bunk and
set about the job of putting on some clothes.

The morning dragged horribly, as mornings have a way of doing when
there is a particularly interesting afternoon ahead of them.  I
filled out some of the time by writing to Bascomb, telling him that I
was coming down with a friend the next day to inspect my new
property, and that he had better arrange to have some food ready for
us.  I felt no little curiosity about my uncle's queer retainer.  If
he were really straight, as Mr. Drayton believed, he might certainly
prove a most useful ally.  Up to the present, however, I was inclined
to reserve judgment on the point.  My recent experiences did not
encourage a hasty confidence in anybody.

By half-past twelve I was so tired of hanging about that I decided to
go ashore.  I could lunch somewhere in town, which would be more
amusing than having a solitary meal in the saloon, and there would
just be comfortable time afterwards to hunt up a car for the
following day's trip.

I took the train to Charing Cross, and getting out there, strolled
leisurely along through the busy streets until I came to Piccadilly.
I knew nothing about West End restaurants, but with such a
magnificent array to choose from I felt that I could not go very far
wrong.  After inspecting the outside of one or two, I eventually
decided on Hatchett's.  It was fairly close to Dover Street, and
there was a big motor establishment just opposite, which would
doubtless be able to supply me with what I wanted.

I lunched handsomely, spending at least three-quarters of an hour
over the operation; and then, in that tranquil frame of mind which
follows such pleasant extravagance, I sauntered across the road to
the garage.  I was received languidly by a young man with pink socks
and beautifully brushed hair.  Having listened to my requirements
with a bored air, he led the way to the back of the premises, where
he waved his hand towards a smart and powerful-looking Napier.

"Not a bad bus," he observed wearily.  "She'll get you there and back
all right."

This being the exact service that I needed, I entered at once upon
the question of terms.  These were soon settled, and after arranging
for the car to call for us the next morning, I emerged again into the
roar of Piccadilly.

It was now five and twenty minutes past two.  With my heart beating a
shade quicker than usual, I crossed back to the corner of Dover
Street and took up my position outside the Tube Station.  There was
another man standing there--a fat, pompous person in a bowler hat,
who kept on glancing at his watch.  He, too, was evidently expecting
somebody, and his impatience struck me as being singularly
unreasonable.  Whomsoever he was waiting for, he could not possibly
want to see them as much as I wanted to see Christine.

Through the open window of one of the neighbouring houses a
mellow-toned clock chimed out the half-hour.  The sound had hardly
died away when the big doors of the lift slid noisily back, and
Christine herself stepped out into the sunshine.  She was dressed in
white, and she looked so deliciously beautiful that I had a sudden
frantic impulse to seize her in my arms and kiss her before the whole
street.  It was a close thing, but fortunately I just managed to
recover in time.  The next moment I was holding her hand and making a
gallant effort to appear more or less in my senses.

"You are as punctual as a cuckoo clock," I said.  "You came out
exactly as the half-hour struck."

She smiled up at me in the old, delightful way, but there was a
troubled expression in her brown eyes that it went to my heart to
notice.

"I had to be punctual," she answered quietly.  "We can only spend a
few minutes together, and there are several things that I must speak
to you about."

I let go her hand with some reluctance.  "Well, a few minutes are
better than nothing," I said as cheerfully as possible.

"Where can we go to?" she asked, with a quick glance up and down the
street.  "Do you know any place close by where there won't be a lot
of people?"

"There's a tea-shop at the corner of Bond Street," I said.  "It's not
likely to be crowded at this time of day."

She nodded her head.  "That will do.  I can't stand and talk to you
here.  Somebody might see us."

"Come along then," I remarked, and, turning the corner into
Piccadilly, I led the way along the crowded pavement until we reached
the establishment in question.

It was a pleasant, quiet place, panelled in brown oak, and except for
a solitary couple near the door we appeared to be the only customers.
We walked across to the far corner and seated ourselves at one of the
empty tables.

"What shall I order?" I asked, as a tall, flaxen-haired lady advanced
with dignity from behind the counter.

Christine laid down the menu which I had handed her.  "I don't want
anything except a cup of black coffee," she said.  "I have just had
lunch."

"So have I," I rejoined, "and a jolly good one it was too."

I announced our simple needs to the waitress, who returned in a few
minutes with the desired refreshment, and set it down in front of my
companion.  I could not help noticing the gleam of reluctant
admiration with which she took in every detail of Christine's
appearance.

The latter filled up one of the two little cups and passed it across
to me.

"Mr. Dryden," she began in a low voice, "I want you if you will to
tell me exactly what has happened with regard to your uncle's
property.  I know it must sound an extraordinary question, but I am
only asking it in what I believe to be your own interests."

"Of course I'll tell you," I said.  "It's the one thing I've been
longing to do for the last two days."

I took a sip of the coffee and sat back in my chair.

"To put it badly," I continued, "it amounts to this.  My uncle died
without making a will, and unless he was married--which doesn't seem
to be the case--I come into everything that he left behind him.  As
far as I know at present, the 'everything' consists of about ten
thousand pounds in cash and a place called Greensea Island, off the
Essex coast."

There was a short pause.

"Greensea Island," she repeated slowly.  "Was that where your uncle
lived?"

"It was where he lived," I said, "and it was also where he died.  He
bought the place about six months ago, and shut himself up there with
a dog and a retired prize-fighter.  Mr. Drayton, the lawyer, has got
hold of a notion that he was frightened of somebody or something.  It
does look rather like it, because from all accounts he never went to
the mainland, and never allowed any visitors on the island."

Her brown eyes were fixed curiously on mine.

"Have you any idea what he was frightened about?"

I shrugged my shoulders.  "Not the faintest; but, from the way my
father used to talk of him when I was a boy, I can quite imagine that
he had all sorts of unpleasant things on his conscience."

There was another and longer pause.

"What are your plans?" she asked at length "What are you going to do?"

"I propose to carry on the family traditions," I replied.  "I've
chucked my job with the Planet people, and I am going to settle down
on Greensea Island and see how I like it."

The look of troubled distress deepened in her face.

"You mean to live there--alone?"

"It depends how I get along with the dog and the prize-fighter," I
said.  "If they turn out amiable I shall probably invite them to stay
on."

Christine pushed away her untasted cup of coffee and drew her chair a
little nearer the table.

"Mr. Dryden," she said again, "you were telling me the truth just
now.  You do honestly believe that I am trying to act in your own
interests?"

"I trust you from the bottom of my heart," I answered simply.

"Then, whatever you do, don't go to Greensea Island by yourself.
Take some friend with you--somebody that you can absolutely rely on.
I can't explain, but there are reasons which would make it very
unsafe for you to be there alone."  She hesitated for a moment.
"It's even possible you might be in danger of your life."

"Isn't it just a little late to tell me that?" I asked.

Her hand, which was resting on the cloth, suddenly tightened.

"What do you mean?"

"Why," I said, "it's only by the grace of heaven and an exceptionally
thick skull that I happen to be here now.  When I was on my way back
to the ship after seeing Mr. Drayton, somebody banged me on the head
from behind and threw me into the dock.  It was about the most honest
attempt at murder that ever managed to go astray."

The horror and amazement in her eyes were quite obviously genuine.

"But it's impossible," she broke out; "impossible!"

"It's true enough," I returned.  "If you don't believe me, I can show
you the crack in my skull."

She stared at me with the same expression of frightened bewilderment.
"I--I don't understand," she faltered.

"I am sure you don't," I said.  "Neither do I.  Still, the fact
remains that there's someone strolling around with an unsatisfied
longing for my blood, and I suppose they are just as likely as not to
follow me down to Greensea."  I paused.  "Would you advise me not to
go there at all?" I asked deliberately.

For a moment she made no answer.  She seemed to be torn by some
inward conflict that was plainly visible in her face.

"No, no," she replied, almost in a whisper.  "The place is yours,
and----"  She broke off with a little helpless gesture of her hands.
"Oh, I don't know what to say," she finished wretchedly.  "You must
go if you want to.  I can't tell you any more."

"You have told me quite enough," I said gratefully.  "If I don't
manage to take care of myself now, I shall deserve everything I get."

The clock on the wall began to strike three.  With a slight start she
glanced up at it; then, pushing back her chair, she rose suddenly to
her feet.  I made a movement as if to accompany her.

"No, please," she said hurriedly, putting out her hand.  "Don't come
with me.  We must say good-bye here."

"But I'm not going to say good-bye," I objected.  "It's a word that
doesn't exist as far as you and I are concerned."  I took her hand in
both of mine, regardless of the flaxen-haired lady who was surveying
us coldly from behind the counter.  "Tell me when I shall see you
again," I demanded.  "I can't let you go until you do."

She shook her head.  "I don't know.  Perhaps we shall never meet
after this."  She pulled her hand away and stood looking up into my
face with wide-open, unhappy eyes.  "In any case," she said,
"whatever happens, will you always remember that I tried to help you?"

As she spoke she turned away, leaving me standing alone in the middle
of the restaurant.  The next moment she had stepped out through the
open door, and disappeared into the stream of people that hurried
ceaselessly past.




CHAPTER FIVE

"By Jove!" exclaimed Ross enviously.  "You are a lucky ruffian!"

We had halted the car at the top of a gently rising slope, and there,
stretched out below us, lay the shining expanse of the Danewell
Estuary.  For a couple of miles in either direction a winding belt of
silver gleamed and sparkled in the bright morning sunshine.  On the
left it narrowed gradually towards the small tidal haven of Barham
Lock, from which point one could just trace the placid course of the
river Shell, meandering along idly through the marshes.  On the right
it opened out by degrees into an ever-broadening channel, until far
away in the distance, where a faint haze brooded over everything, it
merged itself imperceptibly into the grey waters of the North Sea.

I pointed to a small, irregularly shaped island which lay out in
mid-stream, almost exactly ahead of us.

"That," I said, "is Greensea."

Shading his eyes with his hand, Ross gazed down at my new
inheritance.  One could not see very much of the house, for the
straggling cluster of trees that surrounded it practically hid it
from the mainland.  All that was plainly visible was a
neglected-looking landing-stage with a roughly built wooden
boat-house alongside.

"Seems nice and private," he observed.  "Just the place for a
retiring nature like yours."  He took another glance, and then turned
to me with an air of disappointed enquiry.  "I don't see the dog or
the prize-fighter though.  Why aren't they standing on the quay
waiting for us?  It is very disrespectful of them."

"Never mind," I said.  "Perhaps they're getting lunch ready.  That's
a heap more important."

We ran down the short incline into the little hamlet of Pen Mill, and
pulled up outside the old-fashioned Gunner's Arms.  For a moment I
sat where I was, and looked round me with contented eyes.  It was
nearly five years since my last visit, and to my huge satisfaction
nothing seemed to have changed during the interval.  There was the
same village green, which had always reminded me of the cover of
_Jackanapes_.  The same geese, or what appeared to be the same geese,
waddled happily about in the sunshine, the same clumsy boats were
moored up alongside the old stone jetty, and the big bow-windows of
the inn still leaned out crazily towards the water.  I took in a
long, deep breath, and stepped down from the car.

"I don't want to interfere in any way with the programme," remarked
Ross, "but what about a drink?"  He glanced up at the picturesque
front of the Gunner's Arms.  "I suppose they sell drink in this
interesting ruin?"

"Any amount of it," I replied, brushing off the dust from my coat.
"It's where my skipper--Bobby Dean--and I used to come when we were
paddling around in the Harwich Patrol."

I led the way up the flight of wooden steps, and entered the
low-ceilinged, panelled room, where I had spent many a cheerful
half-hour in past days.  Here I found the first traces of Time's
handiwork.  Instead of the apple-cheeked old landlady whom I
remembered so well, an enormous, genial-looking man in his
shirt-sleeves came forward to take our orders.

"Yes, sir," he said, in answer to my enquiry, "Mrs. Green's been dead
and gone a matter o' two years come next July.  Went off sudden like
as you might say, and the house was put up to auction.  I'd had my
eye on it for some time, and I bought the whole place, lock, stock,
and barrel."

He crossed to the bar, returning in a few moments with the whiskies
and sodas that we had asked for.

"You've not been in these parts for some time, sir?" he hazarded.

"Not since the war," I replied; "but you will probably see something
of me in future."  I took a drink and set down the tumbler.  "I am
the new owner of Greensea Island," I added.

He looked at me with sudden curiosity.  "Well I never!  Is that so,
sir?  Why, only yesterday somebody was saying that a nephew of Mr.
Jannaway's had come into the whole property."

"That's right," I said.  "Mr. Jannaway was my uncle."

He received the information in silence, but I thought I could detect
a faint change of expression in his face.

"Did you know him?" I asked, striking a match to light my pipe.

"No, sir, I can't say that I did.  No one didn't know Mr. Jannaway,
not in a manner o' speaking.  I don't believe he ever come ashore,
not the whole time he was on the island."

"Perhaps you have met his man--Bascomb?"

He nodded, but without any apparent enthusiasm.  "He's been in here a
few times, sir."

Another customer appeared in the doorway, and with a murmured word of
apology he moved away to attend to his wants.

Ross sat back and surveyed me with a mischievous grin.  "We don't
seem to be in luck," he remarked.  "Ask him if he's friendly with the
dog."

My eyes travelled through the open window towards the low-lying shore
and the straggling clump of trees opposite.  A more peaceful scene it
would have been difficult to imagine, but its outward calm did
nothing to allay the ever-growing sense of danger which haunted me
like a persistent shadow.

I turned back to Ross, however, with a well-assumed air of
indifference.

"I expected to find that Uncle Richard had queered the pitch.  I
shall have to begin at the bottom and endear myself to the
neighborhood gradually."

"Well, you've started the right way by bringing me along," he
retorted.  "It will at least show 'em that you have got some
respectable friends."

I beckoned to the landlord, who was again disengaged.

"Is there a boat of any sort you could let us have?" I asked.  "We
want to go across to the island."

Whatever may have been the drift of his private thoughts, he was
evidently prepared to be civil and obliging.

"Why, certainly, sir," he said.  "There's one down alongside the
jetty."  He walked to the window and thrust his head out.  "Jim," he
shouted, "just get that boat ready.  There's a couple o' gents comin'
along in a minute."

I settled up for the drinks, and we made our way out of the room and
down the rickety flight of steps.

We found Jim, a shock-headed youth of about eleven, unhitching the
painter of a small weather-beaten dinghy.

"Will you want me, sir?" he enquired.

"Not to-day, James," I said.  "We are only going over to the island.
I think we can manage that between us."

He glanced at us both a little doubtfully.  "You'll 'ave to row up
stream a bit," he announced.  "The tide runs very strong 'bout here."

I thanked him for this well-meant information, and, having given him
sixpence, took my place at the sculls.  With another grin Ross
settled himself comfortably in the stern.

"Even the children mistrust us," he observed, as I tugged the boat
out into the tideway.

It was not more than a couple of hundred yards across but so rapid
was the current that it took us some little while to make the
passage.  I pulled well up until I was almost opposite the furthest
point of the island, and then, getting into comparatively slack
water, rowed down under the shelter of the shore.  At last we came
alongside the landing-stage, where Ross leaned over and grabbed hold
of a rusty chain.

"There doesn't seem to be anyone about," he said.  "I wonder if the
blighter got your wire."

The words had hardly left his lips when there was a sudden rustle
amongst the trees, and a huge black shape bounded out into the open.
It was a dog, but the biggest dog I have ever seen--an enormous brute
that looked like a cross between a great Dane and an old English
mastiff.

For a second it stood there, swishing its tail and staring at us out
of its bloodshot eyes, then in a menacing fashion it began to advance
rapidly up the path.

With undignified haste Ross let go the chain and scrambled back into
his seat.  Freed from this check, the head of the boat promptly swung
round, and the next moment we were drifting broadside on, with
several feet of water between us and the shore.

"Don't be frightened," I said soothingly.  "It's only his fun.  He
doesn't bite."

Before Ross could answer there was the sound of a step on the gravel,
and the figure of a man came hurriedly round the bend leading from
the house.

"Come 'ere," he shouted.  "Come 'ere at once."

The dog pulled up as if he had been shot, and, casting a disappointed
glance at us, stalked away solemnly from the bank.  With a couple of
strokes I managed to regain our former position.

"Good morning," I said.  "Are you Bascomb?"

The newcomer, a dark, heavily built, clean-shaven man of about
thirty-five, advanced quickly across the open space.

"That's me, sir," he replied.  "You're Mr. Dryden, I suppose?"

I shipped my sculls and stepped up on to the landing-stage, followed
by Ross.

"Yes," I said, "I'm Mr. Dryden.  Did you get my wire?"

"It come along yesterday afternoon, sir.  I got some lunch ready for
you."  He tied up the painter to an iron ring, and then glanced round
at the dog, who was sitting on his haunches a few yards away,
surveying us with sombre interest.  "I'm sorry 'e run at you like
that.  'Taint 'is fault exac'ly.  He's bin trained not to allow no
strangers on the island."

"He seems to have picked up the trick very nicely," I replied.
"What's his name?"

"Satan, sir."

I turned to Ross.  "No wonder he wanted to get hold of you," I said,
laughing.

Ross stooped down and snapped his fingers.  "Come on, Lucifer," he
called out coaxingly.  "We're all pals here."

The huge animal rose slowly to his feet, and in a very deliberate
fashion strolled across to where we were standing.

"'E won't 'urt you now," observed Bascomb.  "'E only wants to take
stock of yer like."

As if to confirm his statement, Satan came up to each of us in turn,
and sniffed enquiringly at the legs of our trousers.  His inspection
was evidently a success, for with a prodigious yawn he sat down
between us, and stared out indifferently at the landscape.

"We've passed all right," said Ross, "but I don't think we've taken
honours."

"Well, we shan't be chawed up, anyhow," I returned.  "That's
something to be grateful for."

"You won't 'ave no more trouble with 'im," put in Bascomb.  "'E'll be
as friendly as a kitten now 'e understands you belong 'ere."  Then,
as if anxious to change the conversation, he added quickly: "Will ye
come inside straight away, sir, or would you like to take a walk
round the island first?"

"Oh, we may as well see the house," I said.  "There will be plenty of
time for exploring after lunch."

Without any further remark my new retainer led the way up the path--a
narrow walk hedged in on each side by an unkempt shrubbery of
laurels.  We passed through an iron gate, which brought us out into
the open, and suddenly, with a little thrill of curiosity, I found
myself face to face with my future home.

It was a low, rambling house of two storeys, built of red brick, and
covered with a thick growth of creeper.  On one side of the porch
were two long windows, opening out on to a verandah.  A strip of lawn
with flower-beds in it ran the whole length of the front, and, except
for the general air of neglect which seemed to pervade everything, it
looked as charming and comfortable a place as the most exacting owner
could desire.

Ross gave vent to a long whistle of approval.

"It's great!" he exclaimed admiringly.  "A real dyed-in-the-wool
happy little English country home!  I can just picture you paddling
around with the mowing machine, and sneaking out at night to murder
the slugs."

Bascomb glanced at him queerly out of the corner of his eye, as if
wondering whether he were quite sane; then, marching ahead of us
across the grass, he pushed back the front door, which was already
partly open.

We found ourselves in a large, rambling hall, fitted up as a
sitting-room.  One glance round showed me that it was a sort of place
where I should feel absolutely at home.  Like the parlour at the
Gunner's Arms, it was panelled from floor to ceiling in black oak.
There was a huge fireplace, with steel dogs on the hearth; a couple
of big leather armchairs were ranged invitingly on each side of it;
while tucked away in one corner stood a broad low couch, plentifully
heaped with cushions.  An old Jacobean desk, apparently locked, and a
fine corner cupboard of the same period, practically completed the
furniture.

Ross stood there gazing about him with the same approving smile.

"By Gad!" he remarked.  "The old boy knew how to make himself
comfortable."

I turned to Bascomb.  "Did my uncle furnish this room himself?" I
asked.

The latter shook his head.  "No, sir.  'E bought these things along
with the 'ouse.  'E 'ad that fireplace put in, otherwise it's just
the same as when 'e come 'ere."

"I'm glad he had the good taste to leave it alone," I said.  "It's
more than I should have given him credit for."

Except for a rather sour glance, Bascomb made no reply.  He crossed
the hall to a door at the back, and, turning the handle, pushed it
open.

"This is the dining-room," he announced curtly.

Ross and I walked over and followed him in.  It was a pleasant
apartment, with a diamond-paned bow-window looking out on to another
strip of grass, where several chickens were strutting about in the
sunshine.  In the centre was a table laid for lunch.

"I've got a bit o' cold lamb ready when you'd like it," continued
Bascomb, in the same surly tone.  "But p'raps you'd rather see the
rest of the 'ouse while yer about it?"

I nodded my assent, and, turning back into the hall, he conducted us
up the staircase to the landing above.  He stopped at one of the
rooms, the door of which was already ajar.

"Mr. Jannaway used to sleep in 'ere," he said, "but there's two
others if you don't fancy it."

I glanced round at the big four-poster bed and the solid,
old-fashioned furniture, all of which I found distinctly pleasing.
Then I moved over to the window and looked out.  The room faced
directly towards Pen Mill, and through a gap in the trees I could
just see the rough stone jetty, and the picturesque front of the
Gunner's Arms.

"This will suit me," I said.  "It would take a very bad conscience to
keep one awake here."

I made the remark quite carelessly, but from the expression on
Bascomb's face he evidently took it to be another reflection upon his
late lamented master.  In dead silence, and with a scarcely concealed
air of resentment, he led us through the remainder of the house;
then, having brought us back to the dining-room, departed to fetch
the lunch.

"Well, what do you think of it all?" I asked Ross as soon as were
left alone.

He sat down on the broad cushioned seat in the window.

"It reminds me more of the hymn than anything else," he said, "'Where
every prospect pleases, and only man is vile.'  The place is
top-hole, but of all surly brutes I've ever met, that prize-fighter
of yours about takes the biscuit."

I pulled one of the chairs to the table.  "He's not exactly a
sunbeam," I admitted.  "All the same, I think it was chiefly my
fault.  I ought to have been more careful what I said about Uncle
Richard.  From what Drayton told me this chap was devoted to him in
his way, and I suppose I've managed to upset his feelings."

Ross grunted unsympathetically.  "He'd go tracking jolly quick if it
was my place," he observed.  "I should get the blue hump if I were
shut up alone in the house with a fellow like that."

Any further discussion was cut short by the sound of steps in the
hall, and a moment later Bascomb himself came back into the room
carrying a well-loaded tray.  Without saying a word, he proceeded to
set out its contents on the table, moving around with a quick
noiseless tread rather surprising in a man of his size and weight.
When he had finished he stood for a moment with the empty tray in his
hand.

"There's a bell alongside the fireplace," he announced, "and there's
some coffee comin' after.  I'll be in the kitchen if you want me
before then."

With this information he again took himself off, shutting the door
behind him as he went out.

Ross drew up his chair opposite to mine.  "It looks all right," he
said, with a satisfied glance round the table.  "I suppose he hasn't
put poison in the salad!"

"I shall risk it, anyhow," I returned.  "I'm too hungry to worry
about trifles."

In spite of his suggestion, Ross seemed to share my feelings, for he
certainly did full justice to the excellent meal in front of us.
Besides the lamb there was cold gooseberry tart and cream, with a
large slab of Cheddar cheese to fill up any remaining corners.  For
drink we had a bottle of good hock, a wine to which I have always had
a peculiar and affectionate attachment.

By the time we had finished and rung for the coffee all Ross's usual
amiability had returned.

"I like your island, my lad," he said, lighting himself a cigar.  "I
could even put up with the prize-fighter if he always turns out meals
like this.  When we come back in August you shall ask me to stay."

"Why not stay now?" I suggested.

He shook his head.  "Can't be done," he said regretfully.  "I have
promised to take my sister to Bath.  I take her there every year in
May when I'm home, and I wouldn't have the heart to disappoint her.
For some extraordinary reason she appears to enjoy it."

I was more than a little disappointed, for to tell the truth I had
been counting a good deal on Ross's society during the next two
weeks.  Half the fun of settling into a new place is to have some pal
to talk things over with, and he was just the sort of cheerful,
easy-going chap who would have exactly filled the role.

Apart from that, Christine's warning about not being alone on the
island still echoed clearly in my memory.  I was not afraid, but
after what had happened to me in the docks I could hardly doubt the
soundness of her advice, and for a moment I could think of nobody
else whom I could invite to share my solitude.  It is true that Mr.
Drayton's friend, Inspector Campbell, had expressed his willingness
to come down for a week-end whenever I asked him, but until I had got
a little firmer grip on the situation I was not particularly anxious
for the presence of a detective.

As I have said before, however, I am not given to worrying over what
cannot be helped, and I was on the point of making some suitable
rejoinder when the door opened and Bascomb arrived with the coffee.
As he set it down in front of me I took the opportunity to
congratulate him upon the excellence of our lunch.

"We'll have a stroll round the island as soon as we've finished," I
added.  "You might come with us and show us anything there is to be
seen."

"Very good, sir," he returned, in a slightly mollified voice.  "I'll
be outside--along by the front door."

True to his word, we found him standing on the path when we came out,
with Satan in due attendance.

"If yer don't like the dog," he said, "I can tie 'im up in the yard."

"But I do like him very much," I replied.  "We are going to be the
best of friends, aren't we, Satan?"

I bent over and patted the huge black head, an attention which its
owner accepted with a complacent grunt that was distinctly
encouraging.

It seemed to me that a momentary flicker of relief passed across
Bascomb's naturally wooden features, but without any further
observation he led the way round to the back, where another rusty
iron gate opened out on to the marshes.

From this point the whole expanse of Greensea Island was visible to
our eyes.  It consisted of a long stretch of saltings and swamps,
only broken by occasional creeks and pools, which sparkled here and
there in the bright May sunshine.  To some people, I suppose, the
outlook would have appeared dismal in the extreme, but for me this
kind of scenery has always possessed an extraordinary charm.  I love
it even in the winter time, when it lies bare and desolate under a
cold sky.  Now, with the thrift mantling the marshes everywhere with
a garment of shot satin, its strange and lonely beauty seemed to stir
the very chords of my heart.

These delicate emotions were rudely interrupted by Ross, who had been
watching my face with his usual amused smile.

"You look like the stage hero coming back to his long-lost village.
If there was only a golden-haired damsel in white muslin picking
roses, it would make a lovely fifth act for a melodrama."

"I can get along very nicely without her," I returned.  "I've had
quite enough melodrama to last me for the present."

I had spoken again without thinking, but once more my words appeared
to have a curious effect upon Bascomb.  Anyhow, I caught him staring
at me suddenly, with a peculiar expression of doubt and suspicion.
He turned away, however, directly he met my eyes, and, pushing open
the gate, stepped back to allow us to pass.

We set out over the uneven ground, and, striking right across to the
water's edge, started to make a complete circuit of the island.  It
was not easy walking, for the whole place was infested with puddles
and patches of bog, and we were constantly making small detours or
else jumping from tuft to tuft in order to avoid one or another of
these obstacles.

Innumerable red-shanks and sea birds kept on popping up in front of
us with shrill cries of alarm, while more than once a large heron
rose slowly to his wings and flopped away with a kind of majestic
indignation.  I could see that in winter it must be a splendid
shooting-ground, and I reflected with some satisfaction on the new
gun which was one of the first things I had promised myself to buy.

We had covered about half the distance, and were skirting along the
inner shore in the direction of the landing-stage, when Ross suddenly
came to a standstill and pointed away up the estuary.

"Look there!" he said.  "Somebody's coming to pay you a visit
already."

About a couple of hundred yards distant a small petrol dinghy
containing a single passenger was rapidly churning its way towards
the island.

I turned to Bascomb.  "Who is it?" I asked.  "Anyone you know?"

Shading his eyes, he stared out at the approaching boat.

"Yes," he said.  "It's Dr. Manning."

If he had said it was the devil his tone could scarcely have been
more appropriate, and both Ross and I looked up in amazement at the
renewed churlishness of his manner.

"Dr. Manning!" I repeated.  "I thought he was in London."

Bascomb whistled to the dog, who trotted up obediently to his side.

"'E may 'ave bin there for all I know.  'E come back last night
anyway.  I seen 'im goin' across to the barge."

There was a short pause.

"Well, I suppose we'd better get along and meet him," I said dryly.
"I know he wants to have a talk with me, and I can't very well say
I'm not at home."

To this Bascomb returned no answer.  He fell in behind Ross and me,
with Satan at his heels, and in this order we advanced across the
strip of salting which still separated us from the landing-stage.

We reached our destination at almost the same moment as the boat.
Its owner brought it up alongside with a skill which showed him to be
a practised hand, and, switching off his engine, leaned over and
caught hold of the ring.

I don't know exactly what I had expected, but my first impression of
him was a distinctly surprising one.  He was a man who would have
attracted attention anywhere, if only for his unusual good looks.
Except on one of the early Greek coins, I don't think I have ever
seen features so extraordinarily well cut.  His face was burned to
the colour of old mahogany, and against this dark background a pair
of china blue eyes looked out with a curious and almost disconcerting
brilliance.  He was wearing flannels and the usual white yachting
cap, and as far as age went he might have been anything between forty
and forty-five.

"How do you do?" he said pleasantly.  "I suppose I'm right in taking
you for Mr. Dryden?  I'm Dr. Manning."

"You're quite right," I answered, "and I'm very glad to see you.
Won't you come ashore?"

He stepped up lightly out of the boat, and shook my hand with a grip
that certainly lacked nothing in heartiness.

"I spotted you from my barge," he went on, "so I thought I would come
over and introduce myself.  I have been looking forward to meeting
you for some little while."

"I was half-expecting to hear from you in London," I said.  "Mr.
Drayton told me that he had given you my address."  I paused.  "Let
me introduce you to a brother professional," I added.  "Dr. Ross, of
the _Neptune_."

I saw his glance travel swiftly and keenly over my companion.

"Delighted to meet you," he said.  "I was a ship's surgeon myself at
one time."  He turned back to me.  "I should have run down to look
you up at the docks, only I couldn't quite fit things in.  Besides, I
thought we were certain to come across each other here before long."

"Suppose we go up to the house and have a drink," I suggested.

"That's not a bad idea," he returned cheerfully.  "I must just fasten
up the boat first, though."

He bent down, and with a couple of quick turns hitched the painter to
the ring.  I was on the verge of speaking rather sharply to Bascomb,
who, still standing sullenly in the background, had made no effort to
come forward and assist him.  For the moment, however, I thought it
best to let the matter pass, and side by side we all three started up
the path towards the front door.

"There's no need for ceremony," I said, as I led the way into the
hall.  "You probably know the house better than I do."

"Well, I was here for several days," he answered, "but most of the
time I was up in your uncle's bedroom."

I mixed him a whisky and soda and passed it across.

"I know," I said, "and I haven't thanked you yet.  It was uncommonly
good of you to come over and look after him as you did."

"Oh, you mustn't say that," he protested.  "I was very pleased to be
of any use.  I have given up practice for some years, but I am always
ready to do anything I can in an emergency."  He paused.  "I only
wish I had been more successful," he added.  "It was one of those
cases, though, in which medical skill is practically helpless.  Heart
failure, you know, on the top of double pneumonia."

I nodded "I never met my uncle," I said, "but I imagine that he had
led a pretty hard life.  I suppose that's bound to tell when it comes
to the point."

His blue eyes rested curiously on mine.  "You never actually met
him?" he repeated.  "I suppose you knew a good deal about him though?"

"Precious little," I said frankly.  "He went off to South America
when I was about five years old, and the next thing I heard of him
was Mr. Drayton's cable telling me that he was dead."

"Why, it's quite a romance," he exclaimed in his easy, almost
drawling manner.  "You were evidently born under a lucky star.  There
are not many people who drop into a fortune from relations that
they've never spoken to."  His glance wandered round the room, as
though noting its various features.  "Not that it's everyone's
property," he went on with a smile.  "Jolly enough in the summer, of
course, but it's a bleak and desolate place in the winter, I give you
my word.  I have often wondered what induced your uncle to shut
himself up here."

"I suppose it appealed to him," I said.  "There's no accounting for
tastes."

Dr. Manning took a sip of his whisky and soda and set down the glass.

"I believe Mr. Drayton spoke to you about my proposal," he said.  "I
mean the idea some of us had of starting a yachting club here."

"He did mention it," I replied, "and I'm very sorry to disappoint
you.  The fact is that I haven't any wish to let the place.  I mean
to live here myself."

He took my refusal with the most perfect good humour.

"I'm delighted to hear it," he answered.  "Of course, if you are
particularly set on the island itself there's no more to be said.  I
thought, however, that you might prefer to be on the mainland.  It's
much more convenient and cheerful in some ways.  There are one or two
very jolly little places in the market that could be picked up for a
mere song, and we should be prepared to give you a good rent for
Greensea.  You see, it's just exactly suited for what we want."

"It isn't a question of money," I said.  "As far as that goes, the
terms you offered through Mr. Drayton were exceedingly handsome.  The
point is that I am quite contented where I am.  I have always wanted
to have an island of my own, and now I have got one I mean to stick
to it."

"Well, if that's the situation," he returned with a laugh, "we
mustn't bother you about it any further."  He finished his whisky and
soda, and, putting his hand in his pocket, pulled out a small
cigarette case.

"Won't you have a cigar?" I suggested.

He shook his head.  "No, thanks.  I never smoke anything but Egyptian
cigarettes.  A friend of mine sends them to me over from Cairo.  Will
you try one?"

He held out the case, and both Ross and I helped ourselves.

"I suppose you will be importing servants if you are going to settle
down here?" he said.  "Your uncle, you know, wouldn't have anyone
else on the island except that one man of his."

"What do you think of Bascomb?" I asked.

He blew out a long wreath of smoke.  "Well, it's hardly my place to
criticise him," he answered, smiling, "but to be quite candid, I
should get rid of him as soon as possible if I were in your shoes.  I
don't want to do the fellow an injustice, but from what I saw of him
while I was here I mistrust him profoundly."

Ross glanced at me with rather a triumphant expression.

"I daresay you're right," I said.  "He certainly doesn't err on the
side of cheerfulness."

As a matter of fact, his warning, though doubtless a well-intended
one, only increased my determination not to act hastily in the
matter.  There is a regrettable streak of obstinacy in my character
which always gets up against other people's advice, and, in addition
to that, I had an unaccountable feeling inside me that Bascomb was
not really as black as he was painted.  In spite of his surliness, he
gave me the impression of being an honest fellow, and when it comes
to judging character I am prepared to back my instincts against a
good deal of circumstantial evidence.

Something, however, urged me to keep my ideas to myself, so, changing
the conversation, I asked Manning if he could tell me anything about
the prospects of wild fowling during the coming winter.  I had
evidently hit on the right source of information, for he at once
began to discuss the subject in a fashion which showed me that he
knew every creek and marsh throughout the length and breadth of the
estuary.

"There's plenty of sport," he added, "any amount of it; only, if you
don't mind my giving you a tip, you want to be a little careful how
you go about it.  The fact is that some of these fellows round
here--the professional gunners, I mean--are as jealous as hell.  They
are a rough lot, and I wouldn't put much beyond them when they get
really nasty."

I looked at him with some surprise.  I had run across a certain
number of these gentry when I had been messing around in the motor
launch with Bobby Dean, and although they were a queer crowd in their
way, I should never have suspected them of being dangerous.

"You don't mean to say they'd take a pot shot at one," I said, "or
anything bloodthirsty of that sort?"

"It sounds rather a large order," he admitted.  "All the same, when I
first came here I had a couple of devilish narrow escapes.  They may
have been accidents, of course, but if so--" He shrugged his
shoulders in a fashion that was sufficiently expressive.

"It doesn't seem to have interfered much with your shooting," put in
Ross.

"Oh, I'm all right now," he replied easily.  "I'm well in their good
books because I have doctored up two or three of them when they were
seedy, and I suppose they feel grateful to me in their way."  He
turned to me.  "I thought I ought to mention it though, just to put
you on your guard."

"Thanks very much," I said.  "I'm not a nervous person, but I'll keep
my eyes open in case anyone should mistake me for a duck."

As though suddenly thinking of the time, Dr. Manning glanced at the
slim gold watch which he wore upon his wrist.

"I must be off," he announced.  "I'm expecting some friends on the
barge at half-past three."  He rose to his feet and shook hands with
both of us.  "I shall see you again before very long, I suppose?" he
added, addressing himself to me.

"I shall be down here for good in three or four days' time," I said.

"Well, don't forget to make use of me," he returned.  "If you would
like to be put up for the club at Shalston or anything of that sort
you have only got to let me know."

I thanked him again, and we all walked down together to the
landing-stage, where he got into his boat and started off on his
return journey.

Ross and I stood for a minute watching the long wake of foam that he
left behind him as he sped rapidly away into the distance.

"I am beginning well," I said.  "It's something to have made friends
with one's next-door neighbour."

Ross, who was still staring at the retreating dinghy, indulged in a
rather doubtful grunt.

"I suppose he's all right," he said half reluctantly.  "I can't say I
cottoned to him much myself.  He's too damned good-looking for my
taste."

"There doesn't seem to be much love lost between him and Bascomb," I
remarked.  "I wonder what the trouble is."

"God knows," returned Ross, "but on that point at least my sympathies
are with the doctor."  He turned away from the water, and we strolled
back side by side towards the house.  "Do you think there's anything
in this yarn of his about the natives?  If so, it looks to me as if
you were up against a pretty breezy proposition."

"I'm not worrying myself," I replied placidly.  "Somebody wants to
assassinate me already--that's quite plain--and a few extra hands on
the job won't make much difference.  After all, one can only die
once."

"That's the spirit, my lad," observed Ross, slapping me on the
shoulder.  "All the same, I don't like to think of you stuck down
here on your little lonesome.  I've half a mind to chuck my sister
and come and keep you company."

"No you won't," I said firmly.  "You trot off to Bath like a good
boy.  If things get too hot I'll rout out somebody else to share the
racket."

We reached the front door just as I spoke, and almost simultaneously
Bascomb came into view round a corner of the shrubbery, with Satan
still at his heels.  I hesitated for a moment, wondering what was the
best thing to do.  Should I take him to task there and then, or would
it be better to wait until I returned to the island and was properly
settled into the house?  I decided on the latter course, and, leaving
Ross, walked forward to where he was standing.

"We shall be off in a few minutes, Bascomb," I said "I must leave the
rest of the island until I come back."

He met my gaze quite steadily, though the same sullen expression
still lingered in his eyes.

"Very well, sir," he said.  "When shall I expect you?"

"I don't know for certain," I replied.  "About Wednesday or Thursday,
I expect, but I'll send a line and let you know."  I paused.  "Is
there anything you want for the house--anything I can have sent down
from London?"

He shook his head.  "There's no trouble about gettin' food," he
answered.  "All the Shalston tradesmen deliver at Pen Mill, and, as
far as liquor goes the cellar's just full up with it."

My opinion of Uncle Richard underwent a slight improvement.

"That's good news," I said.  "How are you off for money?"

"I've got enough to go on with.  Mr. Drayton gave me twenty pound
last time 'e was down 'ere."  He hesitated for a moment, and then
added gruffly: "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but might I ask what
arrangements you're thinkin' o' makin'?"

"How do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, I was wonderin' if you wanted me.  Mebbe you'll be bringin'
your own folk along with you."

"You looked after my uncle while he was alive, didn't you?" I asked.

"Yes," he said bluntly, "I reckon 'e was satisfied, but it don't
foller you won't 'ave different ideas."

"That depends on you," I said.  "If you make me comfortable I shall
be quite contented with the arrangement--at all events for the
present."

He was evidently rather surprised, but the satisfaction in his face
was unmistakable.

"I'll do my best," he said.  "No one can't do more than that."  He
glanced down at Satan, who was sitting patiently by his side.  "'Ow
about the dog?" he demanded suspiciously.  "You won't be wantin' to
get rid of 'im?"

"Not likely," I said, with some feeling.  "He's one of the chief
attractions of the place from my point of view."

At this moment, as luck would have it, Satan rose leisurely to his
feet, and, strolling across, thrust his wet muzzle into the palm of
my hand.  The timely demonstration evidently had a considerable
effect upon Bascomb, for he looked up at me with a sudden respect
that had hitherto been absent from his manner.

"'E's taken to you proper, sir," he observed; "an' wot's more, 'e's
worth 'avin' as a friend, that dog is.  If 'e was around, and any
bloke was to try a dirty trick on you, 'e'd tear the throat out of
'im before 'e knew wot 'ad 'appened."

"I'm very pleased to hear it," I said heartily, and, having bestowed
several more encouraging pats on my new and useful ally, I followed
Ross into the house.

I found him in the dining-room in the act of helping himself to
another whisky and soda.

"It's time we were making a start," I said, copying his example.
"There are no lights on the car, and it will take us at least three
hours to get back to town."

"I'm ready," he replied.  "I didn't like to leave all this drink
behind, though.  It's putting temptation in Bascomb's way."

"You needn't have worried yourself," I explained.  "There's a whole
cellar full of it downstairs, and of course he's got the key."

Ross nodded his head in mock amazement.  "Good Lord!  And yet the
silly fool hasn't even the sense to try and keep his job.  I suppose
you'll give him the sack now you've heard the doctor's opinion of
him?"

"I daresay," I returned evasively.  "I'm keeping him on for the
present, though.  It's no good throwing away dirty water until one's
got clean."

We went down to the landing-stage and stepped into our boat, which
Bascomb had busied himself in making ready for us.  He and Satan
remained standing on the shore as we pulled out into the estuary--two
motionless black figures against the lonely background of trees and
shrubs.  To my imagination they seemed to me to strike a curiously
grim and forbidding note, well in keeping with the reputation for
unsociability that Greensea Island had evidently earned.  In view of
certain possible contingencies, however, this was distinctly a fault
on the right side, and I looked back at them both with a certain
growing sense of comfort and confidence.  If my uncle's legacy was a
trifle unhealthy, I was beginning to think that he had at least left
me the means of dealing with it in a thoroughly practical fashion.

We had no difficulty this time in making the passage, for the tide
was now at its lowest, and were able to row straight across to the
jetty.  We abandoned the boat to the charge of Jim, who was waiting
for us, and going up to the Gunner's Arms, routed out our chauffeur
from a comfortable seat in the bar parlour.

"You've got back all right then, sir," observed the landlord.  "I
hope you found the place come up to what you expected?"

"Quite, thank you," I said.  "I think I shall be as happy and
contented there as my uncle was."

He eyed me for a moment with the same air of peculiar interest, but
beyond thanking me for the five shillings which I gave him he offered
no further remarks.

Three minutes later we were spinning up the long incline, at the top
of which we had paused in the morning to view my new property.  At
the very point where we had halted the road turned away to the left,
winding off inland towards the railway junction at Torrington.

We were just rounding this corner when the unexpected blast of a horn
caused our chauffeur to pull in hastily to the near side.  As he did
so a big car suddenly swept into view, coming from the opposite
direction.  How we avoided each other I don't know, for the fleeting
glimpse which I had caught of the man alongside the driver put
everything else for the moment completely out of my head.

Ross sprang up in his seat, and stared back in amazement over the top
of the tonneau.

"Well I'm damned!" he exclaimed, turning to me.  "If that wasn't our
friend de Roda it must have been his twin brother!"




CHAPTER SIX

I helped myself to a glass of port, and, sitting back in my big
arm-chair, looked contentedly round the dining-room.  It was the
third evening I had spent in my new quarters, and the refreshing air
of novelty had not yet quite worn off.

So far things had been moving with admirable smoothness.  I had come
down on the Thursday following my first visit, and I had been happily
surprised at the improvements which Bascomb had effected in the
interval.  He must have worked hard, for the house was as neat and
clean as anyone could reasonably wish, and in addition to that he had
cut the grass and tidied up the garden, both in the back and the
front.

In his own queer way, too, he had seemed quite pleased at my arrival,
a welcome seconded by Satan, who had evidently adopted me as a new
and desirable feature of the establishment.  I had put In a couple of
pleasantly lazy days, rambling about the place, exploring it from top
to bottom, and now on this Sunday evening I found myself sitting over
the remains of supper with something of the same
"monarch-of-all-I-survey" feeling which helped to brighten the
solitude of Robinson Crusoe.

Like that undefeated castaway, however, I had other and more pressing
considerations to occupy my immediate thoughts.  Whatever way I might
look at it, the fact remained that I had undoubtedly burned my boats.
Here I was, stuck down alone on Greensea Island, in precisely the
friendless and solitary position which Christine had counselled me to
avoid.  Against her advice I had thrust my head deliberately into the
lion's mouth, and for any painful consequences that might follow I
should have only myself to thank.

If any further proof were needed as to the soundness of her warning I
had it supplied to me in a sufficiently dramatic shape by that
momentary encounter with de Roda at the top of Pen Mill Hill.  That
it was de Roda we had so nearly run into I was in no manner of doubt.
However much I might have mistrusted my own eyes, Ross's immediate
recognition of him had settled the matter beyond question.  I could
see him now as he had whirled past us in a cloud of dust--a huddled
mass of coat collar, with a sallow face and sombre eyes staring out
fixedly into space.  It was my impression that he had not even
glanced at either of us, but the whole thing had happened so abruptly
that on this point at least I might very easily have been mistaken.

Anyhow, it didn't seem to make a vast deal of difference.  By no
conceivable stretch of imagination could I account for his presence
in this out-of-the-way part of the world, unless it had something to
do with my own humble affairs.  Those grim words out of the Bible,
"Where the carcase is, there will the eagles be gathered together,"
seemed to hit off the situation with unfortunate accuracy.  There was
a strong suggestion of a sick bird of prey in de Roda's yellow face,
and, though I had no intention of becoming a carcase if I could
possibly avoid it, the parallel was too close to be anything but
distinctly unpleasant.

The one point in my favour was the fact that, if trouble were coming,
I was at least fully prepared for it.  After the way they had bungled
things in the docks my enemies would no doubt have the sense to guess
that I must be on my guard, but of the extra and private warning that
I had received from Christine they were, I felt sure, happily in
ignorance.  If only I had had the least inkling of what it was all
about I don't think I should have worried in the slightest.  It was
this fighting in the dark that was so upsetting--this horrible
ignorance as to where the next blow might come from, and why the
devil de Roda himself or anyone else should be so anxious to
accelerate my funeral.

For the hundredth time I turned over in my mind the few actual facts
of which I was really certain, only to pull up baffled before the
same blank wall of profitless conjecture.  All the guessing in the
world was no use until I had something more to go on, and the sooner
I acquired that "something" the rosier would be my prospects of
remaining on this planet.

I was just pouring myself out a second glass of port when an idea
occurred to me.  Why not summon Bascomb and have things out with him
straight away?  Up to now I had made no attempt to question him.  We
were bound to come to an understanding sooner or later, and from
every point of view the present seemed to be as good a time as any
other.

Acting promptly on my impulse, I walked across to the fireplace and
rang the bell.  A few moments elapsed; then the door opened and the
taciturn face of my retainer appeared on the threshold.

"Are you busy, Bascomb?" I asked.

He shook his head.

"Well, come in then," I said.  "There are one or two things I want to
talk to you about."

Still keeping silent, he closed the door behind him and advanced to
the centre of the room.

"Sit down and have a glass of port," I added.  "I don't know where my
uncle got it from, but it's a first-class wine."

He hesitated for a second; then in a slightly awkward fashion he took
the chair opposite mine, and accepted the decanter which I pushed
across.

"Thank you, sir," he said gruffly.  "I reckon it ought to be all
right--same as everything else in the cellar.  Mr. Jannaway was very
particular about 'is liquor."

"He seems to have been a good judge of most things," I said, holding
my glass up to the light.  "I never met him myself, as you probably
know.  He went abroad to America when I was quite young, and except
for Mr. Drayton you're the only person who can tell me anything about
him."

For a moment Bascomb stared at the table without speaking.

"I dunno wot Mr. Drayton may 'ave said," he began in a half-defiant
voice, "but if anyone wants to run down the guv'nor, they won't do it
while I'm around.  I don't say 'e was a bloomin' saint; 'e weren't
made that way, no more'n I am.  All the same, 'e treated me proper,
'e did, and I ain't goin' back on 'im now 'e's dead and gorn."

There was a rough eloquence about the man's outburst which I felt
would have convinced even Ross of his good faith.

"I'm glad to hear you speak like that," I said heartily.  "I believe
in sticking up through thick and thin for anybody who has been kind
to me, especially when they can't defend themselves."

The gleam of passion died out of Bascomb's face almost as suddenly as
it had appeared.

"I didn't mean nothin' against you, sir," he began with a kind of
clumsy apology in his voice.  "I reckon you'd deal fair with anyone
till you 'ad reasons for the contrary.  All I feels is that mebbe
you've 'eard things about the guv'nor which makes yer think a sight
worse of 'im than there's any call for."

"It isn't so much what I've heard," I said, looking him straight in
the face.  "It's the queer way my uncle behaved that seems to me to
want some sort of explanation.  Why did he suddenly shut himself up
on this island and treat the place as if it were a kind of fortress?
At least, that's the only description that fits in with what Dr.
Manning and even you yourself have told me."

Bascomb met my glance without wavering.

"As far as that goes, sir," he said stolidly, "I dunno much more
about it than wot you do.  Wotever the guv'nor did 'e 'ad good
reasons for, but 'e weren't the sort to talk about 'is own affairs,
not even to me."

"Do you think he was afraid of somebody?" I asked.  "That's what Mr.
Drayton believes."

Bascomb hesitated for a moment.  "Yes, sir," he said slowly, "I
reckon that's about the size of it.  'E'd got it into 'is 'ead that
there was some party after 'im, an' 'e bought this 'ere island so as
'e'd be out of their way."

"When did it start?" I demanded.  "When did you first notice anything
wrong?"

"Well, sir, it's my belief that 'e always 'ad some notion of that
sort at the back of 'is mind.  When I come to 'im in London, almost
the first thing 'e says to me was that no strangers was to be allowed
into the flat, not under no circumstances wotever.  Still, 'e didn't
seem to worry 'isself not to anything like the same extent.  'E used
to go to the races an' the music 'alls, an' as often as not 'e'd stop
out till two or three in the morning."

"But something must have happened," I persisted.  "Can't you remember
when he began to change?"

Bascomb nodded.  "It was one mornin'," he said slowly, "gettin' on
towards the end of October.  I 'eard 'is bell ring after breakfast,
and when I goes in, there 'e was sittin' at the table, lookin' as if
'e'd bin took ill.  'E'd bin reading the paper, I could see that, an'
I remember thinkin' as mebbe 'e'd found something in it as 'ad upset
'im.  'Bascomb,' 'e says to me, 'd'you know any place where you can
get me a dawg?'  'Wot sort of a dawg, sir?' I asks, an' 'e laughs in
that queer way 'e 'ad which was enough to give a bloke the creeps.
'A savage dawg, Bascomb,' 'e says, 'a big savage dawg as'll look
after you an' me, an' tear the guts outer any silly devil who tries
to shove 'isself in where 'e ain't wanted.'  'E always spoke as if 'e
was 'alf jokin', the guv'nor did, but this time I could see as 'e
meant business.  So I tells 'im I knows a cove in Whitechapel who
could probably let 'im 'ave wot 'e wanted, an' that very afternoon I
goes down there and gets 'old of Satan."  He paused and glanced at me
with a sudden trace of apprehension.  "Not as there's anything wrong
with Satan, sir," he hastened to add.  "'E's as gentle as a lamb with
people 'e knows, but, as the bloke who sold 'im to me says, 'e ain't
got no fancy for strangers, an' you see, sir, that's just the sorter
dawg Mr. Jannaway was askin' for."

"And it's just the sort of dog I'm very glad he found," I remarked
thankfully.

Bascomb paused to finish his port and then carefully wiped his mouth
with the back of his hand.

"After that," he continued, "the guv'nor was wot you might call a
different man.  'E didn't go out no more, 'cept in the middle of the
day, and although 'e says nothin' to me, I could see as 'e was busy
fixin' up some plan of 'is own.  It didn't take long before it come
out neither.  'Bascomb,' 'e says to me one mornin', 'I think we've
'ad enough o' London.  It ain't good for the 'ealth livin' too much
in a town, so I've took a nice little island where we can be quiet
and comfortable--just the three of us.  We shan't want no furniture,'
'e says, 'but pack up everything else in the flat, and we'll go down
there to-morrow.'"

"Rather a short notice, wasn't it?" I suggested gravely.

"It didn't make no difference to me," returned Bascomb.  "Where the
guv'nor went I went, and as it so 'appens I've always 'ad a fancy for
the country, ever since me first visit to 'Ampstead 'Eath."

"And you took over this place just as it stands?" I said.

"More or less, sir.  The furniture was 'ere right enough, but there
was one or two things the guv'nor wanted to 'ave done, such as
puttin' on extra bolts and locks, an' shovin' in that there fireplace
in the 'all."

"You had the workmen staying in the house, didn't you?" I asked.

"Yes, sir.  A queer lot they was too.  Dutchmen, every mother's son
of 'em.  Couldn't speak a word o' English, or any other Christian
language."

I stared at him in frank astonishment.  "Dutchmen!" I repeated.
"What on earth made him engage Dutchmen?"

"Gawd knows," observed Bascomb indifferently, "but Dutch blokes they
was, and that's a fact.  Come over from Rotterdam, and brought all
their clobber with them."

"How long did they stay?" I asked curiously.

Bascomb scratched his head.  "Mebbe a matter o' four or five days.  I
didn't take no particular notice of 'em myself, 'avin' plenty to do
gettin' things straight in the kitchen.  The guv'nor kep' an eye on
'em, though, and I reckon 'e seed they done their job proper."

"They must have got through a good bit if they were here for five
days," I said.

"I dunno about that," returned my companion rather contemptuously.
"Them furrin' blokes ain't much use at work, even when there's
someone lookin' after them.  They was messin' about with the
fireplace pretty nigh all the time."

"Why did he want a new grate?" I enquired.  "Was there anything the
matter with the old one?"

"It weren't big enough," explained Bascomb.  "You see, sir, 'avin'
spent most of 'is time in 'ot places, the guv'nor felt the cold
somethin' crool.  Always blindin' at the weather, 'e was.  I've 'eard
'im say it was made up outer the scraps and leavin's wot other
countries 'adn't got no use for."

"Then I suppose he lived chiefly in the hall?" I remarked.

"That's right, sir.  'E never went outside the 'ouse, not after it
was dark.  I used to make 'im up a big fire, an' there 'e'd sit all
the evenin', with Satan lyin' on the floor alongside of 'im."

"It sounds a cheerful sort of existence," I said.  "How did he amuse
himself?  Had he got any books or papers?"

"I don't think 'e laid much store by readin'," replied Bascomb.  "We
'ad the _Daily Mail_ come over every mornin', but as often as not 'e
wouldn't trouble 'isself to open it."  He hesitated for a moment, and
then seemed to decide to take me into his confidence.  "You see, sir,
the guv'nor 'e began shift in' a good deal o' liquor after we come
down 'ere.  'E was never drunk, not wot you might call proper drunk,
but most evenin's 'e'd be a bit muzzy like, an' 'e'd just sit there
mutterin' to 'isself or talkin' to Satan.  I reckon 'e'd fixed it up
in 'is mind that someone was tryin' to do 'im in, an' when a party
gets 'old of a notion like that, drink's about the only thing as'll
cheer 'em up."

"And what happened?" I asked.  "Did anyone put a bullet through the
window or anything exciting of that sort?"

Once more Bascomb shook his head.  "They didn't 'ave the chance," he
observed grimly.  "Before I goes to bed I always use ter slip Satan
out through the back door, and I'd like to see the bloke as'd set
foot on the island with 'im prowlin' around in the dark."

There was a short pause.

"Tell me about my uncle's illness," I said.  "How was it he went off
so quickly?"

"It was through gettin' wet, sir.  'E was out with 'is gun one
mornin', an' it come on to rain sudden.  Before 'e could get back to
the 'ouse 'e was fair soaked to the skin.  'This cursed place 'as
done for me at last, Bascomb,' 'e says.  'I shouldn't wonder if I was
a corpse inside of a week.'  With that, sir, 'e goes straight off to
'is bed, and when it come to five o'clock 'e was tremblin' all over
an' beginning to talk wild.  I reckoned 'e was pretty bad, an' 'avin'
'eard as this cove Manning was a doctor, I rows across to the barge
and asks 'im to come over.  I didn't like 'im, not from the moment I
put me eyes on 'im, but, seein' there weren't no one else 'andy, I
'ad to make the best of it.  By the time we gets back the guv'nor was
worse.  'E 'adn't no notion who I was, an' 'e was throwin' 'isself
about an' talkin' all sorts of foolishness.  'You'd better find me
somethin' to sleep on,' says the doctor.  'If I don't stay and look
after 'im 'e'll peg out in the night as likely as not.'  Well, I
makes 'im up a bed in the guv'nor's room, an' nex' mornin' I goes
over to Pen Mill an' telegraphs to Mr. Drayton.  After that the 'ole
thing was out of my 'ands, so to speak.  I done everything they tells
me, but as you knows, sir, the guv'nor never got no better, an' two
days later 'e goes off sudden early in the mornin'."  He paused.  "I
wish 'e'd come to again, if it 'ad only been for a minute," he added
huskily.  "'E'd been good to me, the guv'nor 'ad, and I'd like to
'ave said good-bye to 'im."

I could not help feeling that it was probably a better epitaph than
my uncle really deserved, but, all the same, there was something
curiously affecting in the rough fellow's evident distress.

"What was the matter with the doctor?" I asked, after a moment's
pause.  "How was it you couldn't get on with him?"

Bascomb's face hardened again immediately.  "I don't trust 'im, sir.
It's my belief 'e's a wrong 'un."

Allowing for a slight difference in expression, they were the very
identical sentiments that Manning had confided to me about the
speaker, and it was all I could do to stop myself from smiling.

"Why do you think that?" I persisted.

"Well, if 'e was straight an' above-board wot made 'im carry on like
'e did?  Always askin' questions and shovin' 'is nose into
everything, same as if it was 'is own 'ouse."  He stopped to take a
long, indignant breath.  "Some game of 'is own on, that's wot 'e 'ad,
or else 'e wouldn't 'ave bin so blarsted curious."

"What sort of questions did he ask?" I enquired.

"Hall sorts," replied Bascomb resentfully.  "Tryin' to jump me about
the guv'nor mornin', noon, and night, an' as for the way 'e used to
mess about, it was fair sickening.  Why, after the funeral, blessed
if 'e didn't come back 'ere twice an' want to look over the 'ouse
again."

"Did you let him?" I asked.

"Not me!  I says to 'im I'd strict orders from Mr. Drayton that no
one was to come inside the place.  'E offered me a couple o' quid the
second time, but I told 'im wot 'e could do with it, and after that I
reckon we understood each other.  Any'ow, 'e didn't show up no more,
not till 'e seed you an' the other gen'leman."

"There's a fairly simple explanation of all this," I said.  "He wants
to get hold of the island and turn it into a yachting club.  He had
made an offer to Mr. Drayton before I arrived."

Bascomb looked a little sceptical.  "I ain't 'eard nothin' about
that," he observed.  "Anyway, 'e's a wrong 'un, sir; you can take my
word for it."

"I daresay you're right," I said, lighting myself a cigar.  "It
doesn't make much difference, because I haven't the faintest
intention of letting the place and I've told him so straight out.  If
that's all he's after we shan't be troubled with much more of his
company."  I got up from the table.  "I think I'll have a stroll
round before I turn in," I added.  "You needn't bother about the
front door; I'll lock that myself when I come back."

I walked through into the hall, where I found Satan stretched out
luxuriously on the mat in front of the fireplace.  He cocked an eye
at me as I passed, and, seeing me pick up my cap from the table, rose
slowly to his feet.

"Come along then," I said.  "We'll take the air together if you feel
that way."

The suggestion evidently appealed to him, for he followed me out
through the porch, and side by side we sauntered down the gravel path
which led to the landing-stage.

It was a beautiful night, with a half moon low down in the sky, and
one or two large stars shining away in isolated splendour.  As I came
out from the shadow of the trees the loveliness of my surroundings
filled me with a kind of enchantment, and, drawing in a deep breath,
I stood for a moment in absolute stillness.  Everything was silent,
except for the faint whisper of the reeds.  A dancing pathway of
silver stretched away up the centre of the estuary, and beyond it, on
either side, lay the black, irregular outline of the shore.

Crossing the open with Satan at my heels, I slowly made my way down
to the edge of the water.  My mind was full of my conversation with
Bascomb, and, coming to a halt in the warm darkness, I stood there
puffing meditatively at my cigar.

Everything I had just heard had merely gone to confirm my previous
ideas.  There could be no doubt that, whether he had been right or
wrong, my uncle had been firmly convinced that his life was in
imminent danger, and in this opinion Bascomb himself seemed strongly
inclined to share.  I attached considerable importance to the latter
point, because so far my worthy retainer had not given me the
impression of being gifted with any particular powers of imagination.
The only matter on which he appeared to have a slight obsession was
with reference to Dr. Manning.

His mistrust for that gentleman was indeed so pronounced that I could
not help wondering whether, after all, it might not be based upon a
sound instinct.  Unless he had exaggerated, the doctor's curiosity
did appear to have been a trifle excessive, even allowing for his
anxiety to get a lease of the island.  I had only seen the man once,
but there was something about him that I had not altogether cottoned
to myself, in spite of his attractive manner and his undeniable
kindness in looking after my uncle.  I think it was a certain
hardness in those china blue eyes of his, or perhaps it was the
apparently deliberate fashion in which he had tried to set me against
Bascomb.  Of course it was wildly improbable that he could have
anything to do with de Roda, but, all the same, I began to feel that
it would be just as well to keep him on the list of suspected
persons.  I was in one of those regrettable situations where one
cannot afford to give full play to the naturally generous impulses of
one's nature!

My thoughts went back to the strange figure of my uncle as I saw him
in the light of Bascomb's new disclosures.  Viewed from that friendly
angle, he seemed a more human sort of character than I had previously
imagined; indeed, whatever he had done or been, there was something
about those last days of his that stirred a belated sympathy for him
in my heart.  I pictured him sitting through the long winter evenings
in that lonely room, with the half-empty whisky bottle beside him,
and who knows what grim memories gnawing at his conscience.  I could
almost see him turning uneasily in his chair as the rain and wind
swept up the estuary, beating on the French windows and whispering of
the implacable vengeance that was lurking somewhere in the darkness
outside.

It is possible that my compassion for him may have been stimulated by
the fact that I seemed to be in a more or less similar predicament
myself.  My prospects of a long and peaceful life appeared to be
quite as hazy as his own, while I laboured under the additional
handicap of being entirely ignorant as to the reason for my
unpopularity.  I only knew that the same danger which had haunted him
was now closing in on me, and that at any moment it might make itself
manifest in a peculiarly abrupt and unpleasant form.

With a feeling of irritation at my own helplessness I stood staring
out over the moonlit water.  Except for a solitary lamp on the jetty
opposite, all the long stretch of coastline on either side was
wrapped in complete darkness.  It looked a very suitable background
for anyone with homicidal tendencies, and I was just wondering which
point of the compass seemed the most promising when something
attracted my attention.

Away to the left, in the direction of Barham Lock, a tiny point of
light had broken out into the night.  I gazed at it curiously,
wondering what it could be.  There was no house or cottage on that
part of the coast, and in view of the shallowness of the water it was
a very unlikely spot at which any vessel would have come to anchor.

For several moments I puzzled vainly over the problem; and then quite
suddenly the explanation came to me.

It was the riding lamp from Dr. Manning's barge, which was moored up
there in the blackness under the shadow of the trees.




CHAPTER SEVEN

"I think I shall go over to Pen Mill this morning," I said.

Bascomb, who was clearing away the breakfast things, paused in the
middle of his operations.

"Will you be back to lunch, sir?" he enquired.  "I got a nice duck I
was thinkin' o' cookin'."

"In that case," I said, "I shall certainly be back.  Better make it
one-thirty though, and then we shan't run the risk of spoiling it."

"Very good, sir," he replied, picking up the tray.  "I'll 'ave it
ready for yer, and I reckon you'll find it'll be all right. I cooked
many a one for Mr. Jannaway when 'e was alive.  Very partial to roast
duck the guv'nor was."

"It runs in the family evidently," I observed.

Bascomb retired with his burden, and, throwing aside the _Daily
Mail_, which was exceedingly dull, I got up and looked out of the
window.  Two days had drifted by since our conversation in the
dining-room, and so far nothing had occurred to mar the picture of
rustic felicity which Ross had sketched out as my probable future.
Being still fresh to my surroundings, I had found the time pass away
pleasantly enough.  I had gone through my uncle's papers, put in some
honest work in the garden, and had a very jolly cruise or two up and
down the estuary in the small sailing dinghy which I had discovered
stowed away in the boathouse.

This morning, however, for some reason or other, I had woken up in a
more adventurous mood.  This tranquil existence was all very well in
its way, but there are some luxuries for which one can pay too
dearly.  I am a firm believer in the doctrine that heaven helps those
who help themselves, and I had no intention of sitting down and doing
nothing, while my enemies quietly completed their plans for a second
and more successful attempt at blotting me out.

Thinking things over while I was dressing, I had decided that
something in the nature of a scouting expedition to the mainland was
distinctly advisable.  It would have to be done tactfully, of course,
for, if my theories were right, any movement of mine was probably
being watched with the closest attention.  Still, that only made the
idea more attractive, and I felt a cheerful little tingle of
excitement in my heart as I stared out of the window and pondered
over my undertaking.

The first thing to do was obviously to try and find out whether de
Roda was anywhere in the neighbourhood.  This ought not to be a very
difficult matter, for the presence of a stranger in such a sparsely
inhabited place as Pen Mill would be sure to have aroused a
considerable amount of curiosity.  It would be discussed and
canvassed with the utmost relish, especially in the bar parlour of
the Gunner's Arms, which I knew from old experience to be the
rallying-point for all the busybodies in the district.  One had only
to drop in there for a drink, and any local gossip that was floating
around was almost certain to be brought before one's notice.

After that--well, my future proceedings would necessarily depend upon
how much or how little I had managed to pick up.  If I found out that
de Roda was really on the spot I was determined to follow the trail
as promptly and thoroughly as possible.  It might be a dangerous
amusement, but that was an objection which would apply equally to any
course I chose to adopt, and, after all, it is better to run risks
when there is a decent chance of getting something for one's pains.

Besides, at the back of everything else there lurked another and much
more compelling motive.  Should de Roda be anywhere around, it was
quite on the cards that Christine would be with him.  The mere
thought of this pleasing possibility was amply sufficient to outweigh
all other considerations, and it was in a very contented mood that I
turned away from the window and went upstairs to get ready for my
trip.

A quarter of an hour later I was sitting in the dinghy, sculling
across in a leisurely fashion towards the opposite shore.  Except for
a couple of brown-sailed barges, which were stealing out from Pen
Mill to take advantage of the rising tide, I appeared to have the
whole estuary to myself.  I dodged in between the pair of them, and
came up alongside the jetty, where two or three tousled-headed
urchins were waiting my arrival.

Amongst the latter I recognised the somewhat soiled features of my
friend Jimmy.

"Here you are, James," I said, tossing him the painter.  "I'll be
back about one o'clock.  Don't let anyone sneak the sculls."

"I'll watch it, sir," he replied, with shrill confidence, and,
elbowing the others officially aside, he proceeded to tow the boat
along the wall and make her fast to a convenient post.

I stopped for a moment at the end of the causeway, and, under cover
of filling my pipe, took a careful survey of the village green.  It
looked very peaceful and innocent, its only inhabitants being a small
child and an ancient donkey, neither of whom seemed to threaten any
immediate danger.  Having struck a match and lighted my tobacco, I
sauntered off across the grass, and a minute later I was mounting the
steps that led up to the inn.

When I entered the bar parlour I found two other customers already in
possession.  One was a short, ferrety-faced man, dressed in black,
with a straggling red moustache and a bowler hat on the back of his
head.  The second was a grizzled and elderly boatman, who was puffing
away contentedly at a much used cutty.  Both were seated in chairs in
front of the bar, and had evidently been carrying on a conversation
with the landlord, who was leaning over the counter polishing a
tankard.

"Good morning," I said, with a general nod which included everybody.

I was subjected to a quick inspection, but all three of them returned
my greeting civilly enough.

"I think I'll have a bottle of Bass," I said, addressing myself to
the landlord.  "That's the best drink for this time of day."

The little man in black blew his nose, making a surprising amount of
noise over the operation.

"I envy you, sir," he remarked.  "There's nothing I like better than
a glass of beer meself, but it goes straight to my liver.  Perhaps
you aren't troubled in that way."

"I don't know where it goes to," I said, "but the result seems to be
quite satisfactory."

The landlord unscrewed a bottle and carefully tilted its contents
into a tumbler.

"You don't take enough exercise, Mr. Watson," he remarked.  "No one
can drink beer, not if they sit in an office all day.  You want to be
out in the open air, like George here."

The old boatman nodded affirmatively.  "Beer never 'urt me," he
observed with a chuckle.  "I reckon I drunk enough of it in my time
to float a Thames barge."

With a regretful shake of his head the little man applied himself to
his whisky.  "You couldn't do it, not if you were in the house agent
line," he remarked.  "It would have to be spirits or nothing then,
the same as it is with me."

I paid for my drink, and, strolling across the room, sat down at an
empty table in one of the bay-windows.  There was a paper lying in
front of me--a weekly rag called the _Shalston Gazette_--which seemed
to consist principally of advertisements.  I picked it up, however,
and, opening it at the centre page, made a deliberate pretence of
glancing through the local news.

For a moment or two the conversation at the other end of the bar
languished; then, as if renewing a former discussion, the landlord
suddenly addressed himself to Mr. Watson.

"What I don't understand," he said, "is how they come to pitch on
'The Laurels.'  It ain't the kind of place you'd think a gentleman
would take a fancy to."

"It suited this party right enough," returned the little man with a
chuckle.  "All he wanted was a house facing the water.  He didn't
seem particular about anything else, provided he could get that."

I felt my heart begin to beat a shade quicker, for a sudden
conviction that they were speaking about de Roda had flashed
instantly across my mind.  The landlord's next remark put the matter
almost beyond question.

"Well, I suppose, being a foreigner, he ain't used to comfort.  He'll
find it precious damp though, if we happen to have another summer
like the last."

"That's his look-out," returned the other.  "He saw the place before
he took it, so I don't see that he'll have any call to grumble.
Anyhow, he's paid us six months' rent in advance."

"What part o' the world d'you reckon he comes from, Mr. Watson?"
enquired the boatman.  "Some says he's a Frenchy, but it seems to me
he's a bit too yaller in the face for that.  More like some kind of a
Eytalian to my way o' thinkin'."

"He's neither," said Mr. Watson decisively.  "He's a Spaniard--the
same as those fellers who bring round the onions."

"A Spaniard, is he?" ejaculated the landlord.  "Fancy that now!
Could you make out what he said?"

Mr. Watson sucked in his lip.  "After a fashion," he replied.  "It
wasn't too easy his first visit, but the second time he come along he
brought his niece with him, and it was she that did most of the
talking.  I didn't have any trouble with her--none at all.  Speaks
English as well as you or me."

"That's a fact," put in the boatman, nodding his head.  "She was down
to my place the day before yesterday looking after something to go on
the water in.  A fine young lady she is too, and a rare 'and at
sailing a boat."

"I don't hold with women sailing," remarked Mr. Watson
disapprovingly.  "She'll be drowning herself one of these days, you
mark my words."

"Not likely," retorted the other.  "She can swim like a duck, that
young lady can.  She bathes off of the bank there before breakfast,
and dang me if I didn't see 'er right out in the channel when I come
round the point early this morning."

I sat back in my chair, holding the paper in front of me and making a
desperate effort to appear quite unconcerned.  For a moment I could
hardly believe my own good luck.  Without asking a single question I
had stumbled bang across the very information I was in search of, and
it was just about all I could manage to keep my feelings under proper
control.

What excited me more than anything else was the news about Christine.
The knowledge that she was close at hand--perhaps within a few
hundred yards of where I was sitting--filled me with an indescribable
sense of elation.  I felt like jumping up from my seat, brandishing
the _Shalston Gazette_ round my head, and inviting all three of my
garrulous acquaintances to a general orgy of free drinks.

"I ain't curious," announced the landlord, after a short pause, "but
I'd give something to know what's brought 'em down into these here
parts."

"I can tell you that," replied Mr. Watson, with some importance.
"It's his doctor's orders.  He's been ill--very ill, so his niece
says--and he's been advised to take a house in a bracing climate."

"Ah!  'E's done right in coming here then," observed the boatman
patriotically.  "They do say Pen Mill's the most bracing spot in
England."

I was just thinking how thoroughly I agreed with this statement when
the outer door swung open and two fresh customers entered the bar.
One was a big, red-faced man in gaiters, who came in talking at the
top of his voice and slapping his leg with a riding-whip.  I could
have murdered him with the utmost cheerfulness, for I felt at once
that my prospects of acquiring any further information were remote in
the extreme.  He was one of those breezy, would-be humorous
gentlemen, who revel in the sound of their own voices, and, true to
his type, he at once established himself with his back to the
counter, and proceeded to narrate some long and pointless story.

Still holding the paper in front of me, I stuck patiently to my seat,
on the off-chance that the conversation would drift back into its
former channel.  It was a vain hope, and, however, after waiting for
several minutes, I came to the conclusion that I might as well take
my departure.  After all, I had found out a good bit, and if I wanted
to put my knowledge to any practical use, the sooner I set to work
the better.

In as casual a fashion as possible I got up from my chair and
sauntered across the room.  The others were all busy listening to the
newcomer, and, without attracting any particular attention, I passed
out through the door and made my way down the steps.

At the bottom I paused for a moment to consider my plan of campaign.
I remembered something about the neighbourhood, but I had no
recollection of a house called "The Laurels" or of any place that
answered to Mr. Watson's description of it.  I should have to make
enquiries on this point, and at the same time I should have to do it
in such a fashion as to avoid arousing any unnecessary gossip.

Glancing round the green, my eyes fell on the small village shop
opposite, where in bygone days Bobby and I had been accustomed to
purchase our tobacco.  If Mrs. Summers, the old lady who used to run
it, were still alive, she would probably remember me, and in that
case it ought to be the very place for my purpose.  Anyhow, I
determined to chance it, so, knocking out my pipe, I vaulted the
wooden railings and set out over the grass.

The first person I saw when I stepped in through the low doorway was
Mrs. Summers herself.  She was sitting hunched up in a chair behind
the counter, knitting away industriously at a sock, and looking
precisely as unchanged as the rest of Pen Mill.  She stared at me for
a moment in a half-puzzled, half-doubtful sort of fashion; then
suddenly her round red face expanded into a broad smile of
recognition.

"Well I never!" she exclaimed.  "If it isn't Mr. Dryden!"

"That's right," I said, coming up to the counter.  "And how are you,
Mrs. Summers?"

We shook hands warmly, while she beamed at me through her gold-rimmed
spectacles in a fashion that cheered my heart.

"Well, well, well!" she repeated.  "Just to think of that now.  Why,
I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you walking in through the
door."

"I was wondering if you would know me after all this time," I said.

"You needn't have worried about that," she replied.  "You haven't
altered--not the least little bit in the world."

"Neither have you," I returned gallantly.  "People who lead sober and
respectable lives always keep their good looks."

"Ah!" she observed.  "I might have known you'd say something like
that.  You were always the one for having your little joke."  She
continued to beam at me with the same indulgent smile.  "You've come
along to stay with Commander Dean, I suppose?" she added.

I stared at her in the blankest amazement.

"Why, didn't you know he was here?" she asked, in a surprised voice.

"Bobby Dean in Pen Mill!" I managed to jerk out.

"Well, not exactly in Pen Mill, though he do come around pretty
often.  Martlesea's his headquarters--at least, that's where he lives
when he isn't in his boat."

"D'you mean to tell me he's got a job here?" I almost shouted.

She nodded her head.  "He's in the Coast Patrol--the same as he was
when the war was on.  Fancy your not knowing that now!  Why, I made
certain you'd come down to pay him a visit, seeing as how you were
such friends."

"I haven't had a letter from him for ages," I explained.  "The last
time he wrote he was up at some God-forsaken place in the North of
Scotland."  I paused, while the full realisation of all that Bobby's
presence would mean filtered joyfully through my heart.  "By Jove,
that's gorgeous news, Mrs. Summers!" I added.  "You couldn't have
told me anything in the world which would have pleased me more."

"But if you haven't come to see him," she demanded curiously,
"whatever's brought you back into these parts?"

Her question reminded me suddenly of the real purpose of my visit.

"It's my turn to give you a little surprise," I said, and then,
facing towards the door, I pointed out in the direction of Greensea.
"Do you know who lives there?" I asked.

"Mr. Jannaway did," she said, "but he's been dead and gone a matter
of two months.  There's no one on the island now, except the
caretaker, Mr. Bascomb."

"Oh, yes, there is," I retorted.  "There's a distinguished gentleman
called Mr. John Dryden."

She shook her head at me reprovingly.  "Full of your little jokes,"
she repeated.  "Just the same as you always was."

"It's no joke, Mrs. Summers," I persisted.  "Mr. Jannaway was my
uncle, and he had the good sense to die without making a will.  The
result is that I scoop the lot--his money and Greensea Island and
everything else."

Something in my manner must have convinced her that I was speaking
the truth, for she threw up her hands in a gesture of profound
astonishment.

"Well I never!" she exclaimed.  "Why, I did hear some talk that the
place was to go to Mr. Jannaway's nephew, but just to think that of
all people in the world it should happen to be you!"

"It's a bit of a knock-out, isn't it?" I said sympathetically.  "I
haven't quite got over it myself yet."

She sat down again in her chair.

"It properly took my breath away for the minute," she declared.  "Not
but what I'm gladder than I can say, Mr. Dryden, and I'm sure there's
no gentleman in the world who deserves a bit of good luck more than
what you do."

"Thank you very much," I returned, with my best bow.

"D'you mean to live on the island?" she asked.

"I hope to," I said truthfully; and then, thinking that this was a
favourable chance for making my enquiry, I added: "I suppose there
have been all sorts of changes since I was here--lots of fresh people
in the neighbourhood?"

She paused, as if to consider the problem.  "Not so very many, sir,"
she said.  "There isn't much to bring folks here except in the summer
time.  Mrs. Green at the Gunner's Arms is dead, as I suppose you've
heard."

"Yes," I said.  "I have just come from there."

"And Colonel Paton of Brooklands--he's gone too.  The Bowden-Smiths
have got his house now, and I have heard that there's a new party
taken 'The Laurels'--a foreign gentleman, according to what they tell
me."

"'The Laurels'?" I repeated thoughtfully.  "I seem to know the name,
but I'm hanged if I can remember where it is."

"Why, surely you can't have forgotten 'The Laurels,'" she persisted.
"That little white house facing the estuary, away round the point."
She pointed out across the green, to where the ground rose steeply
behind the Gunner's Arms.  "You can't see it from here," she added,
"but it's almost opposite you when you're on the island."

I could have leaned over the counter and hugged her, but with another
masterly effort I managed to preserve my composure.

"Of course," I said.  "How stupid of me!  The fact is I have been
away so long that I've got a bit mixed up in my bearings."  I stopped
to stroke a large black cat which had jumped up on to the chair
alongside of me.  "So it's been let to a foreigner, has it?" I
continued.  "Not a German, I hope?"

Mrs. Summers positively bristled at my suggestion.  "I should think
not indeed.  I should like to see the Hun as'd dare to show his
wicked face in Pen Mill.  It's a French gentleman, sir--a Mr. de Roda
and his niece; very good people, too, from all accounts."

"I'm glad of that," I said gravely.  "It's a great relief to know
that one's got respectable neighbours."  I held out my hand.  "I must
be off now, Mrs. Summers," I added.  "There are one or two little
things I have to attend to before I go back to lunch.

"You'll be in again before long, I suppose, sir?  she hazarded.

"Rather," I said, "and the next time I come I hope I shall bring
Commander Dean with me.  It will be like old days--all three of us
together again."

I gave her a parting squeeze, and, resisting the temptation to break
into a step dance, I turned round and made my way to the door.

I certainly had good reasons for feeling a trifle exhilarated Not
only had I picked up the information I wanted with reference to "The
Laurels," but I had also made the welcome and unexpected discovery
that I was no longer without a pal.  If there was one man I would
have chosen out of all others to take the place of Ross it was my old
skipper, Bobby Dean.  For the last two years of the war he and I had
been cooped up together in a motor launch, pleasantly engaged in
strafing Fritz, and I don't think there are many occupations in the
world which give one a better chance of finding out the character of
one's companions.  I knew Bobby inside out, from his rough,
weather-beaten exterior to the depths of his honest soul.  He was one
of that cheery gang of east coast yachtsmen who had flocked into the
R.N.V.R. at the outbreak of hostilities, and had done so much to mess
up the All Highest's brilliant idea of starving out the British
Empire.  So useful, indeed, had been his record that when peace came
he had managed to snaffle a regular commission in the reorganised
Coast Defence Force.  Not being so lucky or deserving myself, I had,
like most of the others, drifted away into the ranks of the Merchant
Service, but ever since then we had exchanged occasional yarns, which
had kept us more or less in touch with each other's doings.

His last letter had been dated from the Shetlands, where he had been
chasing around in an antiquated gun-boat, and feeling extremely fed
up with the universe in general.  He had given me no hint then that
there was any likelihood of his being transferred to a more Christian
station.  So the news of his presence at Martlesea had come to me as
a complete and joyful surprise.  A friend like Bobby was the one
thing I had wanted, and as I walked across the green I devoutly
thanked the gods for the kindly interest they seemed to be taking in
my affairs.

It was not until I had reached the inn that my mind switched back to
the immediate and pressing business in front of me.  This was my
first effort in the Sherlock Holmes line, and I realised that if I
were going to do justice to it I should need all the concentration of
which I was capable.  I had no plan except for the fixed
determination that I would at least have a look at the outside of
"The Laurels."  Beyond that point everything was deliriously vague.
I could only trust to luck, and register an inward vow that if
providence did throw any chance in my way, I would snap it up as
promptly and efficiently as possible.

The first thing to settle was how to get to the house.  There were
two methods open to me--one by tramping along the foreshore, and the
other by taking the narrow lane which turned away to the left about a
hundred yards above the inn.  I pitched on the latter as being the
less conspicuous of the two, and, trying hard to look as if I had
come out for a morning constitutional, I started off in a leisurely
fashion up the hill.

I still had a sort of uneasy sensation that somebody was spying on
me, but a glance back over my shoulder when I reached the corner gave
no grounds for this ungenerous suspicion.  For all the interest that
Pen Mill appeared to be taking in my movements, I might have been off
the earth.  The white road stretched out behind me, sunlit and
deserted, and, feeling that nothing was to be gained by staring at an
empty landscape, I branched off without further hesitation into the
side turning.

For a little distance the lane ran straight ahead of me; then it
curved off suddenly to the left in the direction of the sea.  I made
my way cautiously round this bend, and found myself outside a high
wooden paling, evidently the boundary of some private residence.
About twenty yards farther on I could see a swing gate which
apparently led into the drive.

Keeping well under the fence, and feeling unpleasantly like a
burglar, I crept forward until I had reached the desired point.  Any
doubts I might have had as to the identity of the place were at once
put to rest, for on the top bar, in faded and weather-beaten letters,
was painted the following inscription:

"THE LAURELS."




CHAPTER EIGHT

It was in circumstances such as these that the late Mr. Sherlock
Holmes always aroused my keenest admiration.  No matter how puzzling
the situation might be, he invariably knew what was the right line to
take and exactly how to set about it.  I suppose he must have been
blessed with some inner sense which is denied to lesser mortals, for
I know that in my own case no sudden inspiration came to help me.  I
just stood there gazing at the inscription with a kind of vague
satisfaction, and wondering what the devil I ought to do next.

All my instincts prompted me to action, but the question was, What
sort of action was the most advisable?  I could not very well march
up to the front door and hand in my card, much as I should have
enjoyed making the experiment.  There was Christine to be considered
as well as myself; indeed, the feeling that whatever I did I must
bring no suspicion upon her was the one predominant thought at the
back of my mind.

From where I was standing I could see nothing of the house.  The
drive curved away sharply round a huge dump of laurels, and the whole
place looked even more untidy and overgrown than my own property.  If
I chose I had only to push open the gate and walk in, and yet, with
my hand actually on the latch, I still hesitated.  Somehow or other
it seemed altogether too easy.  The vision of a mouse strolling
unconcernedly into an open trap rose up before me with unpleasant
distinctness, and, abandoning the idea, I stepped back again on to
the grass.

It struck me that another and less public mode of entrance would be
more in keeping with my part.  The paling was only about five feet
high, and offered little or no obstacle to anyone as active as
myself.  I could slip over quietly, just where the trees were
thickest, and, unless the whole thing collapsed beneath me, the odds
were that my ungentlemanly intrusion would probably pass unnoticed.

I was in the very act of turning away to put this notion into
practice when a sudden sound from inside brought me up as stiff as a
ramrod.  It was the unmistakable noise of an opening door, followed
almost immediately by the voice of a man speaking and the crunch of
footsteps coming down the drive.

Thanks chiefly to my sea training, I managed to keep my head.  One
glance round showed me that the only available hiding-place was the
thick hedge on the opposite side of the road.  I made for it like a
rabbit, and the next moment I had forced my way through, and was
crouching down, scratched and panting, behind a welcome barrier of
blackberry bushes.

As luck would have it, I could not have pitched upon a better spot.
I was quite invisible myself, and through a small gap in the hedge it
was just possible to command a glimpse of the gate.  I found that by
pushing aside some leaves I was able to enlarge the view still
further, and with my eyes glued to this peep-hole I waited
breathlessly for the next development.

It was not long in coming.  A couple of seconds could hardly have
passed when the gate swung open and two figures stepped out into the
roadway.  For a moment I stared at them both, hardly able to believe
my eyes.  One was Christine, and the other--of all people in the
world--was Dr. Manning.

To say that I was knocked all of a heap would be as near as I can get
to describing my sensations.  I had thought of a good many things,
but the possibility of Christine and the doctor being acquainted had
never so much as crossed my mind.  I could only gaze at them in a
sort of incredulous amazement, while all the theories that I had
previously built up seemed to be tumbling about like a pack of cards.

It was Manning's voice which collected my scattered wits for me.

"I will come round to-morrow about half-past ten," he said "You
needn't be the least worried though.  Everything's going as well as
it possibly can."

Christine held out her hand.  "I am not anxious now," she said
simply.  "Good-bye, and thank you very much."

He looked down at her in a way that filled me with a sudden and
peculiar resentment.

"Don't go in for a minute," he said.  "Come as far as the end of the
road with me.  I want to show you how to get to the barge in case you
ever honour me with a visit."

I saw Christine hesitate; then, as if anxious not to appear
unfriendly, she made a little gesture of assent.

"Oh, very well," she said, smiling.  "But I mustn't be long.  My
uncle will be wondering what has become of me."

Manning glanced at her again with an expression that made me long to
kick him, and, moving away from where I could see them, they strolled
off together up the road.

For a moment or two I remained quite still.  Then with extreme care I
got up from my crouching position, and peered over the top of the
hedge in the direction which they had taken.  There was not much
danger of their spotting me, and even if there had been I don't
suppose I could have resisted the temptation.

I watched them until they reached the corner, where I saw Christine
come to a standstill, as though she had suddenly decided not to go
any farther.  From his gestures Manning appeared to be making some
sort of remonstrance, but if this were the case his arguments
evidently had no effect.  At all events, he seemed finally to abandon
his attempts at persuading her, and they crossed the road together
towards a spot just beyond the palings, which overlooked the water.

They stood there for several minutes, Manning pointing away up the
estuary and apparently showing her the best method of reaching the
barge.  It must have been a complicated route, judging from the time
he took about it, and the longer I waited the more impatient and
resentful I felt.

At last Christine herself seemed to have had enough of the subject,
for, stepping back from the bank, she once more offered him her hand.
He took it in his, and then, in spite of a quite obvious attempt on
her part to prevent him, I saw him bend down and press it to his lips.

My longing to kick him suddenly became so acute that in another
second I should have jumped down into the roadway.  Luckily, however,
providence just saved me from this idiocy.  Pulling away her hand,
Christine turned round abruptly in the direction of the house, and,
obeying a sort of automatic impulse, I bobbed down again behind the
hedge.

There I stopped, listening intently.  For a few moments nothing
happened; then I heard the quick tread of footsteps in the roadway,
and in the same stealthy fashion as before, I lifted my head until I
could see over the top of the bushes.

There was no one in sight except Christine.  She was walking rapidly
back towards the gate, and was already quite close to where I was
hiding.  Manning had disappeared completely, and any lingering
tendency to caution I still had vanished into thin air.

I leaned forward as far as I could.

"Christine!" I said softly.  "Christine!"

She stopped dead.  Every trace of colour had vanished from her face,
and for an instant I thought that she was going to faint.

"Don't be frightened," I added quickly.  "It's perfectly safe."

She stood there, staring up at me with wick-open, startled eyes.

"Oh, you're hurt," she gasped.  "Your face is all bleeding."

I put my hand up to my cheek, and it came away stained with red.

"It's nothing," I said.  "I scratched myself a bit getting through
the hedge."

"But why are you here?" she whispered.  "What made you come?  It's
madness--absolute madness."

"I wanted to see you," I said simply.

She gave a terrified glance round in the direction of the house.

"I can't talk to you here.  Don't you see how impossible it is?  You
must go away at once."

I shook my head.  "Not till we've fixed up something," I said.  "Tell
me where I can meet you, and I'll clear out immediately."

She answered me with a look of distress that made me feel an absolute
brute.

"Christine dear," I whispered passionately, "I must see you and talk
to you.  It's the only thing in the world that matters the least to
me."

For a moment there was no reply.  She seemed to be making a desperate
attempt to come to some decision.

"I shall be in Shalston to-morrow," she said at last, in the same
hurried whisper.  "There is a shop next to the station--a
confectioner's shop with a small room upstairs.  If you will be there
at half-past three I will try and meet you."

I was about to say something, but with an almost piteous movement of
her hands she interrupted me.

"No, no," she said.  "Don't stop here.  Go at once--please--for my
sake."

There may be stout-hearted people in the world who could resist an
appeal like this, but I am certainly not one of them.  I let my eyes
dwell in a long, refreshing look on her dear up-turned face (it was a
look which had to last me for over twenty-four hours), and then,
without another word, I slipped back noiselessly out of sight.

As a Yankee mate I once knew used to say, it could "snow pink" for
all I cared.  When you love somebody as I love Christine, the thought
of meeting them becomes so absorbing that it is precious difficult to
take anything else seriously.  In the light of what had just happened
I felt that all my previous ideas required an immediate and thorough
spring cleaning, but for the time being such a mental effort was
hopelessly beyond me.  My brain seemed to be wholly occupied in
repeating those two magic phrases, "Half-past three" and "The shop
next the station," which kept chasing each other through my head like
some beautiful refrain.

The only practical point which I did manage to grasp was the
important fact that I must get away without being seen.  As far as
anyone in the house was concerned this feat appeared to be simplicity
itself; the danger was that I might run into Manning.  I was still
very much in the dark about his relations with Christine, but,
whatever they were, it would be fatal to let him suppose that I had
been hanging about in the neighbourhood of "The Laurels."  Besides,
if I met him now I should probably be unable to resist the desire to
kick him, which would certainly complicate matters to a most
unfortunate extent.

Under the circumstances, it seemed to me that my best plan was to
work my way round the hedge, and get out into the main road at the
top of the hill.  This would allow Manning a comfortable start, and
it would also give me the additional advantage of being able to see
whether the coast was dear.

Bending well forward, and making as little noise as possible, I set
out on my journey.  At the first corner I came across one of those
small ponds which are a usual feature in most Essex fields.  I pulled
up for a moment, and, stooping down over the edge, had a good look at
myself in the water.  It was no wonder Christine had been startled
when she saw my face.  The whole of my right cheek was covered with
blood, and, though the cause was nothing worse than a superficial
scratch, I must have been a pretty ghastly object to bob up suddenly
from behind a hedge.

Fortunately my collar was still undamaged, and with the aid of a wet
handkerchief I soon managed to remove most of the gore.  Even then I
looked rather as if I had been fighting with a cat, but, after all, I
intended to go straight back to the island, and there would only be
Bascomb to criticise my appearance.

Keeping the handkerchief pressed to my cheek, I continued my journey
up the hill.  I had had quite enough of scrambling through blackberry
bushes, and it was therefore with some satisfaction that, as I drew
near the top, I noticed a gate leading out of the fields.  I
approached it with some care, and, after making certain that there
was no one in sight, I climbed over and dropped down into the main
road.

I recognised the place instantly.  I was within a few yards of the
very identical spot where Ross and I had so nearly run into de Roda,
and I could not help regarding the fact as a favorable omen.  Anyhow,
it gave me a sort of renewed faith in my good luck, and, pushing
forward as far as the end of the road, I peered cautiously round the
corner.

It was all I could do to stop shouting out "Tally Ho!"  A couple of
hundred yards below me a solitary figure was crossing the village
green, and even at that distance I could see plainly enough that it
was Manning.  He was walking rapidly in the opposite direction,
evidently making for the Shalston road, which turned out of the
village just above Mrs. Summers' shop.

I could feel my heart beginning to beat a shade quicker as I stared
down at him.  There was already an account between us which I had
every intention of settling up in full, but it was not entirely the
prospect of punching his head that was responsible for my sensations.
I had a steadily growing conviction that for some sinister reason of
his own Dr. Manning was playing a very active part in the mystery
that surrounded me.  Everything I knew about the man filled me with
suspicion.  Why had he been so anxious to get hold of the island, why
had he tried to put a doubt in my mind with regard to Bascomb's
honesty, and how in the name of goodness did he come to be on
intimate terms with the de Rodas?  In spite of his apparent
friendliness I had mistrusted him from the first, and now, as I stood
there gazing after his retreating figure, I felt more certain than
ever that my original instinct had been absolutely sound.

I watched him until he reached the opposite side of the green, where
he crossed over and disappeared down the Shalston turning.  I waited
for a moment, so as to make quite sure that he had really gone; and
then, with a rather bleak feeling of reaction, I stepped forward from
my hiding-place.  It seemed to me that my adventures for the day were
over.  There was a painfully unenterprising air about Pen Mill, as it
lay stretched out below me in the warm spring sunshine.  Down in the
estuary a small motor-boat was making its way rapidly towards the
jetty, but otherwise the whole place was lapped in the same
atmosphere of restful tranquillity as when I had landed earlier in
the morning.

It was at this opportune moment that I suddenly remembered the roast
duck.  All my interest in life came back with a rush, and, pulling
out my watch, I discovered that it was nearly a quarter to one.  A
brief calculation showed me that by the time I had got out my dinghy
and rowed over to the island, Bascomb's masterpiece ought to be just
about ready.  To keep it waiting would be a very ungracious return
for the trouble that he had taken, and, stimulated by this thought, I
started off briskly down the hill.

As I reached the bottom I saw the motor-boat which I had previously
noticed run in alongside the jetty.  A short, sturdy figure in naval
uniform rose up in the bows, and, tossing the painter to Jimmy and
two of his companions who were waiting to receive it, stepped out on
to the causeway.  One glimpse of those broad shoulders was all that I
needed.  I had crouched down behind them too often in a smother of
North Sea spray to be in any doubt about whom they belonged to.  In a
flash the roast duck and Manning and everything else went clean out
of my head, and with a half suppressed whoop of joy I hastened
forward along the roadway.

Jimmy was the only member of the group who noticed my approach.  He
looked round just as I set foot on the jetty, but before he could
give the alarm I had marched straight up to Bobby and banged him
heartily on the back.

"Hullo, Robert!" I said.  "Fancy meeting you!"

It takes a good deal to surprise Bobby, but for once in a way I
certainly caught him bending.  He spun round as if he had been struck
by lightning, and the expression on his face was about the funniest
thing I have ever seen in my life.

"Dryden!" he gasped.  "Jack Dryden!"

"That's right," I said.  "What a memory you've got for faces."

He seized my hand and crushed it with a vigour that nearly broke my
fingers.

"Good Lord!" he cried.  "Where on earth did you spring from?  I
thought you were chasing about the Atlantic in a million-ton liner."

"You are quite out of date, Bobby," I said.  "I am not a common
sailor any longer.  I have given up the sea and become a gentleman."

Grinning all over his face, he took a fresh look, and surveyed me
affectionately from head to foot.

"I don't see any difference," he announced.  "You look just as big
and disreputable as ever."  Then with a happy chuckle he stepped
forward again and gripped me by the arm.  "Did you know I was here?"
he demanded.  "I've never written to tell you; I've been so devilish
busy."

"It wasn't altogether a surprise," I admitted.  "I've been having a
talk with Mrs. Summers, and she gave me all the latest society
gossip."

"Ah!" he said, nodding his head; "that accounts for it.  I thought
you weren't half as pleased and excited as you ought to have been."

"Pleased!" I echoed.  "Why, I'm so pleased to see you, Bobby, that I
simply daren't give way to my feelings.  I should burst into tears if
I did."

"Well, don't do it here," he retorted.  "Come along up to the pub and
we'll sob comfortably on each other's necks."

"I can't sob comfortably in a pub," I said.  "I am going to take you
back to Greensea, and fill you up on roast duck."

"What do you mean?" he asked, letting go my arm.

"That's right, Capting," put in Jimmy, who had been listening to our
conversation with the utmost interest.  "The gen'leman lives on
Greensea Island, don't, 'e, boys?"

There was a shrill chorus of assent from the two others.

"You live on Greensea Island?" repeated Bobby, staring at me.  Then
as a sort of after-thought he added blankly: "Well I'm damned!"

"Never mind," I said.  "You'll have lots of nice people to keep you
company."

He took the painter from Jimmy, and jerked his head in the direction
of the boat.

"Jump in," he commanded sternly.  "I've got an appointment with a
fellow ashore, but he'll jolly well have to wait.  I'm going to get
to the bottom of this, if it costs me my commission."

There was a masterly ring in his voice which woke up all my latent
sense of discipline.  I drew myself up in a mock salute, and stepped
down obediently into the stern sheets.

"Look after the dinghy for me, Jimmy," I called out.  "I'll come back
for it this afternoon."

Tossing the painter ahead of him, Bobby followed me on board.  He
started the engine with a quick jerk of the handle, and then, coming
aft, took possession of the wheel.  The next moment we were backing
slowly out from the jetty, and heading round towards the mouth of the
creek.

"Now, my son," he remarked, "this is your picnic.  You give the
orders, and I'll carry 'em out."

"Take her straight across to the island," I said.  "You'll find my
private landing-stage exactly opposite."

He paused for a moment with his hand on the throttle.  "You haven't
gone mad by any chance, I suppose, Jack?" he enquired casually.

I shook my head.  "It's quite all right," I said.  "I'll explain
everything when we've had some lunch."

With a turn of his hand Bobby set us going, and, gliding rapidly down
the creek, he ran out into the estuary.  He made no further remark
until we were three-quarters of the way over, when he glanced
sideways at me from under his cap.

"What have you done to your face?" he asked.  "You look as if you'd
been trying to kiss somebody and it hadn't quite come off."

I patted my cheek tenderly to see if it were still bleeding.

"It was nothing as exciting as that," I said.  "Only a slight affair
with a blackberry bush."

He grunted disbelievingly, and, altering our course a shade more
down-stream, swung the head of the boat round so that we came up
nearly alongside the landing-stage.  I leaned forward and caught hold
of the chain.

"We get out here," I said.  "This is where I live."

He switched off the engine, and with the painter in his hand stepped
up on the planking.  I followed, and held the boat steady while he
made her fast to one of the posts.

"We seem to be doing very well so far," he observed cheerfully.
"What happens next?"

"We go up to the house and have some lunch," I replied.  "Then you
shall hear the true and remarkable story of how Mr. John Dryden came
into his inheritance."

He thrust his arm through mine.  "Come along," he said with a laugh.
"That'll suit me all right.  I feel hungry enough to swallow anything
to-day."

We set off up the path, and, rounding the corner, passed through the
iron gate which led into the garden.  I was waiting eagerly to see
what effect the first sight of my residence would have upon Bobby,
and it must be admitted that he rose to the occasion.  He pulled up,
just as Ross had done, and stood for a moment in silent admiration.

"By Gad! what a clipping place!" he exclaimed at last.  "Is this
really yours, Jack?"

"Every stick and stone of it," I said with some pride.

As I spoke there was a sudden scuffle in the doorway, and the huge
figure of Satan bounded out on to the gravel.  He had evidently
recognised my voice, for with a joyful boom of welcome he came
cantering across the lawn to meet us.

Bobby received the apparition with commendable coolness.

"You must introduce me to Fido," he said.  "I'm very found of pet
dogs."

I performed the ceremony with due state, and in a friendly group we
all three advanced towards the house.  As we approached the doorway
Bascomb appeared on the threshold.

"I've brought a friend of mine, Commander Dean, back to lunch with
me," I said.  "I suppose there'll be enough duck for two?"

He ran his eye over Bobby, as if speculating on the latter's appetite.

"It ain't a very big 'un," he remarked doubtfully.  "If 'e's 'ungry
you'd better 'ave the cold beef as well."

"Bring up everything you've got," I said.  "We'll be down as soon as
it's ready."

I piloted Bobby through the hall, and upstairs to my bedroom, where,
with a contented sigh, he tossed his cap on the chest of drawers.

"This is great," he announced.  "Who's the sunny-looking sportsman
who let us in?"

"That's my butler," I explained, pouring out some water.  "You
mustn't mind his manners.  He's a retired prize-fighter and I took
him on with the rest of the fixings."

Bobby broke into a sudden guffaw of laughter that could have been
heard at Pen Mill.

"Well," he observed, "of all the giddy mystery stunts I've ever
butted into this about takes the biscuit."

I nodded sympathetically.  "Yes," I said, "I felt like that at first
myself.  It's surprising how soon one gets used to it, though."

We washed our hands and proceeded downstairs to the dining-room,
where Bascomb was just bringing in lunch.  It was three years since
we had had our last meal together--a riotous dinner in a Harwich
hotel on the night that peace was declared.  I was dying to know what
had happened to all the good fellows who had shared that
unforgettable banquet, and while we attacked the duck I kept asking
innumerable questions that Bobby answered to the best of his ability.
In return I told him of one or two little adventures which had helped
to brighten my own monotonous life, but it was not until we had
finished our coffee and lighted up our cigars that we really
approached the true business of the day.

"Make yourself quite comfortable," I said, pushing him across the
port.  "You have got to listen to a long yarn, and I don't want any
interruptions while I'm telling it."

He filled his glass, and, getting up from his seat, settled himself
in a restful attitude on the sofa.

"I'm in no hurry," he observed contentedly.  "I could stop here for a
month if it wasn't for that blessed appointment."

Had it been possible, nothing would have pleased me more than to let
him hear the whole story, for I knew well that when it came to a
tight corner no one could have a more loyal and trustworthy friend.
For the present, however, until things began to shape themselves a
little more clearly, I was still determined that anything which
concerned Christine and her uncle should remain my own secret.  By
letting out the truth, even to Bobby, I might be running her into all
sorts of danger, and no thought of my own safety would have induced
me to take the risk.

Under the circumstances, the best plan seemed to be to repeat the
same version of my adventures that I had given to Ross.  So, starting
with the arrival of Mr. Drayton's cable at Leixoes, I plunged
straight into the story of my interview in Bedford Row, and of my
eventful journey back to the docks.  I went on to explain how Ross
and I had come down to the island, and made the acquaintance of
Bascomb and Dr. Manning.  I described my first impressions of both,
and finished up by giving him a full report of my conversation with
the former and the various details which I had been able to gather
with regard to my late uncle's peculiar habits.

Lying back, with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, he listened to me in
absolute silence.  Even when I had finished he remained for a moment
in the same attitude, then, swinging himself up into a sitting
position, he reached out for his glass and drained off the contents.

"I congratulate you, Jack," he said.  "It's a damned good yarn, and
you told it very nicely."

"Well, what do you make of it?" I enquired.  "That's the important
point."

He puffed thoughtfully at his cigar.

"I don't want to say anything rude about your relations," he
observed, "but you certainly seem to have struck a peach in the way
of uncles."

"It looks as if somebody had disliked him," I agreed.  "All the same,
I don't see why they should work off their spite on me."

Bobby brooded over the problem with a meditative frown.

"I don't imagine it's spite," he began.  "People generally have a
pretty good reason when they start committing murder.  It's much more
likely that your uncle was in with some swindling crowd who managed
to bring off a big coup.  He probably did the rest out of their share
of the boodle, and now he's dead they're trying to collect it."

"They won't get anything by slaughtering me," I objected.

"How do you know?" he demanded.  "From what this lawyer Johnny told
you there's a whole heap of stuff still unaccounted for.  It must be
somewhere.  Why shouldn't it be here?"

"Here!" I echoed.

"Yes, here on the island, stowed away--buried.  A man doesn't go and
invest a lot of stolen money--not unless he's a damned fool."

I drew in a long breath.  "By Jove, that's a notion!" I said.  "It
never occurred to me."

"No, it wouldn't," he returned kindly.  "You were always a bit slow
in the up-take.  It's just as well you've got an intelligent friend
to look after you."

There was a short pause while I did some rapid thinking.

"Bobby," I said, "do you know anything about this fellow Manning?"

He tossed away the stump of his cigar and helped himself to another.

"I thought that was coming," he said drily.  "Yes, I know several
things about him, and one is that according to your own account he's
mighty anxious to get hold of Greensea Island."

"I told you his yarn," I interrupted.  "He says he wants to start a
yachting club."

"Funny he hasn't mentioned it to anyone down here.  I suppose he was
afraid somebody would pinch the idea."

"Who is he?" I asked.  "Where does he come from?"

Bobby struck a match, and with some care lighted his cigar.

"He is one of those mysterious gents that nobody seems to know
anything about.  According to what I've heard, he rolled up here last
summer and bought _The Penguin_, an old barge that used to belong to
a fellow called Collinson.  He gave out that he wanted to go in for
wild fowling, and, to do the blighter justice, he certainly is a
first-class hand with a gun."

"It sounds to me as if you didn't like him," I said.

"I can't stick him at any price.  All the same, he's very well in
with the people down here.  Quite a leading light among the sporting
crowd.  He belongs to the club at Shalston, and he's always ready to
take a hand in anything that's going on."

"What's your objection to him?" I asked.

"Nothing much.  I just think he's a wrong 'un."

"But why?" I persisted.  "You must have some reason."

Bobby shook his head.  "Not the least necessary.  I can tell a
scoundrel directly I see him."

"Well, I've got the same sort of feeling about him," I admitted.
"Still, that's hardly a proof that he had anything to do with shoving
me into the dock."

"You must try to look at it in a broad light," said Bobby
encouragingly.  "If he isn't up to some dirty business why did he
make you that offer for the island?  You can take it from me that his
yarn about starting a yachting club is all bunkum.  We've got two
here already.  Then there's another thing I don't like, and that's
his suggestion that you should get rid of Bascomb.  It's quite likely
he's got some blackguard up his sleeve that he hopes to land you
with."  He reached out for the decanter and filled up his empty
glass.  "Besides," he added, "there don't seem to be any other
competitors.  Who the devil else has taken the faintest interest in
your affairs?"

Not being able to answer this question, I rose from my chair and took
a pace or two up and down the room.  I found a curious comfort in the
fact that Bobby shared my views about Manning.  In dealing with de
Roda I felt like a man who has one hand tied behind his back, but
when it came to tackling the doctor there were no such unfortunate
restrictions.  The more suspicious his conduct appeared, the better
pleased I should be.  A way had to be found by which I could get to
the bottom of the mystery without injuring Christine, and, so far,
this was the only opening which suggested the least prospect of
success.

"I believe you've hit it," I said, coming back to my seat.  "I must
take steps to improve my acquaintance with Dr. Manning.  He seems to
be worth cultivating."

"Well, go easy," returned Bobby.  "If we're really on the right lay
he's not the sort of chap to play the fool with."

"All the more reason for making the first move," I said.  "'When in
doubt, lead trumps.'  That was Nelson's motto, and it's good enough
for me."

"It's a sound plan," admitted Bobby.  "The only thing is whether
you're fit to be trusted by yourself.  I think you had better lie low
until I can come around and lend you a hand."

"I don't want to drag you in, Robert," I said.  "You did your bit in
the Great War."

"It doesn't matter a damn what you want," was the crushing reply.
"You don't suppose I'm going to let you be wiped out while you've got
a cellar full of port like this?"  He paused.  "The worst of it is,"
he added.  "I am due at Harwich to-morrow, and they will probably
keep me there for at least a week."

"I expect to struggle through a week," I said hopefully.  "After all,
there's Bascomb and the dog."

He eyed me with some mistrust.  "If you take my advice," he said
slowly, "you'll be precious careful what you do.  Things look
devilish ugly, and I know what you're like when there's any chance of
a scrap about.  I should hate to come back and find you with your
throat cut."

"It would be still more annoying for me," I pointed out.  "You
needn't think I'm going to hunt for trouble.  If I see the chance of
having a nice little chat with our friend Manning I shall take it,
but I shall try to remember that mine's a valuable life, if only for
the sake of my friends."

He nodded approvingly, and, glancing at his watch, hoisted himself up
from the sofa.

"Time I was off," he announced.  "That chap who's waiting for me will
be tearing his back hair if I don't come along soon."

We got our caps from the bedroom, and, leaving the house, made our
way down to the landing-stage.  Satan stalked after us with great
dignity, and, following his usual custom, remained standing grimly at
attention while we cast off our painter and pushed out from the bank.

"I like that dog," said Bobby.  "He looks thoroughly efficient.  I
put more faith in him than in you or the butler."

"So do I," I said candidly.  "And I shouldn't be a bit surprised if
Dr. Manning felt the same."

We ran rapidly across to the jetty at Pen Mill, bringing up alongside
a timber barge which had just come in on the flood tide.  Bobby's
appointment was at Beddingfield, a small village half a mile inland,
and, having nothing particular to do, I said I would walk with him as
far as the top of the hill.

"Go slow," was his parting advice, "and don't forget to send me a
wire if you find yourself in a tight corner."

"Where shall I send it to?" I asked.

"The Naval Office, Harwich, will always find me.  I shall be pretty
busy, but you can count on my showing up within three hours of
getting a message."

"That's comforting," I said, shaking his hand.  "Whatever happens you
ought to be in time for the inquest."

I must admit, however, that, in spite of this flippancy, there was a
very real feeling of relief inside me as I strolled back down the
slope.  I had been quite ready, if necessary, to play this game out
by myself, but the knowledge that I had a friend like Bobby just
round the corner would certainly be a huge addition to my peace of
mind.  In a case of emergency he was not the sort to stick at
trifles, and, from all I could see of the matter, that was exactly
the kind of pal that I was most likely to require.

The suggestion that my uncle might have buried the rest of his money
on the island was one that appealed to me immensely.  There is always
something stimulating in the idea of a hidden treasure, and, apart
from that, it fitted in beautifully with the various other features
of the situation.  It explained away that regrettable absence of
capital to which Mr. Drayton had called my attention, and it also
went far to account for the presence of de Roda and for the
embarrassment which Christine had shown in trying to warn me of my
danger.

As to where Manning came in, I was still puzzled.  That he had some
connection with the de Rodas was obvious, but from what I had seen of
him, I was strongly inclined to believe that he was playing a private
and separate game of his own, in which Christine and her uncle were
only partly concerned.  Anyhow, I was now convinced that the most
promising place in which to hunt for the key of the mystery was on
board _The Penguin_, and that the quicker I got on to the job the
more likely I was to find it.

With this idea in my mind I returned to the jetty, where the faithful
Jimmy was patiently awaiting my arrival.  The fact that I was a
friend of Bobby's had evidently sent me up several pegs in his
estimation, for he greeted me with a respectful salute which I was
careful to acknowledge.

"I am much obliged to you, James," I said, presenting him with a
shilling.  "It's a great thing to have somebody that one can really
depend on."

He looked up at me gravely.

"You can trust me, guv'nor," he observed.  "I ain't the sort to let
yer down--not if there's anything yer wants done."

"I am sure of that," I said.  "And what's more, I shan't forget it."

Settling myself in my seat, I sculled off at a leisurely pace down
the creek.  My thoughts were still busy with the owner of _The
Penguin_, and as I came out into the open I cast an instinctive
glance up the estuary in the direction of the barge.  What I saw
pulled me up short in the middle of my stroke.  A hundred yards away,
and moving rapidly towards me, was a small motor-boat containing a
single occupant.  I recognised the latter instantly.  It was Manning
himself, and with a queer feeling of suspicion at this remarkably
opportune appearance of his I swung the dinghy round and waited his
approach.

He came up alongside, and, cutting off his engine, waved me a
friendly greeting.

"I was right after all then," he said.  "I thought I saw you going
ashore about twenty minutes ago."

"I was just seeing back a pal of mine who's been lunching with me," I
said.  "Dean, of the Coast Patrol.  I think you have met him, haven't
you?"

He nodded easily.  "Oh, yes--several times.  An uncommonly good
fellow from all accounts.  I should like to know him better."

I thought of Bobby's remarks on the same subject, and it was as much
as I could manage to keep a straight face.

"He was my skipper during the war," I explained.  "I had no idea he
was down in these parts.  We ran across each other accidentally on
the jetty this morning."

I was watching him closely while I spoke, but if my news was in any
way unwelcome he certainly managed to conceal the fact.

"Just what you wanted," he said, steadying the dinghy with his hand.
"It must be precious lonely for you, tucked away on that island all
by yourself.  I have been meaning to run across again and look you
up, only I thought I had better give you time to settle in first."

I took the opening without hesitation.

"How about to-morrow night?" I said.  "If you're not doing anything
else, come along and dine."

For a moment he appeared doubtful.  "I should like to very much
indeed.  The only trouble is that I shan't have my boat.  There's
been something wrong with the engine lately, and I'm taking her round
to Bridwell now to get it seen to."  He paused.  "Still, that doesn't
really matter," he continued.  "I can easily walk along to the inn,
and row across from there."

A bold improvement on my first idea suddenly came into my head.
After all, if I hoped to be successful, it was no good playing the
game in a half-hearted sort of fashion.

"Why not bring a bag and stay the night?" I suggested.  "It will save
you a tramp in the dark, and, as far as I'm concerned, you will be
doing a charitable act."

Perhaps it was only my imagination, but it seemed to me that a faint
gleam of satisfaction flickered across his face.

"You're very kind," he said, in that smooth voice of his.  "There's
nothing I should enjoy more if I shan't be putting you out."

"Just the contrary," I returned.  "I don't know what sort of a meal
you'll get, but I'll try and prod up Bascomb into doing his best."  I
pushed my sculls forward into position.  "Dinner at half-past seven,"
I added, "unless any other time would suit you better."

"That will do me fine," he replied, switching on his engine.  "I
shall look forward to it immensely."

"So shall I," I said, and, with a firm conviction that for once at
least we were both speaking the entire truth, I allowed the current
to carry us slowly apart.




CHAPTER NINE

It cannot be said that Bascomb received the news of my expected guest
with anything resembling enthusiasm.  I broached the subject while he
was clearing away the dinner things, and for a moment he stood at the
table without replying--a study in sullen disapproval.

"Well, you knows your own business best, sir," he observed at last.
"If you wants to 'ave 'im 'ere you must 'ave 'im 'ere, an' that's all
there is to it."

"I am not asking him for the charm of his society, Bascomb," I said.
"The fact is, I have been thinking over what you told me the other
night, and I have come to the conclusion that Dr. Manning wants
watching."

"You're right there, sir," was the grim answer.  "'Im an' that beauty
Craill, too.  You couldn't find a better pair, not if you was to
scratch 'ell with a pocket-comb."

"Who's Craill?" I demanded.

"Craill's the bloke wot lives with 'im, an' looks after the barge.
'E come along 'ere one day when the guv'nor was ill, and it was as
much as I could do to stop Satan from tearin' 'im in 'alf."

"What was the trouble?" I asked.  "Didn't he like his looks?"

Bascomb shook his head.  "Seemingly not.  An' wot's more, I reckon 'e
felt much the same way about the doctor."

"I'm with him there, anyhow," I said.  "There's some dirty, underhand
work going on in connection with Greensea Island, and as far as I can
see Dr. Manning is at the bottom of it."  I paused deliberately.  "I
mean to get to the bottom of it too, Bascomb," I added.  "That's the
reason I've fixed up this visit."

There was a brief silence.

"Well, I don't go so far as to say you're wrong," replied my retainer
grudgingly.  "All the same, I wouldn't rest too easy, not with 'im
sleepin' in the 'ouse.  If you take my advice, sir, you'll lock 'im
in 'is room, an' leave Satan loose outside the door."

"I don't want to make him suspicious," I objected.  "We shan't get
anything out of him by frightening him.  Our only chance is to let
him feel perfectly at home, and then it's just possible he'll give
himself away."

"Mebbe that's so," admitted Bascomb, after a moment's reflection.
"There's many a bloke trips 'isself up through bein' a bit too
clever."  He turned to the table again and resumed his task of
clearing away the things.  "I'll do wot I can anyway, sir," he added.
"It shan't be my fault, not if 'e thinks 'e ain't welcome."

I was much relieved at getting this promise, for without Bascomb's
co-operation the scheme would have been hopeless.  It was absolutely
essential to my plan that Manning should have no idea he was being
watched or suspected.  The first sign of anything of that sort would
shut him up like a clasp-knife; whereas, if we treated him in an
apparently open and friendly fashion, he might be led into taking a
false step out of sheer over-confidence.  I felt it would be rather a
strain having to be civil to him for a whole evening, but, after all,
the object in view was well worth a little discomfort, and I am
always ready to suffer in a good cause.

Having regard to the important day's work ahead of me I decided that
it would be a wise precaution to turn in early.  A generous allowance
of sleep is necessary to my constitution if I wish to be at my best
and brightest, a fact which the various skippers I have served under
have persistently failed to notice.  Being now my own master,
however, there seemed to be no point in running any unnecessary
risks, so at ten o'clock precisely I let Satan out for his nightly
sentry-go, and, having locked up the house, returned peacefully to
bed.

As a reward for this act of virtue I woke up feeling remarkably fit
and cheerful.  It was another beautiful day, and as I dressed
leisurely at the open window in a blaze of sunshine I kept a watchful
gaze on the estuary in the hope that I might discover Christine's
head bobbing about somewhere in the distance.  Though vaguely
disappointed by my lack of success, I managed to complete my toilet
in fairly good spirits.  I should be seeing her again, anyhow, in a
very little while, and it does not do to be too greedy in one's
demands upon providence.

A conscientious spell with the lawn-mower enabled me to get through
what would otherwise have been a rather tiresome morning.  Even so, I
was not sorry when half-past two arrived, and I found myself once
more entering the muddy creek which runs up to the Pen Mill
landing-stage.  As usual, Jimmy had noticed my approach, and was
standing on the jetty ready to receive me.  I handed my boat over
into his charge, and, telling him I should probably be back about
five o'clock, I strode off across the green in the direction of the
Shalston road.

The distance I had to walk was about two miles and a half.  I had
just left myself time to do it comfortably, and to get to our
meeting-place a few minutes before Christine was due.  This seemed to
me the most sensible arrangement, for I did not want to be seen
hanging about the town, and there was no object in spending a lengthy
vigil in the pastrycook's shop.

About a quarter of a mile beyond the village I passed the head of a
narrow lane leading towards the water.  I could not stop to
investigate, but I felt pretty certain that this must be the road by
which Manning was accustomed to reach his barge.  I only hoped that
he was safe on board, for, much as I was looking forward to seeing
him in the evening, I should have found him horribly in the way if he
had happened to turn up at that particular moment.

Fortunately no such contretemps occurred.  I tramped on, keeping a
sharp look-out ahead of me, and at twenty past three by the church
clock I entered the straggling outskirts of Shalston.  A few minutes'
walk along the main street brought me to my destination--a quaint
little old-fashioned shop, with a large supply of buns, tarts, and
other delicacies piled up in the bow-window.

As I pushed open the door, a bell above my head jangled fiercely.  In
answer to its summons a pleasant-faced middle-aged woman glided out
from behind a rampart of freshly baked loaves, and gazed at me
benignly across the counter.

"Good afternoon," I said.  "I believe you have a room upstairs where
you serve tea?"

"That's right, sir," she replied encouragingly.  "There's a nice room
on the first floor.  Will you step this way, sir?"

She conducted me through a door at the back into a linoleum-lined
passage, whence a flight of stairs led up to the landing above.

"I am expecting a friend to tea with me--a lady," I added.  "When she
arrives, would you be kind enough to tell her I'm here?"

"To be sure I will, sir," was the affable answer.  "And mebbe you'd
rather wait till she comes before you give your order?"

"Perhaps it would be safest," I admitted.  "She might have a weakness
for some particular kind of jam tart."

Proceeding upstairs, I entered the room facing me, where a table in
the centre was already set out for tea.  It was a fair-sized
apartment, furnished in that engaging style which is generally
associated with the name of the late Queen Victoria.  There was a
piano, a large horse-hair sofa with an antimacassar over its back,
and two chairs of the same material, stiffly arranged on each side of
the fireplace.  The grate was filled with coloured paper, and from
the mantelpiece above a stuffed canary in a glass case looked coldly
across at Mr. Frith's attractive reproduction of a busy morning at
Paddington Station.  Two or three texts, a framed certificate from
"The Ancient Order of Buffaloes," and several photographs of popular
watering-places mounted on red plush, lent a finishing touch to the
general harmony.

Laying my hat down on the sofa, I took up a defensive position in
front of the hearth.  I had not very long to wait, for five minutes
could hardly have elapsed when I heard the passage door open, and a
sound of voices became audible in the hall below.  In spite of the
fact that it ought to have benefited by previous experience, I could
feel my heart beginning to beat in the most curious and
uncontrollable fashion.  Then, beautiful as ever, Christine appeared
suddenly in the open doorway, and the next moment I was holding her
hands in mine.

"I can't tell you how badly I've wanted you," I said.  "It seems a
hundred years since yesterday."

She looked up at me in a kind of half-humorous, half-protesting
fashion.

"Mr. Dryden--please!" she murmured.  "They can hear everything you're
saying downstairs."

I let go her hands, and took an obedient step backwards.

"I suppose they can," I said.  "I quite forgot that there was anyone
else in the world."

She came forward into the room.

"Besides," she added with a smile, "tea will be up in one moment.
They told me that you were waiting till I arrived, so I ordered it
while I was in the shop."

"You're not going to run away again at once, are you?" I demanded
anxiously.  "There are a whole heap of things I want to talk to you
about."

The troubled expression that I had seen before came back suddenly
into her face.

"I mustn't stay very long--not more than half an hour at the most."

"Half an hour!" I repeated in dismay.  "You can't possibly have tea
in half an hour!  Why, it's frightfully dangerous to try and drink
hot things in a hurry."

Before I could make any further protests I was interrupted by the
creak of footsteps laboriously ascending the stairs.  There was a
chink and rattle of cups and then, panting slightly from her
exertions, the lady of the shop emerged into view, heavily burdened
with an immense tray.

She set this down on the table, and surveyed us with a motherly smile.

"If there's anything else you fancy, p'raps you'll give me a call
over the banisters," she said.  "My sister's gone to a funeral
to-day, and I'm all alone in the shop."

I gazed at the staggering collection of pastries which we were
apparently expected to consume, and hazarded an opinion that they
would probably see us through.

"Well, don't be frightened of 'em, my dear," she said, addressing
Christine.  "They're all home made.  You can eat as many as you like
without takin' no harm."

She left the room again, closing the door behind her, and, having
inspected the various chairs at our disposal, I brought forward the
one which looked the least uncomfortable.

"You pour out tea," I said, placing it in position.  "I'm so tired of
doing it for myself."

Without saying anything, Christine seated herself in front of the
tray.  She paused for a moment to take off her gloves, while I
dragged up a second chair, and, sitting down alongside, contemplated
her with unspeakable contentment.

"I hope you're not very angry with me about yesterday," I said.
"Spying behind hedges isn't really a habit of mine; in fact it's the
first time I have ever tried anything of the sort."

She finished pouring out the tea and handed me across my cup.

"No," she answered, "I am not angry with you; why should I be?  You
have every reason for feeling suspicious about us, and every right to
do exactly what you think best."

She spoke almost wearily, and there was a touch of bitterness in her
voice that gave me an uncomfortable sense of guilt.

"Christine," I said, "I want to settle this business once and for
all.  As far as you and I are concerned, there must be no chance of a
misunderstanding."  I paused.  "I don't know in the least what the
trouble is in connection with Greensea Island, or what your uncle has
got to do with it.  It's quite clear that there's some infernal
mystery, however, and, judging by what happened in the docks, I seem
to be playing rather an important part in it."

Her brown eyes, full of distress, were looking straight back into
mine.

"Yes," she said in a low voice.  "You are in great danger.  I told
you so the other day."

"I know you did," I replied cheerfully, "and you can be quite sure I
haven't forgotten your warning.  I like this planet, and I mean to
stop on it as long as I can, but there's just one thing I want you to
realise.  I would allow myself to be murdered twenty times over
rather than do anything in the world which was the least likely to
injure you."

The distress in her face became deeper than ever.

"No, no," she said wretchedly.  "You mustn't speak like that.  If
anything happened to you I should feel that--"  Her hand gripped the
arm of the chair until the skin stood out white over her knuckles.
"Oh," she ended, almost with a sob, "I don't know what to do.  It's
all so hopelessly complicated and difficult."

I fought down a sudden fierce longing to take her in my arms.

"Don't look so unhappy, Christine," I said.  "I can stand a good
deal, but that finishes me completely."

With a gallant if rather wistful attempt to smile she sat back in her
chair.

"There's only one thing I want to know," I went on, following up my
advantage, "and you needn't tell me that if you would rather not."

She made a slight movement of her head, as if wishing me to continue.

"How long have you been friends with Dr. Manning?"

I put the question quite bluntly, and I saw the faintest possible
flush come into her face.

"I am not a friend of Dr. Manning's," she answered.  "I dislike him
intensely.  If the choice rested with me, I should never see him
again."

"We appear to have one taste in common at all events," I remarked
with approval.

"What do you know about him?"

She brought out the words almost reluctantly, as though half afraid
of making some unwelcome discovery.

"I know very little at present," I admitted, "but I hope that by
to-morrow we shall be much better acquainted.  I have asked him to
dinner with me this evening, and he will probably spend the night on
the island."

If anything, my answer seemed to increase her misgivings.

"He is staying with you?  He is going to sleep in the house?"

"Why, yes," I said.  "There's nowhere else he can sleep, unless I put
him in the kennel.  That would certainly be the best place, but,
unfortunately, my dog has taken rather a dislike to him."

In spite of her apparent anxiety the corners of her lips quivered
into a smile.

"If you mistrust him so much, what made you invite him to the island?"

"I thought it would be a kind action," I explained.  "I suppose you
know that he has a special reason for being interested in my affairs?"

She looked at me curiously.

"What do you mean?  What reason?"

"Well, to be quite exact, there are two of them," I said.  "In the
first place, he's the family physician.  He came over and stayed in
the house when my uncle was taken ill, and looked after him until he
died."

"But you never told me that."

Christine was leaning forward again, with a queer excitement that she
made no attempt to conceal.

"We've had so little time for exchanging confidences," I objected.
"Anyhow, he did come, and, what's more, he seems to have fallen in
love with the place.  At least, ever since then he has been making me
the most sporting and generous offers, which Mr. Drayton says I'm a
fool not to accept."

"He is trying to buy the island?"

"That's the notion," I said, nodding.  "According to his own account,
he wants to start a new yachting club."  I paused.  "Of course, it
may be so," I added, "but do you know, Christine, at the back of my
mind I've a nasty, uncharitable feeling that he isn't telling me the
truth."

For a moment we sat silent.  There was a strange expression upon
Christine's face, as though she were beginning to understand
something which up till then had baffled and perplexed her.

"Mr. Dryden," she said slowly, "for your own sake I am going to be
quite honest with you.  Until we came down here I had no idea that
such a person as Dr. Manning existed."

I was not altogether surprised at her confession, but in spite of
that it gave me a very pleasant feeling of relief.

"Perhaps he is an old friend of your uncle's?" I suggested.

She shook her head.  "He was an utter stranger to both of us.  My
uncle was taken ill with one of his heart attacks the day after we
arrived, and somebody from the hotel suggested my sending for Dr.
Manning.  I am quite certain that they had never met before in their
lives."

"If that's the case," I observed, "he needs kicking even more than I
imagined."

Once again a faint shade of colour crept into her face, and then died
away again almost at once.

"Listen, Mr. Dryden," she continued, "what I want to say to you has
nothing to do with anything that you may have seen yesterday.  That
doesn't matter in the least.  You have got to think entirely of your
own safety.  I believe that by asking Dr. Manning to the island you
are putting yourself in the greatest possible danger."

"It seems to be the general opinion," I admitted.  "At least, both
Bascomb and Bobby Dean--"  I paused.  "By the way, I haven't told you
about Bobby Dean yet, have I?"

She shook her head.

"I have been carrying out your instructions," I explained.  "You
ordered me to dig up a friend, and I have found the one man in the
world who exactly fits the part."

"Who is he?" she demanded eagerly.

"Well, to give him his full title," I said, "he's Commander Robert
Dean, V.C., of His Majesty's Navy.  To save time I generally call him
Bobby.  We were serving together during the war, and, as luck would
have it, he has just been shifted back here in charge of the Coast
Patrol at Harwich."

"Oh, but that's splendid," she exclaimed thankfully.  "Is he going to
live with you on the island??

"I should like him to," I said, "but I am afraid the Admiralty might
object.  They are a conservative lot, and they always expect their
employees to sleep over the shop.  I shall be seeing a good deal of
him though," I added, quickly, as a sudden shadow of disappointment
again clouded her eyes.  "He is constantly round here in his boat,
and if I want him in a hurry any time I have only got to send him a
wire."

There was a pause.

"Does he--does he know that--"  She stopped, as if not quite certain
how to finish the question.

"I didn't think it necessary to tell him everything," I said.  "He
knows about my being chucked into the dock, and he knows what I think
of Dr. Manning.  As I look at it, the rest of the story only concerns
ourselves."

I saw that she was on the point of interrupting me, so I went
straight on, without giving her the chance of speaking.

"Anyhow, I am not going to talk about myself all the time.  There are
several much more important things I want to discuss, and one's the
fact that you appear to be risking your life every morning before
breakfast in a way that I strongly disapprove of."

She looked at me for a moment in evident bewilderment.

"Do you mean my swimming?"

I nodded.  "It would be most inconsiderate of you to get drowned," I
said, "just when you've become absolutely necessary to me."

I saw the corners of her mouth begin to quiver into a smile.

"I am afraid I hadn't thought about it from that point of view," she
replied.  "In any case, you can make your mind quite easy, Mr.
Dryden.  I have swum over twenty miles in the sea before now, so I
don't suppose I am likely to get into trouble bathing off a beach."
She glanced at the slim gold watch which she was wearing on her
wrist.  "Why, it's past four o'clock," she exclaimed, with sudden
consternation.  "I had no idea it was as late as that."

She rose quickly to her feet, and I at once followed her example.

"Christine," I said, "you're not going like this?  Last time you
rushed away before we could make any arrangements, and I can't leave
things in the same impossible state again."

She stood hesitating, the very picture of troubled indecision.

"I don't know what to say," she answered.  "I have done wrong in
seeing you to-day.  I only came because--well, because you didn't
give me much choice in the matter, did you?"

Once more I took her two hands in mine.

"I hadn't any choice myself," I said.  "It's all very well for me to
make promises, but how can you expect me to keep them?  I love you so
much that----"

"Oh, don't, don't," she broke in pitifully.  "You mustn't say that
sort of thing.  I am trying to help you; I want to be your friend if
I can; but----"

"Forgive me, Christine," I pleaded.  "It just slipped out before I
could stop it."  I paused for a moment to gaze hungrily into her
wide-open, tear-stained eyes.  "Only for God's sake let me see you
again before long.  I don't know what I shall do unless I can look
forward to that."

"Very well," she said, almost inaudibly.  "If it's possible I will
write to you or send you a message."

"Do you know a boy called Jimmy who is always hanging round the
quay?" I asked her.  "A little curly-haired kid of about eleven, with
blue eyes and a dirty face?"

She nodded.

"Well, he's by way of being rather a particular friend of mine.  If
you just scribble a line and give it to him, he'll bring it over to
the island immediately."

She nodded again, and made a movement as if to release her hands.

"You must say good-bye--please, Mr. Dryden.  I oughtn't to have
stayed as long as this."

I had intended to play the game to the end, but there are times when
all the good resolutions in the world are perfectly useless.  A
sudden feeling that I was about to lose her swept over me with
overwhelming force, and then, almost before I knew what was
happening, I had drawn her close into my arms, and was pressing a
passionate kiss upon her soft and slightly parted lips.

"Christine, Christine," I whispered hoarsely.  "I've loved you from
the first moment that you came on board the _Neptune_."

I felt her body tremble all over as I kissed her again, fiercely and
recklessly.  Then with a choking sob she pushed me away from her,
and, freeing herself from my arms, turned blindly towards the door.

I remained motionless where I was, a mingled sensation of remorse and
triumph rioting wildly through my heart.  I was sorry and ashamed for
what I had done, but even my self-reproaches could not alter the
glowing conviction of Christine's love which had come to me as our
lips met.  It was a revelation so intoxicating that for several
seconds I stood there like a man in a trance, the faint fragrance of
her hair still lingering deliciously in my memory.

At last, with a big effort, I managed to shake off the spell, and,
walking back to the mantelpiece, lighted myself a cigarette.  The
question uppermost in my mind was what I should do next.  From every
point of view it seemed advisable to allow a few minutes to elapse
before attempting to leave the shop.  It was quite on the cards that
someone who knew Christine might have seen her come out, and to
emerge myself a moment later would be simply to invite trouble.
Besides, there was the old lady downstairs to be considered.  She was
probably under the impression that we had had a quarrel, in which
case she would doubtless relate the circumstances to any of her
friends and neighbours who happened to drop in for an afternoon
gossip.  I had to find some way of lulling her suspicions, and I felt
that I could hardly begin better than by making my own exit in as
leisurely and cheerful a fashion as possible.

So I finished my cigarette without any attempt at hurrying, and then,
leaving the canary to brood over his ghastly splendour, I descended
the staircase and pushed open the side door which led into the shop.
The proprietress was engaged in serving out some sweets to a youthful
customer, but by the time I had passed through into the outer
department this piece of business was successfully transacted.

"I should like to square up accounts," I said; and, taking out two
half-crowns, I laid them down on the counter.

The good woman pushed one of them back towards me.

"It won't be as much as that, sir," she replied.  "One shilling's our
charge, unless the party has eggs."

"And very cheap too," I said, pocketing the rejected coin.  "I am
only sorry my friend had to run away so soon, but unfortunately she
had an appointment at four o'clock."

I was rewarded by a glance of sympathy.  "Dear me, that was a pity,
sir.  I hope you both enjoyed your tea?"

"I did for one," I said truthfully.  "In fact, it was quite the best
shilling's worth I have ever had in my life."

With a gratified smile she handed me my sixpence change, and, feeling
that I had left exactly the impression I desired, I walked to the
door, and stepped out into the street.

I was in no immediate hurry to get home, and, apart from that, there
was the chance that if I started at once I might overtake Christine
on her way back to Pen Mill.  Attractive as this prospect was, I had
a regrettable conviction that it would be altogether against her
wishes, so, strolling across the road, I entered the open door of the
White Hart Hotel, where in bygone days Bobby and I had been
accustomed to refresh our war-worn energies with occasional bouts of
snooker.

I found a marker in attendance, a little rabbity-faced man with an
unpleasant habit of potting the black from every conceivable angle.
He beat me handsomely in both the games we played, and, having paid
tribute to his skill in the shape of a large tankard of beer, I set
out in a chastened mood on my return journey.

It must have been close on six o'clock by the time I reached the
harbour.  For once in a way there was no sign of Jimmy, so, going up
to where my boat was moored, I began to unfasten the painter.  I was
engaged on this task when he suddenly appeared from the back door of
the inn, and came hurrying up the jetty wiping his mouth on his
sleeve.

"Sorry I weren't 'ere, guv'nor," he began.  "I'd just gorn inside to
'ave me tea."

As though in proof of this assertion, he gulped down what seemed to
be a large portion of the interrupted banquet.

"Quite right," I said.  "One can't do really good work without plenty
of nourishment."  I handed him his usual retaining fee, and stepped
down into the boat.  "I have got a little job for you, Jimmy," I
added.  "I suppose you're the sort of boy who can keep his mouth
shut?"

A reassuring nod was the prompt answer.

"Do you know Miss de Roda by sight?" I asked him.  "The young lady
who has come to live at 'The Laurels'?"

There was a brief pause.

"Wot, 'er with the pretty faice?" he enquired.

"That's the one," I said.  "Well, some day she may give you a note
for me.  If she does, will you bring it over to the island at once?"

He nodded again.  "You'll get it all right, guv'nor; you can trust me
for that."

"And don't talk about it to anybody, will you, Jimmy?" I added.  "Not
even to your own pals?"

"Not me," he said stoutly.  "There ain't no one who can keep a secret
better'n wot I can."

There was a ring of pride in his voice which inspired confidence,
and, under the comforting impression that I had established a
reliable line of communication, I pulled off down the creek.

When I got back to the house I found a letter for me lying on the
hall table.  As I picked it up the green baize door which led down to
the pantry opened quietly, and Bascomb came in with a plate basket on
his arm.

"The postman brought that letter this afternoon, sir.  'E 'ad to call
about some registration papers 'e wanted filled in."

I turned the envelope over, and saw the name of Wilmot and Drayton
stamped on the flap.

"How about this evening?" I asked him.  "Have you managed to get us a
decent meal?"

He nodded ungraciously.  "I reckon it's good enough--considerin' the
party wot's expected.  I'm just settin' about laying the table now."

"Well, let me know when the doctor arrives," I said.  "I am going
upstairs to change, and I don't want him wandering round the house by
himself."

"I'll see to that, sir," was Bascomb's grim answer, and without
another word he resumed his interrupted progress towards the
dining-room.

On reaching my own apartment, I sat down on the bed and opened Mr.
Drayton's letter.  It was not typed, but written in his own
handwriting, and bore the previous day's date.


    "MY DEAR DRYDEN,--If you can tear yourself away from the numerous
    attractions of Greensea Island, I should be glad to see your
    cheery countenance in town one day this week.  There are several
    fresh papers I want you to sign, and one or two details in
    connection with the estate which it would be more convenient to
    talk over than to write about.

    "I hope that you have found things fairly comfortable, and that
    Bascomb and the dog have proved themselves to be entertaining
    companions.

    "I saw our mutual friend, Inspector Campbell, yesterday.  He
    enquired affectionately after you, and was particularly anxious
    to know how you were getting on.  I fancy he is still a little
    piqued--professionally--over his failure to discover anything
    with reference to your late uncle.  At all events he seems to be
    under the impression that there is something remarkably
    mysterious with regard to the whole affair, and that sooner or
    later fresh developments are bound to crop up.  Let us hope that
    they will take the pleasant shape of a bundle of missing
    securities.

    "Ring me up as soon as you get to town, and we will fix something
    in the way of lunch or dinner.

  "Yours sincerely,
      "GEORGE DRAYTON."


Laying this genial missive down on the dressing-table, I began slowly
to change my clothes.

I had no objection to a run up to town the next day; indeed, on the
whole, the prospect distinctly appealed to me.  I should be glad to
see Mr. Drayton again and find out how my affairs were progressing,
while, after a week on the island, I was quite ready for a little
mild dissipation in the shape of a good dinner or a theatre.

I promised myself, too, that I would take the opportunity of looking
up Inspector Campbell, who had given me his address the day we
lunched at the Holborn.  From the moment of my first introduction to
him I had felt a curious confidence in this big, shrewd,
slow-speaking Scotsman, and I derived no little comfort from the
knowledge that he was still taking a friendly interest in my welfare.

There was one special matter in which his help might prove to be
invaluable.  He was just the sort of man who would probably be able
to unearth a lot of interesting facts with regard to the past career
of Dr. Manning, and if I could only persuade him to undertake the job
without any inconvenient questions, my journey to town would
certainly not be wasted.

Meditating in this fashion, I proceeded to array myself in a
loose-fitting suit of tweeds, which was the style of evening dress I
usually patronised on the island.

I was on the point of completing my toilet when the front door bell
rang loudly, and, after a short interval, I heard Bascomb ascending
the stairs.

As he advanced along the passage I opened my door.

"'E's come," observed my retainer, jerking his thumb towards the
banisters.

"And what have you done with him?" I enquired.

"Left 'im in the 'all," was the answer.  "'E's sittin' there nice and
comf'table--long o' Satan."




CHAPTER TEN

I have an idea that Bascomb's reply was intended to be ironical, but
it certainly summed up the tableau that met my eyes as I came down
the staircase.

Lolling back in an easy chair, with his legs crossed and looking
supremely at home, was the neatly dressed figure of Dr. Manning.
Satan was standing on the hearthrug a few feet away.  Every muscle in
his great body was tense and rigid, and his whole soul seemed to be
concentrated in the stare of watchful suspicion with which he was
surveying the intruder.

At the sound of my footsteps both of them looked up.

"Sorry I wasn't here to welcome you," I said, coming forward across
the hall.  "I hope Satan has been doing the honours for me."

Manning rose lightly to his feet, and took the hand which I somewhat
reluctantly offered him.

"I expect I'm a bit early," he answered, in that pleasant,
imperturbable voice of his.  "The fact is, I wasn't quite sure what
time you said you had dinner."

"Well, it's a movable feast," I returned, "but seven-thirty is the
usual hour."  I took hold of his bag, which was lying on the floor
beside him.  "Come along up and see your quarters," I added.  "Then
we shall just have time for a cigarette and a cocktail.  I hate
rushing at food without any preparation."

"It's an uncivilised practice," he admitted, "though I'm afraid I'm
often guilty of it myself.  One gets into bad habits living on a
barge."

I was quite prepared to believe his last statement, but thinking it
wiser to keep my opinion to myself.  I led the way upstairs to his
bedroom, which was two doors down the passage from mine.

Having seen that he was provided with hot water and soap, I left him
to his ablutions, telling him to rejoin me in the hall as soon as he
was ready.

He sauntered down again about ten minutes later, by which time I had
concocted a couple of alluring stimulants that even a Buenos Aires
bar-tender would have been proud to father.

"By Jove, it's a treat to taste a real drink again!" he said,
smacking his lips over my effort.  "The English are a fine people,
but they don't know much about mixing liquors."

He put down his glass, and, lighting a couple of cigarettes, we
strolled towards one of the French widows, which was partly open.

"Still, there are compensations," I said, looking out into the
garden.  "An evening like this makes up for a lot of indifferent
cocktails."

He leaned back against the lintel and gazed deliberately round the
sky--a roof of cloudless blue, tinged towards the west with the
saffron after-glow of a perfect sunset.

"Yes," he admitted, "it has been wonderful weather the last few days,
but you can take my word we shall have to pay for it.  Unless the
wind gets up we shall have a sea fog that will probably hang around
for a week.  It's always the way here, when you get this sort of
thing in April."

I was about to make some reply when an unexpected voice behind
suddenly broke into our conversation.

"Dinner's ready," it announced.

We both turned round abruptly, to find the sombre figure of Bascomb
silhouetted in the doorway.

"Come on in," I said, addressing myself to Manning.  "However black
the future is, we can at least eat and drink."

I conducted him across the hall to the dining-room, which looked very
snug and comfortable in the pleasant light of two or three softly
shaded candles.

We took our places at the table, and, having served us with soup,
Bascomb noiselessly withdrew, closing the door behind him.

"How are you getting on with that fellow of yours?" enquired Manning,
after a moment's silence.

"Oh, well enough," I said, pushing him across the sherry.  "He's a
queer, surly sort of beggar, but he looks after me all right, and so
far I haven't caught him pawning any of the family silver."

My companion laughed easily and helped himself to the wine.

"I daresay I'm prejudiced against him," he observed.  "The fact is,
he didn't exactly go out of his way to make himself civil when I was
here looking after your uncle.  I expect it's my profession that's
responsible.  Like most ignorant people, he is probably convinced
that all doctors are secret poisoners."

"I think he objects to strangers on principle," I replied.  "My uncle
evidently suffered from the same disease, and as likely as not they
infected each other."

"Agoraphobia," said Manning, smiling.  "Well, I shouldn't wonder if
you're right.  It's a fairly common complaint, and Mr. Jannaway
certainly seems to have been a typical case."  He paused.  "By the
way," he added carelessly, "have you managed to find out anything
more about him?"

I shook my head.  "Not a thing," I said, "except the fact that he had
a very sound taste in drink."

It may have been my imagination, but I thought I could detect the
faintest possible expression of relief flicker across my companion's
face.

"Greensea Island's a curious place for a man of his age to come and
settle down in," he continued.  "I have often wondered what brought
him to this part of the world."

"So have I," I replied truthfully.  "In fact, the more I think it
over, the more it puzzles me.  I can only imagine he must have been
inspired by some happy instinct that it would suit the tastes of his
successor."

At this point there was a pause in our mutual confidences, owing to
the re-entrance of Bascomb with the next course.  He took several
minutes clearing away and providing us with fresh plates, and by the
time we were again alone the conversation had wandered off into a
different channel.

Whatever one's personal feelings towards Manning might be, there was
no getting over the fact that he was an excellent talker.  He chatted
away easily and pleasantly on a variety of topics, and if he had any
other purpose in view beyond that of being entertaining, he certainly
managed to conceal it with remarkable success.  In spite of my
prejudice against him, I could fully believe what Bobby had told me
about his popularity in the neighbourhood.  He seemed to possess an
almost hypnotic power of making himself agreeable, though in my own
case his choicest efforts were so much waste of labour.  I had only
to remind myself of a certain incident outside "The Laurels" to feel
all my old inclination to punch his head welling up with renewed
vigour.

When the time for coffee arrived I made a suggestion that we should
move into the hall.  Manning had declined a cigar, saying that he
preferred to stick to his Egyptian cigarettes, so, taking the whisky
and liqueurs with us, we established ourselves in a couple of easy
chairs in front of the big open hearth.  I put a match to the
fire--more for the sake of hearing it crackle than for anything
else--and with every outward appearance of complete harmony we
settled down to spend the evening.

"You've got an ideal place in its way," said my guest, looking round
with a sort of lazy approval.  "The old chap must have spent a lot of
money in fixing it up as comfortably as this."

"I don't think he did very much," I replied.  "He had some workmen
here, and tidied things up generally, but I fancy the house was in
pretty good condition before he took it over.  This fireplace was
about the only new thing he put in."

Manning's gaze wandered critically over the improvement in question.

"Those are Dutch tiles, aren't they?" he said, bending forward to
make a closer inspection.

"It's quite likely," I returned.  "Bascomb tells me the work was done
by a Dutch firm."

I brought this out purposely in the hope of encouraging further
questions, but my companion's interest in the matter did not seem to
be very acute.  He remained silent for several moments, staring in
front of him with a curiously absent expression, as though his
thoughts had suddenly taken an entirely different direction.

At last, with something that was very like a start, he seemed to come
back to his surroundings.

"It's a nice piece of work," he said, "and just the thing you want
here in winter.  I like the old barge well enough, but there are some
advantages in living on dry land after all."

I poured him out a glass of my uncle's brandy which I knew from
experience to be of a remarkably mellowing nature.

"I should think a barge was great fun," I said, "What put the idea
into your head?"

He took an appreciative sip at the brandy, and lit another of his
eternal cigarettes.

"It was more chance than anything else," he replied.  "I heard she
was up for sale, and I wanted some sort of a headquarters down here,
so I just stepped in and bought her straight away.  The chap she
belonged to was only asking four hundred, and she was dirt cheap at
the price."

"I wonder what our friend Drayton's opinion would be on that point,"
I said.  "He nearly had a fit when I told him I was coming to live on
Greensea."

Manning laughed.  "Oh, he thinks I'm as mad as a hatter.  He can't
understand anyone being able to exist unless they're within a
taxi-drive of Bedford Row," He paused.  "All the same, I believe it's
people like ourselves who really get the best out of life.  I would
give the whole of what London and New York have to offer for one good
evening after duck, or a stiff beat to windward round the Bridwell
buoy."

The ring of genuine enthusiasm in his voice was quite unmistakable,
and I looked across at him with a sudden curiosity that I did my best
to hide.  I have run up against a fairly representative crowd of
blackguards in my life, but there was something about Manning that
certainly placed him in a reserved compartment.  Leaving aside his
charm of manner, it seemed almost incredible that a man whose tastes
lay along such simple, healthy lines as duck-shooting and
yacht-racing could really be the complete scoundrel that my
imagination had gradually constructed.  Still, facts were facts, and
this very incongruity only helped to make the situation still more
stimulating.

"You must get a boat and take up racing," he continued, finishing off
his liqueur.  "There's no sport in the world to touch it, and the
little six metre class we go in for here aren't very expensive."

He launched out into an interesting description of the craft in
question, bringing in several stories about local regattas, all of
which he related with point and humour.  As far as I was concerned he
could hardly have pitched upon a more congenial topic.  Although I
have never been able to indulge in it to any great extent, small boat
sailing has always been a particular hobby of mine, and a very few
minutes were enough to convince me that I was listening to a man who
was an expert at the game.  Lying back lazily in his chair, and
smoking cigarette after cigarette, he continued to hold forth in such
an entertaining fashion that I paid little or no attention to the
time.  Indeed, it was quite a surprise to me when I suddenly heard
Bascomb shutting and bolting the back door, and, glancing at my
watch, found that it was nearly half-past ten.

Manning, who had copied my action, sat up and stretched his arms.

"If it's all the same to you, Dryden," he said, "I think I'll turn
in.  The fact is I've had rather a strenuous day.  I have been
painting and overhauling gear ever since six o'clock this morning."

"Well, you deserve a good night's rest," I said, getting up from my
chair.  "Stop in bed as long as you feel like it; we have breakfast
here any time it's convenient."

"You won't be too early for me," he returned.  "I was never much of a
hand at sleeping, and as a rule the more tired I am the sooner I wake
up."

I poured out a generous tot of whisky, into which I splashed about
the same amount of soda.

"That's my prescription," I said "Take it to your room and drink it
off as soon as you get into bed.  If you don't sleep then there must
be something seriously wrong with you."

He accepted the tumbler with a laugh, and, having lit two candles,
which Bascomb had placed upon a side table, I accompanied him up the
staircase.

"What happens to our friend Satan?" he asked, as we paused for a
moment at his door.  "Do you still turn him out in that hard-hearted
way your uncle used to?"

"Just the same," I answered.  "He has got so accustomed to prowling
about at night, I don't suppose he would be happy in the house.
Besides," I added, "he's a useful guard against poachers and chicken
thieves."

Manning put down his candle on the corner of the chest of drawers.
"Yes," he remarked drily, "I shouldn't think that strolling round the
island in the dark was a very healthy form of amusement.  At least I
should be precious sorry to try anything of the sort myself."  He
held out his hand, which I again accepted with the same inward
reluctance.

"Good night," I said.  "Don't forget to take my prescription.  I will
give you a look up in the morning and see how it's worked."

I retraced my steps to the hall, where I latched the windows and
fastened the front door.  I was just taking a final look round when
Bascomb came in from the back regions.

"What have you done with Satan?" I asked him.

"Let 'im out," was the answer, "same as ye told me to.  I can fetch
'im in again easy enough if you'd rather 'ave 'im in the 'ouse."

I shook my head.  "No," I said, "I think we'll stick to the usual
arrangement."  Then, pointing to the table, I continued: "You can
clear away those drinks and lock up the dining-room.  Doctor Manning
has gone to bed, and I'm turning in myself too.  I will let you know
in the morning what time we want breakfast."

With a significant glance in the direction of the staircase he came
close up to where I was standing.

"I dunno if I ever mentioned it before, guv'nor, but that there bell
alongside your bed rings in my room.  Mr. Jannaway 'ad it put up
special.  If you should 'appen to want me any time, all you got to do
is just to give it a pull."

"Right you are, Bascomb," I said, and, feeling rather surprised and
more than a trifle grateful at his evident concern for my safety, I
once more made my way up to my own quarters.

Reviewing the events of the evening while I undressed, I could not
find much cause for self-congratulation.  As far as I could tell I
had managed to avoid giving Manning any hint of my true feelings
towards him, but with this exception the honours appeared to be all
on the other side.  He had acted the part of the friendly neighbour
in such an easy and natural fashion that it was precious difficult to
pick any holes in his performance.  His enquiry as to whether I had
found out anything more about my uncle, and the two questions he had
asked with reference to Bascomb and Satan, were the only incidents I
could recall which appeared to be in the least suggestive.  Even
these were quite in keeping with the character he had assumed, and
neither of them threw a very penetrating light on what was really
passing at the back of his mind.

That he was meditating some mischief, however, seemed to me highly
probable.  Not that I had much belief in the tragic forebodings of
Christine and Bascomb, for I rated our friend's intelligence too
highly to imagine him to be capable of any such blunder as that of
trying to cut my throat while he was a guest under my roof.  I was
inclined to think that it was a thirst for information rather than a
thirst for blood which had prompted his suggestion of an early
retirement.  My opinion was chiefly based upon what Bascomb had told
me about his two previous attempts to get back into the house after
my uncle's death.  This persistence could only be explained by the
theory that he wanted to make some further investigations, and now
that he was actually on the spot he was not likely to neglect such a
favourable opportunity.

Anyhow, whichever view of the situation was correct, I was faced with
the cheerful prospect of spending a sleepless night.  It was very
annoying, especially as I had to go to town the next day; but my
painful experiences at sea have given me a certain amount of
philosophy in these matters, and I settled down grimly to make the
best of it.

Anyone who has enjoyed a similar ordeal knows with what wearisome
slowness the hours can occasionally pass.  In my case, I had not even
the consolation of a book, for I was afraid of treating myself to a
candle in case the light should be visible under the door.  I just
tumbled into bed and lay there in complete darkness, keeping my eyes
wide open and listening intently for the slightest noise.

Through the open window, at amazingly long intervals, I could hear
the church clock at Pen Mill chiming out the quarters.  Nothing else
broke the silence except an occasional rustle in the shrubbery, which
told me that Satan was patrolling the garden with his usual
trustworthy thoroughness.

Midnight struck, and after a respectable foretaste of eternity
between each, one, two, and three eventually followed suit.  Very
gradually the blackness of night began to slip into the gray twilight
of early dawn, and bit by bit the various pieces of furniture in my
room emerged into shape out of the surrounding gloom.

Outside, a bird started twittering in the creeper, but everything in
the house still remained as quiet as the grave.  Try as I would, I
found it harder and harder to fight off the drowsiness that was
constantly stealing over me, and more than once I only just roused
myself in time as I was on the very point of falling asleep.

Whether I eventually dropped off into a doze I can't say.  If I did,
some important part of me must have remained awake, for I suddenly
found myself sitting up in bed, perfectly cool and collected, but
with every nerve in my body strained to the utmost attention.

For a moment nothing happened.  Then, once again, came the sound that
I was waiting for--the faint creak of a board in the passage outside
my door.

Turning back the clothes, I slipped noiselessly out of bed.  A glance
at my watch on the table beside me showed me that it was close on
half-past four--a time at which no respectable passage board has any
right to indulge in such antics.  My long vigil had not been useless,
and, standing there in bare feet and pyjamas, I felt that pleasant
glow of rewarded virtue which comes occasionally to the least
deserving of us.

I made no attempt to rush things, however.  Looking round the room,
my eyes fell on the poker, which was leaning up invitingly alongside
the fireplace.  It struck me as being a nice, companionable sort of
object, and, having tiptoed across the room and taken possession of
it, I returned in the same stealthy fashion to the door.

With my hand on the knob I again paused to listen.  My ears are
pretty sharp, and, although extreme care was evidently being taken
over the performance, I felt absolutely certain that somebody was
descending the staircase.

Very gently I turned back the handle.  It yielded to my pressure
without making the slightest noise; and then, opening the door inch
by inch until the gap was just wide enough, I stepped out warily into
the passage.

A quick glance up and down showed me nothing more exciting than
Manning's boots.  They were standing neatly on the mat outside his
room, where he had evidently deposited them before getting into bed.
Somehow or other this tidiness of his filled me with an increased
respect for him, and, taking a still firmer grip on the poker, I set
off noiselessly for the head of the stairs.

As I crept along I debated with myself what was the best thing to do.
Should I try and get down without being seen, or should I make a
reckless charge and leave the rest to providence?  The latter course
was much more to my taste, but there are times in life when personal
pleasure has to take a back seat, and I reluctantly decided that I
must play the game.  This was the one chance I was likely to get, and
it would be madness not to take the fullest advantage of it.

Still exercising the utmost care, I stole across the landing and
peered over the banisters.  From where I stood only the further side
of the hall was visible.  Everything looked exactly as I had left it
the night before, and, except for the steady ticking of the
grandfather clock, the whole place was wrapped in profound silence.

Unless Manning had gone through into the back part of the house it
stood to reason that he must be down below more or less under my
feet.  The sooner I found out what he was playing at the better, so,
edging my way to the head of the stairs, I very cautiously began the
descent.

I knew that from the next small landing half-way down one could
overlook the entire hall.  There were only about a dozen steps to
negotiate, and for six of them I got along very nicely indeed.  The
seventh, however, proved to be my undoing.  As I put my weight on it
the damned thing let off a terrific creak, and almost simultaneously
I heard a quick movement below.  It did not take me long to realise
that any more efforts in the Sherlock Holmes line would be singularly
futile.  With one jump I cleared the intervening stairs, and the next
moment I was leaning over the banisters looking straight down into
Manning's face.

He was standing on the hearthrug in front of the fireplace.  Except
for a pair of bedroom slippers he was dressed in the same scanty
costume as myself, the only other difference being the poker which I
still clutched affectionately in my right hand.  He had evidently
turned round directly he heard the noise, and, although taken by
surprise, he looked perfectly cool and self-possessed.

"Hullo, Manning!" I said cheerfully.  "What the devil are you doing
here?"

For just an instant he remained motionless; then with a sudden laugh
he seated himself deliberately on the rail of the fireguard.

"Caught in the act," he observed.  "And I took such a lot of trouble
not to wake you up."

"That's all right," I said.  "I have been awake for the last
half-hour."  I came down the remaining steps as I spoke, and walked
across the carpet towards him.  "What's the matter?" I enquired.

He extended his hand, and I noticed for the first time that he was
holding his cigarette case.

"This is the real culprit," he answered.  "I put the blessed thing on
the mantelpiece last night and forgot all about it.  Of course at
three o'clock this morning I felt I wanted a smoke more than anything
on earth.  I hung on as long as I could because I was afraid of
waking you up, but at last it got to a point when I simply couldn't
stick it.  I crawled down like a mouse, and I was just thinking I had
done the trick all right when you suddenly popped up over the
banisters and gave me the start of my life."  He paused, and, helping
himself to a cigarette, held out the case.  "I am frightfully sorry,"
he added.  "It's a rotten trick to drag one's host out of bed merely
because one happens to be the slave of a bad habit."

He made his explanation with such delightful ease that if I had not
known he was lying it would certainly have convinced me.

"There is no need to apologise," I said.  "You gave me a really
enjoyable five minutes.  I had quite decided you were a burglar, and
I was looking forward to breaking your head."

He eyed me and the poker with a kind of cool appreciation.

"I am glad you found out your mistake in time," he said.  "There's
something unpleasantly primitive about you, Dryden, especially when
you're in pyjamas."

All the while he was speaking I had been taking careful stock of our
immediate surroundings.  As far as I could see nothing had been
disturbed--indeed, I had come down so quickly on his heels that he
had had practically no chance of getting up to mischief.  I realised
now that what I ought to have done was to have given him a few
minutes' grace, and a mortifying suspicion that I had made a hash of
the whole affair began to rankle in my mind.

For a moment I was badly tempted to take him by the neck and see if I
could shake the truth out off him then and there.  The feeling that I
might be running Christine into danger still kept me in check,
however, and with a masterly effort I managed to preserve my
politeness.

"We had better have a drink and go back to bed," I observed, "unless
you'd like to stroll round the island and admire the beauty of the
dawn."

As I spoke I moved towards the French window, and at the same moment
a huge black shape loomed up on to the verandah outside.

"Hullo!" I added.  "Here's somebody else come to see what the matter
is.  Quite a family party, isn't it?"

I unbolted and opened the window, and, waving his tail in a kind of
dignified acknowledgment, Satan strolled slowly into the room.  He
pulled up short on seeing Manning; then, apparently satisfied that as
long as I was present things must be more or less in order, he
proceeded to seat himself very deliberately right in the middle of
the hearthrug.

I refastened the bolt and turned back to my guest.

"He always sits there," I said.  "I suppose my uncle taught him to
originally, and now he thinks it belongs to him.  We shall find him
in exactly the same place when we come down to breakfast."

Manning, who had been watching the dog's proceedings with a curious
intentness, rose slowly to his feet.

"I don't think I'll have a drink," he remarked.  "It's a little early
and I haven't got your cast-iron constitution.  Bed seems to me the
best notion.  I've a sort of feeling that after I've finished this
cigarette I shall be able to put in a couple of hours' sleep."

"Well, as I told you before, take it easy," I replied.  "The eggs and
bacon will keep till we're ready for them."

We set off up the staircase, and, pausing for a moment in the
passage, Manning once more expressed his apologies.

"You're a real sportsman, Dryden," he said.  "I should have been
horribly peevish myself if anyone had dragged me out of bed at this
unholy hour."

"I generally wake up in an amiable mood," I replied.  "It's only a
matter of good health and having the right kind of whisky."

I watched him go into his room and close the door, and then, feeling
uncommonly thankful that I had not got to be civil to him any longer,
I proceeded to follow his example.

I had bungled the business beyond any manner of doubt, and I was so
angry with my own stupidity that I very nearly hurled the poker into
the grate.  It was maddening to think that if I had only displayed an
ounce of gumption I might by now have got to the bottom of the whole
infernal mystery.  Instead of doing this, I had allowed Manning to
walk clean out of the trap, and no doubt, in the security of his own
room, he was laughing to himself over the easy way in which he had
outwitted me.

The only consolation that remained was the fact that there was no
further reason for keeping awake.  I could at least turn into bed and
get a few hours' sleep, with the comforting assurance that I was not
neglecting my job.  Whatever else Manning might have left in the
hall, he would certainly manage to do without it as long as Satan was
sitting on the mat.




CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Just gorn 'aff-past eight, sir."

I opened my eyes with some resentment, and found Bascomb standing
beside me, a cup of tea in his hand.  I blinked at him for a moment
and then sat up in bed.

"Might it be you as got up in the night and let Satan in?" he
enquired surlily.

For a second I hesitated, wondering how much he knew.

"Were you awake?" I asked.

He shook his head.  "No, I didn't 'ear nothin', but when I come
through this mornin', danged if 'e wasn't sitting there on the mat."

He placed the cup on a small table beside me, and, crossing the room,
drew up the blind.

"I changed my mind after I had gone to bed," I explained.  "I felt I
should sleep better if I knew that Satan was downstairs."  I took a
sip of the tea, and reaching out for my case, helped myself to a
cigarette.  "You can call the doctor in about ten minutes," I added.
"I'll have my bath first and get out of his way."

Bascomb nodded and left the room without any further remark, though
from the expression on his face I think he had a dim suspicion that I
was keeping something back.  Perhaps I should have been wiser to take
him completely into my confidence, but to tell the truth I was half
ashamed to confess the bungling way in which I had handled the
business.  Besides, faithful as I believed him to be, there was such
a queer, sullen twist in his temper that I never felt quite certain
how far it would be safe to trust him.

Washing and shaving are occupations which lend themselves to
reflection, and I certainly found plenty to think about during the
quarter of an hour that I spent in the bathroom.  On the whole, as a
result of my musings, I was inclined to take a slightly less
pessimistic view of the situation.  Although I had not exactly
covered myself with glory as a private detective, I had at least
established the truth of my theory that Manning possessed some strong
and urgent reason for wishing to explore the house.  Indeed, judging
by the risks he had run, it looked as if the success of his schemes
depended largely upon this particular point, and if that were the
case I had apparently shoved a pretty effective spoke in his wheel.

All the same, I didn't quite like the way in which he had accepted
his defeat.  Even allowing for his cleverness and self-control, it
was difficult to imagine that anyone who had been balked at the last
moment in some vital enterprise could have betrayed so little sign of
feeling.  Disappointed he had certainly appeared, but it had been the
disappointment of a man who has merely lost a trick which he hoped to
gain, and who still cherishes a fond belief that he is going to win
the rubber.

I wondered very much what he thought about my part in the
performance.  There had been, to put it mildly, a timeliness about my
appearance on the scene which could hardly have failed to awake his
suspicions.  These were not likely to have been lessened by the
deliberate way in which I had let Satan into the house, though in
either case my action might very well have borne the innocent
interpretation that I had attempted to give it.  He was probably in a
state of considerable uncertainty on the subject, and it was pleasant
to feel that I was paying him back a small instalment of all the
worry he had caused me.

What I would have given anything for was a good long chat with Bobby.
I am all right in a straight-forward scrap, but I knew that at this
sort of business his head was worth a dozen of mine, and that he
would most likely pounce upon some important point which I had
completely overlooked.  Indeed, if it had not been for my appointment
with Mr. Drayton I should have run up to Harwich to see him; as it
was, I should have to put off our talk until my return from London.

On my way back to my room I tapped at Manning's door and informed him
that the bath was ready.

He called out: "Come in," and, accepting his invitation, I discovered
him in the act of sharpening his razor, which he had apparently just
finished using.  He greeted me with a friendly wave of the strop.

"How goes it?" he enquired cheerily.  "I hope you managed to get off
to sleep.  I put in a couple of hours, and I feel as fit as a fiddle
this morning."

"That's good," I replied.  "You'll be able to do justice to Bascomb's
bacon.  It's one of the few things he's really sensitive about."

He smiled, and crossing to the washstand began to collect his sponge
and towels.

"Did you tell him about our adventures?" he asked.  "He must have
guessed that somebody got up in the night when he found Satan in the
hall this morning."

"I explained that I let him in," I answered.  "I was too sleepy to go
into details."  I paused.  "Besides, the whole thing sounds rather
ridiculous by daylight, doesn't it?"

"Well, I suppose it might strike anyone else as being a bit comic,"
he admitted.  "Better say nothing about it perhaps; we should be
frightfully chipped at the club if the story got round."

His tone was light, almost careless, but it seemed to me that my
answer had afforded him considerable relief.  I made a mental note of
the fact with a view to passing it on to Bobby.

"If I'm not in the dining-room when you come down," I said, "you'll
find me just outside the front door.  Satan and I generally take a
little air before breakfast."

I left him on his way to the bath, and, re-entering my own room,
proceeded to dress myself in a new suit of blue serge, which I had
bought during my previous visit to London.  Thus arrayed, and feeling
unusually respectable, I descended into the hall, where, as I
expected, I discovered Satan still occupying the same position on the
hearthrug.

He got up as I appeared, and, after stretching himself elaborately,
followed me to the French window, which was standing partly open.
Here, contrary to his custom, he halted, looking round rather
doubtfully, as though not quite certain whether it was safe to leave
the place unguarded.

"Perhaps you're right, my son," I said.  "We can't be too careful.
You sit here and let me know when he comes down."

I patted his head and stepped out on to the lawn, where a couple of
fat thrushes were hopping lazily about in the sunshine.  It was
another beautiful morning, hot and still as August, with an almost
unnaturally blue sky, unchequered by the smallest cloud.  I walked
across to the border opposite, and with some care selected myself a
small buttonhole.  If I was going to play the part of country
gentleman visiting his solicitor I might as well do the thing
thoroughly.

At the very moment when I had succeeded in fixing it in my coat there
came a warning growl from Satan.  Strolling back to the window, I
found Manning in the act of descending the staircase.  He looked very
cool and debonair in his grey flannels, and, in spite of Satan's
inhospitable greeting, he seemed as usual entirely at his ease.

"You're a good host yourself, Dryden," he remarked, "but I'm hanged
if I can say the same for your retainers.  That dog resents my being
here quite as much as Bascomb does."

"He is just as bad with everyone," I returned.  "Uncle Richard
evidently infected the entire staff."

I had hardly finished speaking when the dining-room door opened, and
Bascomb himself appeared on the threshold.  I don't know if he had
overheard our remarks, for his face was as impassive as ever.

"Breakfast's ready," he announced curtly.

We took our places at the table, where a dish of eggs and bacon, a
fresh tongue, and various other attractive items awaited our arrival.
I poured Manning out a cup of coffee and told him to help himself to
what he fancied.

"You look devilish smart to-day, Dryden," he remarked smilingly.  "I
believe I have a sort of reputation here for being the local dandy,
but now you've come I'm afraid I shall have to take a back seat."

"I have to go up to town to see Drayton," I explained.  "I always put
on my best clothes when I visit a lawyer."

I thought it would be the safest plan to tell him the truth, for it
was more than possible he might find it out for himself.

"That's rather a pity," he observed.  "I was going to suggest that
you should come over and have a look at the barge."  He paused.  "How
long are you likely to be away?"

I shrugged my shoulders.  "Goodness knows," I said carelessly.  "I
daresay I shall be back to-morrow.  I believe he only wants me to
sign a few papers."

There was a brief pause while Manning sipped his coffee.

"Well, as the Arabs say, 'To-morrow is also a day,'" he returned,
putting down his cup.  "Just get in your boat and come across any
afternoon you feel like it.  I'll show you the barge, and then we
might go along and dine at the club afterwards."

I thanked him with every appearance of sincerity, though the sinister
humour of the whole situation nearly made me laugh out loud.  I felt
sure, too, that under that imperturbable mask of his Manning must be
appreciating it quite as much as I did.

If such were the case, however, he kept his feelings well under
control, and we finished our meal without the least suggestion on
either side of anything but the most perfect friendliness.  After a
cigar in the garden my companion went upstairs to pack his bag, and
then, followed by Satan, we sauntered down to the landing-stage,
where he proceeded to get out his boat.

"Thanks for a charming evening," he said, shaking my hand.  "Remember
me to Drayton, and mind you come and look me up as soon as you get
back."

I made some suitable answer, and, settling down in his seat, he
pulled off with the smooth, easy stroke of a practised oarsman.  I
stood and watched him till he reached the mouth of the creek, where
he waved his hand to me before disappearing round the bend.  Then I
walked across to Satan, who was sitting by himself on the edge of the
jetty staring resentfully after the vanished boat.

"It's no good looking like that," I said.  "If you had been a little
more civil you would probably have been included in the invitation."

I think he understood what I meant, for, rising to his feet with a
disdainful expression, he strolled off ahead of me in the direction
of the house.  There were evidently some subjects on which he
regarded humour as being completely out of place.

When I arrived back I found Bascomb clearing away the breakfast
things.

"I am going up to town by the twelve-forty," I said.  "I suppose I
can get a trap at the inn to take me to Torrington?"

He nodded his head.

"They'll run you over right enough," he replied.  "Mebbe I'd better
slip across an' tell 'em though; they might be fixin' up with another
party otherwise."  He paused.  "Are you comin' back to-night?" he
enquired.

"No," I said, "I have got some business with Mr. Drayton.  I shall
probably be down to-morrow, but if not I'll let you know."

He finished clearing up and collected the debris on to a tray.

"'Ow about visitors?" he enquired.  "I s'pose you don't want no one
on the island, not while you're away?"

"There's one person I don't want," I said, "and that's Dr. Manning."
I stopped, and then, feeling that I must at least make some
appearance of taking him into my confidence, I added: "You were
perfectly right about him, Bascomb.  He's a rascal, only he's a
damned clever one.  I couldn't get anything out of him last night,
try as I would.  All the same, I'm more certain than ever that he's
up to some dirty business."

A gleam of approval flickered across my companion's face.

"You can trust me safe enough, guv'nor," he returned.  "'E won't set
foot again in this 'ouse while I'm 'ere--not 'im nor that
broken-nosed blighter Craill neither."

He brought out the epithet so unexpectedly that it was all I could do
to keep back a sudden exclamation.

"Craill!" I repeated.  "Isn't that the fellow who looks after his
barge?"

Once again Bascomb nodded sourly.  "That's 'im--an' you can take it
from me that 'e's the right bloke for the job."

A vision of that furtive, sinister figure hanging about outside Mr.
Drayton's office rose vividly in my mind.

"Yes," I said, with intentional carelessness, "I should think they
were a very nicely matched pair.  How did Craill manage to break his
nose?"

"Someone done it for 'im, I reckon.  Pity they didn't break his neck
too while they was about it."

Lifting the tray, Bascomb marched off through the side door, and
after a moment's hesitation Satan got up and followed him.

I crossed the room to the window and sat down on the sill.  I felt
like a man who by pure accident has suddenly picked up the very piece
of a jig-saw puzzle for which he has long been vainly hunting.  Ever
since my first meeting with Manning I had had a suspicion that in
some way or other he was chiefly responsible for that impromptu
swimming exhibition of mine in the East India Dock.  Bascomb's
description of Craill placed the matter beyond doubt.  Unless there
was an epidemic of broken noses, the latter was certainly the man I
had seen loafing about Bedford Row, and the odds were a hundred to
one that it was his hand which had so nearly put an end to my
troubles.

As to what possible motive or motives could have possessed this
precious pair, I was as much in the dark as ever.  They could not
have been acting on behalf of de Roda, for I had Christine's
assurance that until she and her uncle had arrived in England neither
of them had had the least notion that such a person as Dr. Manning
existed.  My attempted murder must, therefore, have been a strictly
private enterprise, and the only reason I could see for it was the
fact that I had refused to sell the island.

Now, annoying as it is to be thwarted in a scheme of land purchase,
people generally stop short of assassination as a method of
expressing their disappointment.  There must have been some very
powerful inducement to lead Manning to such a desperate step, for,
utterly unscrupulous as I believed him to be, he was too intelligent
to run his neck into danger unless the stake at issue was well worth
the risk.

Could it be possible that while he was on the island he had stumbled
independently upon my uncle's secret?  It was a new idea, but the
more I thought it over the more feasible it seemed.  It at least gave
some explanation for his extraordinary anxiety to get hold of
Greensea, and it might account for the curious dread with which
Christine seemed to regard him.

If this were really the truth, the whole question of his relations
with the de Rodas became one of the utmost importance.  Did he know
the reason which had brought them all the way from South America,
and, if so, had he purposely made friends with them in order to
achieve his own ends?  From what I had seen of the two men I could
well imagine that de Roda, broken in health and in the grip of some
half-insane purpose, might clutch eagerly at the unexpected
assistance that was suddenly offered him.  That Manning's motives for
entering into any such partnership must have been purely selfish I
had no manner of doubt.  Possibly he was in ignorance about some
essential point on which de Roda was the only person able to
enlighten him, or perhaps--and at the mere notion I felt the blood
surge hotly through my heart--it was Christine's beauty which had
been the lure that had attracted him.  Once more the recollection of
that scene outside "The Laurels" came back to me with extraordinary
clearness.  I could see the expression on Manning's face as
distinctly as if I were still crouching behind the hedge, and with a
half-suppressed oath I flung open the lattice window and got up from
the sill.  It was certainly fortunate for one or other of us that he
was no longer on the island.

Looking back indeed, I have often wondered since how I managed to get
through that morning without doing something idiotic.  The temptation
to jump into my boat, row over to the barge, and settle up matters
with Manning once and for all, was at times so strong that it became
almost irresistible.  By packing my bag and otherwise occupying
myself, however, I succeeded in holding out until Bascomb returned
from the inn, bringing the news that a trap was in readiness to take
me to the station.

"You'd better let me run yer across," he added.  "Then the boat'll be
'ere in case I wants it."

"I can easily send it back by Jimmy," I objected.  "Isn't it a bit
risky for both of us to be away at the same time?"

"I reckon there won't be no risk," he replied grimly.  "If anyone
comes messin' about 'ere the next 'alf hour it's a ---- certainty
wot'll 'appen to them."

A glance at Satan's expression convinced me that there was some truth
in what he said, so without making any further difficulties I
consented to his proposal.

He carried my bag down to the landing-stage and rowed me across to
the jetty opposite, where I stepped out discreetly, so as to avoid
soiling my new suit.

"Good-bye, Bascomb," I said.  "I shall tell Mr. Drayton how well
you've looked after me."

For a moment he seemed almost embarrassed.  "That's all right,
guv'nor," he returned gruffly.  "I ain't the bloke to go back on
anyone wot's treated me fair."

He settled down again to his oars, and, picking up my bag, I started
off in the direction of the shore.  Outside the inn a smart-looking
horse and trap were waiting my arrival.  The driver, a shock-headed
youth who might have been an elder brother of Jimmy, touched his cap
to me as I clambered in, and the next minute we were bowling off up
the hill on our way to Torrington.

During the journey to town I divided my time between pondering
fitfully over my own affairs and listening to the improving
conversation of my fellow travellers--a Baptist minister and his
wife, who were going up to London to attend their aunt's funeral.
They were a very staid and respectable couple, and, sitting back in
my corner, I could not help wondering what they would say if I were
suddenly to put my difficulties before them and ask them for their
advice.

Such an interesting experiment being unfortunately out of the
question, we reached Liverpool Street with the problem still
unsolved.  A porter from the Great Eastern Hotel came forward as I
stepped out of the carriage, and, since I had made no arrangements to
stay anywhere else, I allowed him to take possession of my bag.  He
conducted me up some stairs to the office, where, after a brief
parley with the reception clerk, I was duly accepted as a desirable
guest.

My first step, after going to my room and having a wash, was to
telephone to Mr. Drayton.  I was informed that he was still out at
lunch, but had left a message, in case I rang up, that he would be
able to see me any time between three and four.  It was then getting
on for half-past two, so, having treated myself to a glass of sherry
and a sandwich, I started off straight away for Bedford Row.

I kept a pretty sharp look-out as I turned the corner into that
respectable thoroughfare, but this time no one seemed to be taking
the least interest in my movements.  The street indeed was
practically deserted, and it was almost with a feeling of neglect
that I pushed open the front door and sought out my aged friend in
his little rabbit hutch on the right.  He informed me that the head
of the firm had just returned, and conducted me upstairs with
impressive formality.  In his eyes I had evidently attained the rank
of a distinguished and valuable client.

There was nothing of this about the bearing of Mr. Drayton, however,
who greeted me with a cheerful lack of ceremony that was much more to
my taste.  As before, he insisted on my accepting one of his
excellent cigars, and then, having asked me several questions as to
how I was getting on, he proceeded to explain his reasons for
bringing me up to town.

"I've something to tell you, Dryden," he said, "that I think you'll
probably approve of.  The fact is, we have been getting on with your
affairs a good deal faster than I expected.  For once in a way I have
actually persuaded the British law to hustle itself, and, to cut a
long story short, you can dip your fingers into Uncle Richard's
money-box just as soon as ever you like."  He leaned back in his
chair and regarded me with a friendly twinkle.  "I know you're tired
of travelling, but I thought that this particular bit of news was
worth a journey to town."

"I should rather think it was," I replied, with considerable
enthusiasm.  Then, jumping from my seat, I gripped his hand heartily
in mine.  "I'm blessed if I know how to thank you," I added.  "I am
no good at making pretty speeches, so you must take the will for the
deed."

Mr. Drayton extricated his fingers, and examined them with a rather
rueful smile.

"There's no need to apologise," he said.  "Your gratitude's quite
pressing enough for me."  He rose to his feet and, turning towards
the table, pulled forward a bundle of papers.  "There are one or two
things here that want signing, and then I think I had better take you
round to the bank, before they shut, and introduce you to the
manager.  It's only just across the road in Holborn."

I sat down at the table, and scribbled my name in the spaces he
pointed out.  I suppose I ought really to have read the documents
through, but so complete was my confidence in his good faith that I
made no attempt at this elementary precaution.

"You have got a delightfully trustful nature, Dryden," he said with a
sigh.  "I wish I inspired the same sort of feeling in all my clients."

He rang the bell for his clerk, and, having informed the latter that
he would be out for the next quarter of an hour, he picked up his hat
and led the way downstairs.

"Are you staying in town to-night?" he enquired as we emerged into
Bedford Row.  "If so, and you have nothing better to do, come and
dine with me at my club.  It's very dull, but you're not likely to
notice that after a fortnight at Greensea Island."

Had I chosen I think I might have been able to disillusion him on the
subject of Greensea's dullness, but for the present at all events I
still thought it wiser to keep my own counsel.  So with a perfectly
truthful remark that I was never bored in good company, I laughingly
accepted his invitation, and without further discussion we turned
down a narrow passage into the roar and bustle of Holborn.

Our interview with the bank was not a very formidable affair.  We
were shown into a private room, where a brisk, bald-headed little man
with gold-rimmed eye-glasses was seated at a table several sizes too
large for him.

Mr. Drayton introduced me as the heir to the Jannaway fortunes, and
the manager--for such the bald-headed gentleman proved to
be--congratulated me cordially on what he termed my "romantic
inheritance."  He announced that a sum of eleven thousand and
forty-five pounds seven shillings and six-pence was lying in the
office awaiting my attention--a statement which I tried to receive
with becoming nonchalance.  At his request I wrote out a specimen of
my signature, receiving in return a useful-looking cheque-book.  He
then informed me that if at any time I needed expert financial advice
he would be delighted to place himself at my disposal; after which he
again shook hands with us both, and escorted us in state to the door
of the bank.

"I like being a capitalist," I observed, as we stood for a moment on
the step.  "It's a much more restful life than the sea, and everybody
one meets is so extraordinarily obliging."

Mr. Drayton chuckled appreciatively.  "Wait till I've sent you in my
bill," he retorted.  "You'll have some excuse for feeling cynical
then."  He dived into his pocket and produced a card-case.  "Here's
the address of my club," he added, "in case you forget it.  I must be
off now, but I'll expect you at seven-thirty.  Don't dress up and
make yourself beautiful--come along just as you are."

With a friendly wave he disappeared amongst the traffic, while almost
at the same moment a prowling taxi pulled up in the gutter.  I moved
forward and accosted the driver.

"Have you ever heard of a place called Angel Court, somewhere off
Fleet Street?" I asked him.

He eyed me critically.

"Are you wantin' Inspector Campbell's office?" he enquired.

"Yes," I said.  "Do you know him?"

He leaned across and opened the door.  "Know 'im," he repeated rather
scornfully.  "Why, 'e pinched a bloke outer this very cab last March
twelve-months.  There ain't a taxi driver in London as don't know
'Foxy' Campbell."

Considerably impressed with this unexpected tribute to the
Inspector's reputation, I climbed inside the vehicle.  We sped away
rapidly through a number of side turnings, coming out at last within
a few yards of the bottom of Fleet Street.  A moment later the taxi
pulled up, and as I stepped out the driver jerked his thumb in the
direction of a narrow archway.

"That's Hangel Court," he said.  "You'll find the party you're
looking for the second door on the right."

I thanked him, and, passing through the opening, entered a kind of
paved yard, on three sides of which were quaint narrow little houses
with old-fashioned window-panes.  The second doorway bore a carefully
polished brass plate, with the inscription "James Campbell.  Private
Enquiry Agent."

I was just hunting around for a bell when suddenly the door swung
back, and, looking up, I found myself face to face with the Inspector
himself.  He was evidently on the point of going out, for he was
wearing a bowler hat and carrying a walking-stick.

Directly he saw me his big square-jawed face lit up in a smile of
welcome.

"Why, it's Mr. Dryden," he exclaimed, holding out his hand.  "Well,
this is a bit of luck.  If you had been a moment later you'd just
have missed me."

"It's my lucky day," I said "But, all the same, I mustn't keep you if
you've got an appointment."

"It's nothing very important," he replied.  "Come along inside.  I
can spare a minute or two anyhow."

He led the way into a comfortably furnished office on the right, and,
pulling forward a chair, seated himself exactly opposite me.  His
large and very wide-awake blue eyes scanned me with friendly interest.

"I'd better start by apologising," he began.  "You mustn't think I've
forgotten your invitation to come down and have a bit of shooting,
but the fact is I've been so busy I've had no time to write.  People
have been misbehaving themselves the last three weeks in a way you
wouldn't believe; I suppose it's the hot weather."

"I shouldn't wonder," I said.  "I've felt a little vicious myself
once or twice."  I tossed away the stump of the cigar I was holding
and helped myself to another from the case which he offered me.  "As
far as the invitation goes," I added, "it's open permanently.  I am
not the sort of a person who wants a lot of notice.  Just send along
a wire as soon as the crime wave subsides."

"The very minute," he said with a twinkle.  Then, putting his thumbs
in his waistcoat, he leaned back comfortably in his chair.  "And how
are you getting on down there?" he asked.  "You know, I take a
special interest in your affairs, Mr. Dryden.  There's something
about Greensea Island that I didn't quite get to the bottom of, and
no one likes to be hit in his professional pride."

He spoke in such a frank and good-humoured fashion that once again I
was sorely tempted to make a clean breast of my difficulties.  I
stuck to my resolve, however, for the thought of Christine as the
central figure in some public scandal was too utterly repugnant to be
considered.  At the same time I felt that in the case of Inspector
Campbell a certain measure of honesty would undoubtedly be the best
policy.

"As a matter of fact," I said, looking him straight in the face,
"I've come here to ask you for your help."

He nodded his head.

"I thought you might," he said.  "That was one reason why I gave you
my address."

"The trouble is this," I went on bluntly.  "I want you to do
something for me, but for certain reasons which I can't explain it's
quite impossible for me to answer any questions.  I know it sounds
pretty rotten, so I shan't be the least surprised or offended if you
tell me to go to the devil."

He smiled genially.  "That's the last thing I should do, Mr. Dryden.
There's no sense in encouraging a rival firm."  He paused.  "You know
your own business best, of course, but if there's any particular way
in which I can be of assistance you can count on me from this minute."

"Well, there is," I confessed.  "You remember a chap called Dr.
Manning--the fellow who looked after my uncle when he was dying?"

Once again the Inspector nodded.  "Yes," he answered.  "I remember
him very distinctly.  He lived on a barge about three hundred yards
above the island."

"That's the gentleman," I said.  "He's living there still; in fact,
to all intents and purposes he's my next-door neighbour.  What I want
you to do, if you can possibly spare the time, is to get me a little
accurate information about his past life."

If my companion felt any surprise or curiosity he certainly didn't
show it.

"That oughtn't to be very difficult," was his reply.  "Doctors are
fairly easy to trace as a rule."  He reached across to the table and
picked up a half sheet of notepaper.  "Has he ever mentioned a
particular town, or given you any idea of what hospital he was at?"

"He once told me he had been a ship's surgeon," I said.  "It was
probably a lie, so I shouldn't attach much importance to it."

The Inspector made a brief note.  "One never knows," he observed
hopefully.  "People sometimes tell the truth by accident.  They
generally regret it afterwards."

A telephone bell tinkled sharply in the corner of the room, and with
a word of excuse he rose from his seat and walked across to the
instrument.

"Yes," he said.  "I'm Campbell--speaking."  There was a pause.
"What's that?" Another and longer pause followed.  "Oh, very well.
Don't let him go.  I'll be round almost immediately."

He hung up the receiver and turned back to me.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I'm afraid I shall have to run away after
all.  I have got to meet a man who wants to leave for Scotland this
afternoon."  He folded up the paper he was holding, and put it away
carefully in his pocket "I'll get on to this little job at once.  You
shall hear from me directly there's any news."

"Thanks," I said gratefully; "and, meanwhile, if the wicked should
happen to cease from troubling----"

"You'll not only hear from me, but see me."

He gave me a friendly grip, and, collecting his hat and stick, led
the way out into the yard.  We walked together under the archway and
emerged on to the crowded pavement of Fleet Street.

"There's one thing I should like to add, Mr. Dryden," he said, just
before we parted.  "If you ever find yourself in real difficulty or
actual danger, don't hesitate to let me know.  Whatever I'm doing I
shan't be too busy to lend you a hand."

I tried to thank him, but, without waiting to listen, he stepped off
into the roadway, and a moment later he was swallowed up amongst the
traffic.

Brief as our interview had been, however, it had left me in a very
satisfied frame of mind.  From what I had seen of the Inspector I
felt pretty sure that if there was anything worth knowing about
Manning's past career he would soon succeed in ferreting it out.
Apart from that, the knowledge that in a tight corner I should have
him as well as Bobby at my back was the kind of encouraging thought
that would have put heart into a rabbit.

My good spirits were in no way damped by one or two drops of rain,
which at that moment, much to my surprise, began to dot the pavement.
Looking up, I noticed for the first time that a change was taking
place in the weather.  A great bank of cloud was creeping slowly up
from the east, and spreading in a black, threatening line all across
the sky.

Manning's prophecy at once came into my mind, but, not being
particularly anxious for a ducking, I wasted no time in further
reflections.  Hailing a passing taxi, I instructed the man to take me
back to the Great Eastern Hotel, which I reached in comfort and
dryness just as the rain began to descend in a steady drizzle.

There was nothing to do under the circumstances but to make the best
of things indoors.  I am never at a loss how to amuse myself if I can
get a game of billiards, and I soon discovered that the hotel
possessed a couple of excellent tables, presided over by a red-headed
marker, who spoke Scotch and looked as if he drank it.

We played several hundred up with varying success; and at six-thirty,
feeling quite ready to face a good dinner, I set out for Mr.
Drayton's club.  As an additional encouragement to my appetite I
walked the whole way to St. James's Street, for by this time,
although the pavements were still wet, the rain itself had
practically ceased falling.

The club proved to be a big, sombre establishment, inhabited chiefly
by middle-aged gentlemen of a distinctly morose aspect.  What they
had to be morose about I can't imagine, for a better meal than the
one put before us I never wish to eat.  Mr. Drayton, who was waiting
for me in the hall and conducted me straight into the dining-room,
confessed frankly that he had joined the place purely for the sake of
its excellent cooking, and the respect which I already had for his
judgment rose steadily with each succeeding course.

After dinner we made our way to the smoking-room upstairs, where,
with the assistance of a couple of leather arm-chairs and a plentiful
supply of whisky and soda, the time passed away so pleasantly that it
was close on midnight before I got back to my own bed at the hotel.

The whisky must have been of the same high quality as the rest of the
food, for in spite of the amount that I had put away, I woke up next
morning feeling remarkably fit and cheerful.  One of the first things
I did was to pull aside the blind and have a look at the weather.
The result was not encouraging, for my window faced on to a blank
wall of dirty white brick, and in the intervening space a thin grey
drizzle was coming down with monotonous persistence.

Once more Manning's predictions about a sudden change in the weather
came back to my memory.  If it were like this in London, the odds
were that Greensea Island would be wrapped in a regular sea fog,
which I knew from experience might last for several days.  However, I
consoled myself with the comforting reflection that it would save me
a deal of hard work with the watering can, and that, after all, I was
no longer compelled to tramp up and down a dripping bridge with a
miniature trout stream trickling down the back of my neck.

I had made up my mind to go back by the mid-day train, which gets
into Torrington somewhere about two o'clock.  There were several
things I still wanted to buy, and, now that I was actually in town,
it seemed a pity to waste such a favourable opportunity.  I had no
wish to get soaked through, however, so on my way down to the
dining-room I gave the hall porter a sovereign and told him to go out
and buy me an umbrella.  He returned with a sporting-looking affair,
the handle of which terminated in a bull-dog's head.  Though a trifle
spectacular, it was a sound article for the money, and, armed with
this and my cheque book, I set off after breakfast, pleasantly
determined to make a good opening in Uncle Richard's life savings.

As intentions go, it must be admitted that I was fairly successful.
In addition to half a dozen things I bought for myself, I discovered
in a Bond Street jeweller's a perfectly charming little emerald
pendant, which struck me at once as having been obviously designed
for Christine.  Under the circumstances twenty-five pounds seemed to
be a ridiculously cheap price, but I felt that it was unnecessary to
point this out to the shopman, who appeared quite satisfied with the
transaction.

Returning to the hotel with my purchases, I made an early but
excellent lunch off cold duck and salad, and at a quarter to one I
was steaming out through the damp squalor of East London, comfortably
established in the corner seat of a first-class smoker.

It was a cheerless journey, for all the way down a driving rain beat
incessantly upon the windows, and most of the landscape was blotted
out by drifting clouds of mist.

At Torrington things were not much better.  It was not actually
raining, but the little cobble-paved market-place reeked with wet,
and a depressing air of forlorn moisture brooded over the entire
place.

Packing myself and my belongings into a solitary growler which was
standing in the gutter, I instructed the man to take me as far as the
Gunner's Arms.  We plodded off, and, after half an hour's drive
between dripping hedgerows, came out at last over the brow of the
long slope that overlooks the estuary.  I lowered the sash, and,
putting my head out of the window, inspected the prospect.  Down
below, the roof of the inn was just visible, but the harbour itself
and everything beyond was hidden under a pall of fog, which stretched
like a grey shroud over the whole length of the estuary.  There was
something singularly sinister and desolate about the whole scene, and
for a moment I felt a pang of regret for the comfortable
billiard-room which I had so recently quitted.

We came to a halt on the quay in front of the inn, deserted for once
by its usual sprinkling of boatmen and barge hands.  Our arrival had
been observed, however, for scarcely had we pulled up when I saw the
small figure of Jimmy emerge from the stable door and come hurrying
down the yard towards us.  He touched his damp curls with a cheerful
grin of welcome.

"I reckoned it was you, guv'nor," he remarked "You ain't bin away
long, an' that's a fact."

"Quite long enough, Jimmy," I returned.  "At all events, you've had
time to mess up the weather."

He took the bag which I handed out, and at the same time cast a
rather disgusted glance into the surrounding gloom.

"It's a treat, ain't it!" he observed.  "Come on like this yes'day
afternoon."  Then, drawing a little nearer, he added in a lowered
voice: "There's a letter for you at the 'ouse, guv'nor.  The young
laidy give it me laite las' night, an' I took it across at
once--saime as you told me."

I tried to cover my unseemly elation by lighting a cigarette.  "Where
did you meet her?" I enquired.

"She come down to the quay.  I see 'er standin' there in the dark,
an' I says to me self, As like as not she's wantin' me.  So I just
slips over alongside of 'er, an' without sayin' nothin' she shoves
the letter in my 'and and orf she goes."

I looked at him gratefully.  "You're a stout fellow, James," I said
"I knew I could depend on you directly I saw you."

He waited until I had paid the cabman, and then, shouldering my bag,
accompanied me to the boat.

"I seen 'er again since then," he continued confidentially.  "I was
comin' along Duke's Laine about 'alf an hour ago, an' she was waitin'
to go aboard the doctor's barge."

I stopped short with a very distinct shock.

"Are you sure about that?" I demanded

He nodded a little scornfully.  "Dead certain, guv'nor.  There ain't
no one else you'd mistake for 'er--not round these parts."

"But how do you know she was waiting to go on the barge?" I persisted.

"Why, I 'eard 'er call out, and I seed the doctor comin' orf to fetch
'er.  I reckon she's there now--that's to say, if 'e ain't put 'er
ashore again."

I said nothing further, but walked on to the boat in anything but a
happy state of mind.  The thought of Christine boxed up alone in the
fog with those two scoundrels filled me with a horrible sense of
uneasiness.  Knowing her mistrust for Manning, and having seen
something of the relations between them, I felt that only the
strongest reasons would have induced her to take such a step.

It was possible, of course, that she had explained her action in the
letter which she had given to Jimmy.  If that were the case, the
quicker I got back to the house the sooner my anxiety would be
relieved, so without wasting any time I unshipped the oars and
started off on my journey down the creek.

The tide was slack when we reached the mouth; and trusting to luck,
for one could see only a few feet ahead, I cut straight across the
estuary, and came out triumphantly almost exactly alongside the
landing-stage.

Before stepping ashore I handed Jimmy a well-earned ten bob in return
for his services.  Then, with my bag in my hand, I strode forward
through the mist and entered the narrow path which ran up through the
shrubbery to the garden.

As I crossed the lawn and approached the house I noticed with some
surprise that the front door was standing open.  I was just thinking
that it was rather unlike Bascomb to be so casual when I suddenly
heard the sound of footsteps coming round the corner of the drive.  I
pulled up where I was, and the next moment the square, burly figure
of my retainer loomed into view.

I was about to make some remark, but, whatever it was, the words
remained unspoken.  One glance at Bascomb's face was quite sufficient
to drive everything else clean out of my head.

"Good God!" I exclaimed.  "What's the matter?"

He stood there, glaring at me with sullen, blood-shot eyes--a silent
and menacing figure in the mist. Then, taking a step forward, he laid
his hand on my arm.

"You come along o' me," he said hoarsely.  "I got something to show
you."

Turning on his heel, he led the way round the corner of the house.
Without saying anything further I followed him along the path until
we reached the back garden, where with equal abruptness he came to a
sudden standstill.  Then, raising his hand, he pointed towards a dim,
motionless heap, which was just visible in the centre of the lawn.

"There you are," he muttered.  "You go an' look at that."

Two strides brought me to the spot, and a wicked oath broke from my
lips as I stared down at the sight in front of me.  It was the huge
body of Satan, stretched out stiff and dead on the wet grass.




CHAPTER TWELVE

For several seconds I remained still, without speaking.  The wave of
grief and anger that swept through me left me sick and shaken; I
could only stand there with clenched hands waiting until I could
control my voice.

"Who did it, Bascomb?" I said at last.

He came up to me, and, bad as I felt myself, I was almost shocked by
the sight of his face.  It was like a horrible grey mask, twisted and
distorted with passion.

"Who d'yer think?" he demanded hoarsely.  "There's only one devil in
the world who'd go fur to do a thing like that."  He sank down on his
knees beside the body, and, sliding his hand under the big head,
lifted it tenderly from the grass.

"You mean Manning?"  The words came out mechanically.  I knew the
answer before I uttered them.

"Aye!" he muttered savagely; "that's who I mean.  It was Mannin'
right enough--the blarsted, poisonin' 'ound."  Very slowly he laid
down his burden and got up again on to his feet.  "I'll be even with
'im for this," he added in a choking voice.  "You mark my words.
I'll be even with 'im for this or my name ain't John Bascomb."

"When did it happen?" I asked.

He stared at me, as if only half understanding the question.

"When did it 'appen?" he repeated.  "Why, las' night 'about eleven
o'clock.  'E were alive an' well at the 'alf hour--that I can swear
to.  I was in the kitchen, an' I seen 'im pass the window--seen 'im
with me own eyes.  I can't say exac'ly 'ow long arter it was when I
went to the back door; mebbe a matter o' five an' twenty minutes.
Any'ow, there 'e was, stretched out on the path, too bad even to make
a sound.  Crawled back 'ome to die, 'e 'ad, pore beggar, an' me
inside not knowin' nothin' about it."

His voice trembled, and, raising the back of his hand, he brushed it
roughly across his eyes.

I wetted my lips, which were dry as leather.

"If Manning did this--" I began.

Bascomb turned on me with glowing eyes.

"You'll leave 'im to me," he said.  "This is my job, this is; an' no
one ain't comin' in between us--not till I've finished with 'im."

I saw that the man was half off his head with rage, and I felt that
for the present the best thing was to leave him to himself.  In the
mood we were both in any further discussion would probably only end
in an explosion.

"We must bury the body at all events," I said shortly.  "If you want
any help in digging the grave you will find me in the house."

I walked towards the back door, my mind still in a turmoil of
emotion, and, crossing the kitchen, made my way through into the
hall.  The place was dark and cheerless, and in a mechanical fashion
I struck a match and set a light to the fire.  Then, pulling up an
easy chair, I flung myself down, and stared at the crackling sticks.

I suppose it ought to have been obvious from the first that an
attempt might be made to poison Satan, but somehow or other the
possibility had never entered my mind.  The dastardly act had come on
me as a complete surprise, and in the first rush of anger and
indignation I found it difficult to collect my thoughts.  That
Bascomb was right in his suspicions, however, I felt convinced,
though I had no more evidence than he had in support of my belief.
There was a cold-blooded ruthlessness about the whole thing which
pointed clearly to Manning, and such a passion of hatred for him
swept through me that for a moment I felt almost stifled.

What new threat, I asked myself, lurked behind this apparently wanton
piece of spite?  It was utterly unlike Manning to show his hand so
clearly, unless driven to it by the most urgent reasons.  He must
have realised that, however easily deceived I might be, Bascomb would
at once pitch on him as the author of the crime, I might or might not
accept the latter's opinion, but it was at least probable that my
suspicions would be aroused and that I should take prompt steps to
try and find out the truth.

That he would run such a risk through sheer malice was a thing that I
declined to believe.  It was much more likely that he was fixing up
some new and devilish plan, in which the removal of Satan was the
first and perhaps the most essential step.  Now that this was
accomplished he was not likely to waste time, for every hour that he
delayed would only add to the danger of discovery.  I felt that I
must act, and act quickly, but what the deuce I ought to do was
another and more baffling question.

In my perplexity I suddenly remembered Bobby.  A letter to Harwich
would reach him first post in the morning, and unless he was up to
his neck in work he would probably be with me by mid-day.  I didn't
want to bother him unnecessarily, but things seemed to be approaching
a crisis, and if that were the case his advice and help would b&
simply invaluable.

I jumped up from my chair with the intention of writing him a note at
once.  As I turned towards the desk, my eyes fell upon a letter which
was lying on the further side of the centre table.  Even at that
distance I recognised Christine's hand, and at the same instant the
recollection of my talk with Jimmy rushed back into my mind.

In a second I had crossed the room and picked up the envelope.
Carrying it to the window, I tore open the flap, and with feverish
haste pulled out its contents.  There was a single sheet of
notepaper, closely covered on both sides with small but very legible
writing.


    "I know that you have gone to London, but I am not sure how long
    you intend to stay, or when you will get this letter.  Anyhow, it
    will be waiting for you as soon as you reach the house.

    "I had to write to you or see you.  I feel certain that something
    has happened--something that fills me with terrible fear for your
    safety.  If I knew what it was I would tell you; I believe it
    must be connected with Dr. Manning's visit to the island, but
    that is only what I think, and I may be wrong.

    "I am _absolutely sure_, however, that at any moment you may be
    in the greatest possible danger.  Please don't think that I am
    silly or fanciful in writing to you like this.  You must know by
    now the kind of people you have to deal with, and surely you will
    understand that I shouldn't have sent you this second warning
    without some very real and serious reason for it.

    "Whatever happens, don't under any circumstances allow yourself
    to be alone on the island.  I believe that your man Bascomb is
    honest, but it would be better if you were to have your naval
    friend with you as well.  _Above all, be careful of Dr. Manning_.
    Pay no attention to any suggestion he makes, and mistrust
    everything he says or does.

    "If there is any further way in which I can help you I will do
    so.  Should you want to send me a message, give it to the boy at
    the inn.  My uncle has gone away for two days, so I shall have no
    difficulty in getting down to the quay in the evening.

    "You are not to worry about me.  I am in no danger myself, and I
    implore you to think only of your own safety.

    "CHRISTINE DE RODA."


I read it hurriedly to the end, and then with a strange pleasure I
turned back and went through it a second time.  It was just such a
letter as I should have expected her to write.  Mysterious and
reticent as it was, there shone through every line an honesty and
personal courage which confirmed all I had felt about her ever since
our adventure at Leixoes.

Of one thing there could be no doubt.  Whatever had prompted her to
send me this note, she had evidently been ignorant of the brutal plan
to poison Satan.  Had she known she would certainly have given me
some warning, even if de Roda himself had been a party to the scheme.

On that point, however, I had already and perhaps quite unreasonably
made up my mind.  Nothing but the clearest evidence would shake my
belief that it was Manning's work, and that in all probability he had
arranged and carried out the whole thing for some purpose of his own.
More than ever I felt convinced that he was playing a double part;
that de Roda, though no doubt originally the moving spirit, was now
merely a tool in the hands of a much cleverer man than himself.

Once more I glanced at Christine's letter.  Her urgent pleading that
I would take the matter seriously was not really needed; I should
have done that even if the dead body of Satan had not been lying on
the grass outside.  I knew well that it was no vague or imaginary
peril which had led a girl of her sense to send me this additional
warning--a step, which, for anything she might say to the contrary,
must have been fraught with considerable personal danger.

The last consideration, indeed, was much the most disturbing factor
as far as I was concerned.  I was in no mood to worry about my own
safety when it was more than possible that, owing to her efforts to
help me, Christine might be exposing herself to all sorts of horrible
risks.  People who don't hesitate to attempt murder are apt to take a
particularly unpleasant view of anything which they regard as
treachery.  Of course de Roda was her uncle, but he looked the kind
of fanatic who would attach precious little importance to family
affection if it began to interfere with the success of his schemes.
Besides, according to the letter, de Roda was away.  In his absence
Manning was presumably in charge of operations, and the mere thought
of Christine finding herself in the power of that gentleman was
sufficient to send a chill down the small of my back.

Suppose he had discovered that she was in communication with me!  It
was unlikely, but unlikely things do happen in this world, and, in
spite of all our precautions, the secret might have leaked out.  In
view of what I had seen outside "The Laurels" my feelings can be
easily understood, for he was just the sort of devil to make use of a
chance like this without compunction and without mercy.

I crumpled the letter in my hand, and thrust it into my pocket.
Whatever had induced Christine to visit the barge, the idea of her
shut up in that lonely cabin with no one else but Manning on board
was utterly unbearable.  A frantic longing to do something rose up
inside me, and, walking to the window, I stared out into the drifting
mist.

I had stood there for perhaps thirty seconds when a really inspired
notion suddenly dawned on me.  In a fog like this nothing would be
visible on the water more than a few yards away.  If I were careful
about it there was no earthly reason why I should not get into my
boat and row up as far as the barge in perfect security.  No matter
how sharp a look-out was kept, I should be practically alongside
before anyone could give the alarm.

Almost as soon as the idea came into my head I had made up my mind.
So strongly, indeed, did it attract me that I did not even stop to
consider what I should do when I reached my destination.  I could
think about that while I was in the boat.  The main thing was to get
started without wasting any more valuable time.

In spite of my eagerness to be off, I first of all sat down at my
desk and scribbled a note to Bobby.  It had to be posted at Pen Mill
before six o'clock or else it would not be delivered in Harwich until
mid-day, and in that case he would very probably be out of the
office.  I made no attempt to explain things, however; I merely told
him that I was in need of his help, and that if he could manage to
get down to Greensea the next day I should be uncommonly glad to see
him.

I was just fastening up the envelope when I saw Bascomb go past the
window.  I called out to him from where I was sitting, and he stepped
in through the open doorway.  He was carrying a heavy garden spade.

"Where are you going to dig the grave?" I asked him.

He jerked his head toward the back of the house.  "'Longside o' the
shed," he answered.  "I can see it there from the kitchen window."

He spoke as though the prospect of being continually reminded of the
crime afforded him a kind of sullen satisfaction.

"I am going ashore to post a letter," I said.  "I mean to get to the
bottom of this infernal business, and I've asked Commander Dean to
come here to-morrow.  I think he may be able to help us."

Bascomb looked at me more strangely than ever.

"It's likely enough," he remarked.  "That's to say, if there's any
'elp wanted."

He shouldered the spade as he spoke, and, stepping out on to the
path, walked off silently round the corner of the house.  His manner
was so peculiar that for a moment I felt an uncomfortable doubt as to
whether he were in his right senses.  I was too anxious about
Christine to worry over anything else, however, and, following him to
the door, I hastily secured the bolts and made sure that the windows
were properly fastened.  Then, snatching up a cap from my travelling
bag, I left the house by the back door.

The mist seemed thicker than ever when I came out into the garden.  I
climbed the wet rail which led into the shrubbery, and, having groped
my way through the bushes, I struck off down the path in the
direction of the water.

A few minutes' walk brought me to the boathouse, where, by gently
coaxing the rusty lock, I managed to open the door without making any
unnecessary noise.

The next job was to find something with which to muffle the oars.  A
glance round showed me exactly what I needed--a large piece of cotton
waste that was hanging from a nail just inside the threshold.  I tore
this in two, and with the aid of some string soon accomplished my
purpose.  Then, pushing off quietly, I drifted out into the mist.

It was just low water, and the young tide was already running up the
estuary.  I knew its strength from bitter experience, so, keeping the
nose of my boat well into the current, I set off hopefully on what I
imagined to be the right course.

I was not far out in my reckoning, for, after about ten minutes'
steady rowing, I found myself approaching a mud flat, which I
recognised at once as being slightly to the east of the creek.  I
allowed the current to carry me down as far as the entrance, and a
few moments later the rough wall of the jetty loomed into view on my
left-hand side.

There was no sign of anyone about, a circumstance that was hardly
surprising in view of the close proximity of the Gunner's Arms.  I
ferried along till I reached the nearest post, where I shipped my
oars and made the boat fast.  Then, climbing ashore, I started off
carefully down the slippery causeway.

I got to the pillar-box, which was just alongside the inn, without
meeting a soul.  The knowledge that my letter was safely posted gave
me a distinct feeling of relief, and, retracing my steps as quickly
as possible, I was soon back in the dinghy and pulling off again down
the creek.

So far all was well, but as I drifted round the point into the open
water, I began to realize what a difficult job I had in front of me.
In the first place, it was quite conceivable that I was on a fool's
errand.  Notwithstanding my fears, Christine might be in no need of
my assistance, and if that were the case my sudden appearance on the
scene would be about the most embarrassing ordeal I could possible
inflict on her.  This was an unfortunate fact that had to be faced,
however; the only question was how to make certain that she was safe
without giving away the whole affair.

My strongest card was the one which had been thoughtfully provided by
Manning himself.  His last words had been a pressing invitation that
I would come and see him on the barge as soon as I got back from
London, and he could hardly blame me if I happened to select a
particularly awkward moment for calling.  Much as he might object to
my visit, he would find it uncommonly difficult to invent any
reasonable excuse for not asking me on board.

What I chiefly dreaded was the possibility that Christine might
betray herself before she could recover from her surprise.  In that
event any further pretence on my part would be useless; Manning would
at once guess the truth, or something very near it, and what the
consequences might be God alone knew.  Was I asking too much in
making such a demand upon a girl's courage and coolness?  It was a
trial from which very few people would emerge successfully, but then
I had had ample proof in Leixoes harbour that Christine's nerve was
of no ordinary quality.  Her self-possession on that occasion had
been truly delightful, and though she would now be up against a much
more severe test I had a kind of inward conviction that I could still
depend upon her.  Anyhow, there was no way of avoiding the risk
unless I abandoned my purpose, an alternative on which I declined to
waste even a moment's consideration.

All this time the tide was carrying me steadily up the estuary, my
own efforts being confined to keeping the boat as near the shore as
possible without losing the drift of the current.  I made no attempt
at rowing, for, anxious as I was to reach the barge, I was afraid
that if Craill happened to be on deck the muffled creak of my
rowlocks would probably attract his attention.  I wanted my arrival
to be absolutely unexpected, so that I could seize the chance of
getting on board before anyone was prepared to dispute my purpose.

Now that the critical moment was approaching I felt as cool as a
cucumber.  Nothing steadies me like the prospect of immediate action,
and, although my hatred of Manning was as bitter as ever, it no
longer clouded or distorted my mind.  It had, indeed, precisely the
opposite effect, bracing all my faculties to their clearest and
sharpest pitch.

I drifted along, listening intently, and keeping a constant look-out
over my shoulder.  I knew by the curve of the shore that I must be
getting pretty near my goal, for just below where the barge lay the
estuary made a slight turn to the north.

Suddenly, a few feet ahead of me, I caught sight of a shadowy anchor
chain, rising from the water and stretching away into the gloom.  I
was so close that in another second I should have been on top of it,
but a timely dig with my left-hand scull just saved me from this
calamity.  Almost simultaneously the black outline of the barge
towered up above my head, and, gliding round the big blunt bow, I
came quietly alongside an empty dinghy which was bobbing about on its
painter at the foot of the accommodation ladder.

For a couple of seconds I remained perfectly still, gripping tight
hold of the dinghy's gunwale, and staring up at the railing above me.
I half expected to see Craill's ugly face come peering over the top,
for if he were on deck he must have heard the splash which I had made
in trying to avoid the chain.  No such apparition materialised,
however, and with a slight pull at the painter I drew into the side
and rapidly hitched up my boat.  The next moment I had mounted the
ladder and was safely on board.

As far as I could see, I appeared to have the whole place to myself.
It was very unlike an ordinary barge, for both fore and aft a high
"coach-house" roof had been built up above the deck, so as to provide
the cabins below with further light and head room.  Between the two,
and right in front of where I was standing, a broad companion-way led
down to the interior.

I advanced on tiptoe, keeping a watchful eye on the fo'c'sle, from
which quarter I still feared that at any moment Craill might make an
inconvenient appearance.  I had taken about three steps when a sudden
and unexpected noise brought me to a dead stop.  It was a queer
sound, as though a small but heavily laden table had been violently
overturned.  I stood quite still, listening intently; then, faint but
clear enough to send the blood racing through my heart, came the
half-stifled cry of a woman's voice.

One stride forward brought me to the edge of the companion-way, and,
clearing the short flight of steps with a single leap, I found myself
facing a closed door which apparently led through into the cabins.
It swung open as I turned the handle, revealing a narrow passage,
with another door at the end.  On the farther side of this a scuffle
of some sort seemed to be taking place, and a voice which I
recognised as Manning's rose plainly above the confused jumble of
sounds.

If there were a championship for sprinting up corridors, I think I
should have some claim to be the holder.  Anyhow, I covered the
distance in considerably less time than it takes to write the words,
and, wrenching round the brass knob with a savage jerk, applied the
full force of my shoulder to the panel.  Instead of being locked, as
I expected, the door flew back suddenly on its hinges.  How I saved
myself from falling I don't know; I can only imagine that the sight
which met my eyes momentarily stiffened every muscle and sinew in my
body.

Amid a debris of broken cups and plates Christine and Manning were
struggling together in the centre of the cabin.  He had gripped her
in his arms, and, in spite of the efforts she was making to free
herself, he was pressing fierce kisses upon her face and neck.
Beside them on the carpet sprawled an overturned tea-table, with one
leg sticking up grotesquely in the air.

I had only the briefest glimpse of what was happening, for at the
noise of my entrance the tableau broke up abruptly.  Manning raised
his head with a swift, astonished glance; and then, releasing his
hold, took a step backwards.  Freed in this unexpected fashion,
Christine for an instant seemed to be on the point of collapsing.  By
a great effort of will she was just able to reach the arm of the
sofa, where she stood panting and exhausted, her eyes fixed on me in
a kind of half-incredulous fear.

"You must forgive me if I am intruding, Manning," I said.  "You asked
me to look you up, and I have taken you at your word."

Even at that moment the man's extraordinary coolness never deserted
him.  Whatever thoughts and emotions were passing through his mind,
he seemed, after that first glance of surprise, to accept the
situation with perfect composure.

"I am afraid you have chosen rather an unfortunate time," he replied.
"If you would care to come back in half an hour I should be charmed.
At present I have another visitor."

"So I see," was my answer.  "And, if you want to know, that is
precisely the reason why I intend to stop."

Manning's curious blue eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I don't quite understand," he observed in his silkiest voice.

"It's very simple," I assured him.  "This lady, whoever she is, seems
to have mistaken you for a gentleman."  I turned to Christine.  "I
hope I am not being officious," I added, "but if there is any way in
which I can be of use, please consider me entirely at your service."

She rose to the occasion with all the quickness and courage that I
had expected.

"If it's not troubling you too much," she said quietly, "I should
certainly be obliged if you would row me to the shore."

Manning stepped forward, addressing himself directly to her.  His
manner was politeness itself, but there was no misunderstanding the
veiled threat behind his words.

"For various reasons," he said, "I think you had better allow _me_
that privilege."

I saw that Christine was hesitating, so I gave her no chance to reply.

"I expect you know your way up on to the deck," I remarked.  "If you
will excuse me I will be with you almost immediately."

For a second she still wavered.  Then with the slightest possible bow
she crossed the cabin, and passed out silently into the passage.  I
closed the door behind her.

Only once before in my life, when Bobby and I sighted our first
German submarine, have I felt the same peculiar sensation with which
I turned round and faced Manning.  He stood where he was, an amused
and half-mocking smile playing round the corners of his mouth.

"You mustn't let me detain you, Mr. Dryden," he said.  "I am sure you
are full of the noblest sentiments, but it would be a pity to keep
the lady waiting."

If his intention was to make me lose my temper it went woefully
astray.

"I shan't be long," I replied.  "I am only going to give you a damned
good hiding."

I was looking straight at him as I spoke, and I saw the lightning
glance with which he measured his distance from a small oak sideboard
that was clamped against the wall.

"That's the worst of you primitive people," he drawled slowly, "you
always--"  Then suddenly his eyes travelled past me to the door, and
a harsh, exulting cry broke from his lips.

"Go on, Craill," he shouted; "let him have it."

With most men the trick would probably have succeeded, but I was too
old a hand to be caught in that time-honoured fashion.  As he sprang
for the sideboard I hurled myself after him, and at the very second
that he wrenched open the drawer my fist crashed home full in his
face.  He lurched wildly backwards, and, stumbling over the corner of
the mat, fetched up against the wall with a thud that shook the cabin.

Of the next two minutes I have a glorious but slightly confused
recollection.  All the rage which I had been bottling up inside me
seemed to break loose at that first blow, and with a red mist in
front of my eyes I leaped in to finish the business.

Whatever else Manning might be, he was game to the last inch.
Hopelessly cornered, with blood streaming down his face, he yet
fought back at me like a trapped and maddened wolf.  He fought, too,
with all the skill of a trained boxer, but science and courage were
little use against the mad fury which had suddenly taken possession
of me.

Keeping him pinned against the wall, I smashed home punch after punch
without even troubling to guard myself.  No one could stand up long
under such a hail of punishment, and although he managed to land one
or two blows there was not sufficient force in them to have any
effect on me.  At last, with a terrific right-hand jolt just below
the heart, I sent him staggering sideways.  He made a desperate
attempt to recover, but, seizing the chance, I let him have my left
bang on the point of the jaw, and down he went on to the carpet--a
sprawling bundle of arms and legs.

For a moment I stood there breathing heavily, my whole being aflame
with savage satisfaction.  Stretched out motionless on his back,
Manning presented a pretty ghastly spectacle, but there was not a
spark of pity for him in my heart as I stared down into his battered
and bleeding face.  Christine's cry for help, and the thought of poor
Satan creeping back alone to die in the darkness, were still vividly
in my mind, and, turning away, I strode across towards the open
drawer in the oak sideboard.

As I expected, the first thing I saw on looking inside was a
revolver.  It was a Smith and Wesson of the heaviest service pattern,
and on taking it out I found that every chamber was loaded.  I
wondered grimly what my fate would have been if Manning had succeeded
in reaching the drawer a second earlier.  Possibly he had only meant
to protect himself, but in any case the weapon would certainly be
safer in my possession than in his, so, slipping it into my pocket, I
strolled back to where I had left him.

Just as I came up he gave a deep groan and opened his eyes.

"Oh," I said, "you're recovering, are you?"

He gazed at me vaguely, as if only half understanding my words; then
in a sudden rush the full memory of what had happened seemed to
return to him, and with a painful effort he raised himself up on one
elbow.

"Next time you want to insult a girl," I suggested, "you had better
see that the cabin door is properly locked."

Lifting his sleeve, he tried to wipe away some of the blood which was
trickling down his face.

"I always thought you were a fool, Dryden," he said in a faint voice.
"Now I am sure of it."  With great difficulty he struggled up a
little farther, and sank back against the wall.

"I know a damned cad when I see one, anyhow," I replied.  "Not that
it needed much intelligence in the present case."  I walked to the
door, and, pausing on the threshold, took out the revolver.  "You
will forgive my borrowing this," I added.  "I don't want to be shot
in the back as I leave the barge."

His blue eyes fixed themselves on mine with a cat-like malevolence.

"You might have a worse ending," he said softly.  "I am not a very
safe person to quarrel with."

There was a venom in his tone which spoke volumes as to his
sincerity, but unless it was intended to frighten me the warning was
a little superfluous.

"I shan't grumble at the bill," I replied.  "I am always ready to pay
well, especially when I have really enjoyed myself."

Then, turning the handle, I stepped out into the passage, and closed
the door behind me.




CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I found Christine standing on the deck at the head of the
companion-way.

She looked terribly pale, and as I approached she started towards me
with a little sob of relief.

"Oh, thank God!" she whispered.  "Thank God you're safe!"

She took my hands, and a low cry escaped her at the sight of their
scarred and bleeding knuckles.

"It's nothing, darling," I said reassuringly.  "That's only a little
blood from Manning's nose.  He's got plenty left to go on with."

With something between a laugh and another sob she let her head sink
forward against my shoulder.  "Don't think me a coward.  I--I'm not
one really.  It was just having to wait here and----"

"A coward!" I interrupted.  "Why, I think you're the bravest girl
that ever stepped this earth."

I put my arms round her, and for one dear moment she lay there
passive and still, like a tired, contented child.

Then, suddenly releasing herself, she gazed round in a kind of
startled panic.

"But we mustn't stay here," she exclaimed hurriedly.  "We must go at
once."

"I suppose you're right," I admitted with some reluctance.  "What's
happened to that ruffian Craill?"

"He went off in the other boat just after I arrived.  He might come
back at any moment."

"Well, I want to see him," I said; "but I don't think I'll wait now.
It's a pity to cram all one's pleasures into one afternoon."

She laid her hands pleadingly on my sleeve.  "Do what I ask," she
begged.  "Promise me you will go straight back to the island as soon
as you have taken me ashore?"

"I am not going to take you ashore," I said.  "You are coming home
with me."

She made a quick gesture of protest, but I went on without giving her
time to answer.

"There's no other way out of it," I said, speaking with the utmost
seriousness.  "After what's happened this afternoon you have simply
got to tell me the truth.  Don't you see, dear, you and I are in this
together, and unless I know----"

"Yes, yes," she interrupted breathlessly, "I must tell you; I had
already made up my mind to do it."  She paused in piteous hesitation.
"I daren't come to the island, though," she added; "if anyone saw
us----"

"No one can possibly see us," I objected.  "It's a hundred times
safer than any other place.  We can talk comfortably there, and I can
row you ashore afterwards and land you wherever you like.  This fog's
not going to lift for another twenty-four hours."

I don't think I really convinced her; she seemed to give in to my
will through utter weariness.

"Perhaps you're right," she faltered.  "I can't argue with you
anyhow.  I--I'm too tired."

With a sudden remorse for my lack of consideration, I helped her
tenderly down the ladder.  Everything in the dinghy was soaking, and,
in spite of her remonstrances, I insisted on removing my coat and
spreading it on the wet seat.

"I won't try and talk to you while I'm rowing," I said.  "There's a
pretty stiff stream running, and I shall want all my energy to get
back to the island.  Besides, the quieter we keep the better."

She nodded her head to show that she understood, and, having cast off
the painter, I took my place at the oars.

The first few strokes were a bit painful on account of my damaged
knuckles, which started bleeding afresh the moment I closed my hands.
They soon ceased to smart, however; and, keeping the same course as
before, I plugged steadily along, until the mouth of the creek opened
up dimly on my left-hand side.  A short but strenuous battle with the
current brought me safely across to the landing-stage, where I
grabbed hold of the chain and waved a triumphant greeting to
Christine.

"Welcome!" I said "Welcome to Greensea Island!"

She smiled back at me, such a wan, pathetic little smile that I
impulsively leaned over and pressed her hand.

"My own dear," I whispered, "you have just got to be happy.
Remember, you are coming home for the first time."

I felt her fingers squeeze mine gently in return; then with a sudden
trace of shyness she pushed them away and got up quickly from her
seat.

"You must be wet through," she said, "and as for your poor coat--"
She held it up with an expression of penitent dismay.  "You will have
to go and change everything directly we get to the house."

"Oh, it won't hurt me," I protested.  "I've been drenched so often
that I can't catch a cold even if I try."

I steadied the boat while she stepped out, and then, jumping ashore
myself, led the way forward in the direction of the shrubbery.

As we entered the path, and the gloom of the trees closed in about
us, she slipped her arm through mine.

"It's not a very cheerful place, is it?" she said with a slight
shiver.

"Don't judge us too quickly," I returned.  "Wait till we reach the
house.  Things will seem quite different as soon as you've had a cup
of tea."

She smiled again, this time a little more happily, and without any
further attempt at talking I piloted her through the rest of the
shrubbery and opened the iron gate which led on to the lawn.  The
vague outline of the roof and chimneys were just visible opposite.

"That's my ancestral home," I said.  "Unfortunately it's not looking
its best to-day."

Christine made no reply; she had let go my arm and stood quite still
beside me, gazing ahead into the mist with a strange and eager
interest.

"One mustn't grumble though," I added philosophically.  "After all,
if it wasn't for the fog you wouldn't be here."

We set out across the grass, and, just as we were approaching the
verandah, I suddenly remembered that I had bolted the front door on
the inside.  I did not want to take Christine to the back entrance,
for fear that she might catch sight of Bascomb digging the grave.  It
would be a gruesome discovery to run up against unexpectedly,
especially for anyone whose nerves were already strained almost
beyond the point of endurance.

"If you don't mind waiting here a couple of seconds," I said, "I'll
slip round and let you in.  The place is locked up, and my man will
probably be out in the garden."

"I shall be all right," she said.  "It was only the trees that made
me fed a little creepy."

Leaving her where she was, I hurried along the verandah, and turned
off down the side walk which led past the kitchen window.  Directly I
got round the corner I heard the sound of Bascomb's spade, but it was
not until I was within a few feet of him that his figure suddenly
emerged from the mist.  He was standing beside a large hole, peering
forward in the direction of the path.

"How are you getting on?" I asked, pulling up short.

"It's pretty nigh finished," he answered slowly.  "I've put 'im down
deep, so as 'e can lie quiet without bein' shifted."

I looked over into the grave, which was already partly filled in.

"Well, there's no need to hurry," I said.  "I've brought someone back
with me, but we shan't want anything except a cup of tea, and I can
get that myself."

If he felt any curiosity about my guest he certainly did not show it.

"Aye," he remarked indifferently.  "You won't 'ave no trouble about
that.  The kettle's on the fire, an' there's a jug o' milk in the
larder."

He turned to his work again, and, resuming my way to the back of the
house, I passed in through the kitchen.

I took a strange delight in opening the front door and seeing
Christine step in over the threshold.  At that moment everything
about her seemed to become real to me in a way that it had never been
before.  I had a sort of feeling that we had suddenly escaped from
some fantastic melodrama, and were alone together in the actual world
for the first time.

She looked round, an almost childish pleasure in her brown eyes.

"It's charming," she exclaimed.  "It's the kind of room one would
never want to go out of."

"That's how it strikes me just at present," I said.  "Come and sit
down in front of the fire.  You'll have time to get nice and dry
while I make the tea."

She crossed the room, and, sinking down with a little sigh of
contentment in one of the easy chairs, stretched out her hands
towards the hearth.

For a second or two I stood watching her, too happy to move; then,
wrenching my mind back to practical affairs, I started off
unwillingly towards the kitchen.

It did not take me long to collect what I wanted.  The kettle was
already full of hot water, as Bascomb had told me, and while it was
boiling I wandered into the larder, and ran to earth an appetising
looking cake and a new tin of dessert biscuits.  Returning with my
spoils, I filled up the teapot, and then, having set everything out
on a tray, I carried it carefully into the hall.

Christine examined the result of my labours with evident approval.

"I'm so glad you've got a good tea," she said.  "I've had nothing to
eat since breakfast."

"In that case," I answered, "we'll feed first and talk afterwards.
One can't be empty and eloquent at the same time."

I sat down beside her and took control of the proceedings, sternly
insisting upon her carrying out my orders.  It was not until she had
finished her third cup and successfully demolished two large slices
of cake that I would listen to the faintest protest, by which time
the colour had come back into her cheeks, and she was looking an
altogether different being.

"That's splendid," I remarked approvingly.  "Now you shall have a
cigarette, and I'll tell you how it was that I happened to come
butting in just at the right moment.  You had better let me explain
first; then we shall know exactly where we are."

She nodded her agreement, and, accepting a cigarette from the case
which I offered her, sank back again in the chair with her head
against the cushions.

I was much too impatient for her side of the story to waste any
unnecessary words over my own.  At the same time I felt it was vital
to omit nothing which might be of real importance, so I began with a
rapid description of Manning's visit to the island.

I told her all about our midnight adventures in the hall, and of how
he had made a special point of my coming to see him on the barge;
then, after explaining the reason for my sudden trip to London, I
gave her a short but faithful account of everything that had happened
since.

It was easy to see from the look of indignant horror in her eyes that
she had known nothing about the death of Satan.  She listened to me,
however, in absolute silence, her face alone betraying the intense
interest with which she was following every syllable.  Even when I
had finished she still sat there for a moment without speaking, as
though trying to puzzle out the full significance of all she had just
heard.  At last she straightened herself in the chair, and threw away
the half-smoked cigarette which she had been holding between her
fingers.

"I have treated you very unfairly," she said in a low voice.  "I
ought to have told you the truth that day at Shalston.  If anything
had happened to you it would have been entirely my fault."

"Oh, that's nonsense," I declared.  "You're not responsible for your
relations any more than I am.  Providence just dumped them on us, and
we've got to make the best of it."

There was a moment's pause.

"I wonder how much you have guessed," she said.  "I wonder if you
have any idea of my uncle's real reasons for coming to England."

"I've got some notions on the subject," I admitted.  "They're a
little muddled, because I can't quite fit in our friend Dr. Manning.
For a comparative stranger he appears to have rather an important
part in the show."

With the shadow of a smile on her lips she leaned forward.

"If you tell me what you know," she said, "the rest will be easier
for me to explain."

"Well, from what I've gathered one way and another," I began, "I
should say that it was the late lamented Mr. Richard Jannaway who was
responsible for the whole trouble.  He was always a bad hat; in fact,
the only decent thing he ever did in his life was to die without
making a will.  I know he was in South America for years, and it
looks to me as if he'd managed to run up pretty badly against your
uncle.  He probably played the old boy some dog's trick, and Señor de
Roda, being a gentleman of spirit, naturally determined to get level
with him.  Unless I'm much mistaken, that's how it is that you come
to be sitting here at the present moment."

She nodded encouragingly.

"Now I begin to lose my bearings," I confessed.  "How Manning shoved
himself in is a point that's been worrying me ever since I saw you
together outside 'The Laurels.'  I made certain at first that he must
be working for your uncle, but when you told me that neither of you
had met him until you arrived in England I didn't know what on earth
to think.  I've turned it over pretty thoroughly since then, and I've
come to the conclusion that there must be some secret about Greensea
which is distinctly worth knowing.  It's my belief that Manning got
on to the track of it while he was staying on the island.  He
probably discovered that you were mixed up with it too, and for
reasons of his own he decided to join forces.  I've no doubt that
he's playing a double game, and I shouldn't wonder if you both shared
my opinion.  It was probably a case of your having no choice in the
matter.  When you found out how much he knew you had to take him into
partnership, whether you liked it or not."

Christine pushed the hair off her forehead, and looked at me with a
curious expression.

"It's really rather extraordinary," she said slowly.  "If you were a
wizard or a fortune teller or something of that sort, you could
hardly have got nearer the truth."

I acknowledged her compliment with a slight bow.

"Thank you," I said; "you've restored my self-respect.  Dr. Manning
told me I was a fool, and I should have been horribly depressed if I
thought you shared his opinion."

"Dr. Manning thinks everyone is a fool except himself," she answered.
"It's the only mistake I have ever known him to make."

"Most clever scoundrels have the same delusion," I assured her.
"That's what keeps half the criminal barristers in practice."

Christine lit another cigarette, and sat for a moment staring into
the fire, as if trying to arrange her thoughts.  At last she turned
towards me.

"Do you know that your uncle once went under the name of Stephen
Gardiner?" she asked.

"No," I said, "I didn't know, but I can quite believe it.  I should
think he was the sort of gentleman who had probably had half a dozen
names."  I paused.  "Where did you come across him first?" I asked.

"At Rio, two years before the war," she answered.

"What, Rio in Brazil?" I asked

She nodded.  "We were living there then.  My uncle had a big ranch
about twenty miles outside the town, and of course he knew nearly
everybody.  At that time the whole of Brazil was in a frightful state
of dissatisfaction.  There was a great deal of feeling against the
President, Gomez, who had been in for years and years, and Uncle
Philip was one of the leading people who were trying to turn him out.
It was through this that he and your uncle became friends."

"But what on earth had my uncle got to do with it?" I demanded.  "He
was an Englishman and a stranger, and I should think he must have had
a pretty rotten reputation even then."

"I can't tell you that," she said.  "I was only sixteen, and
naturally they didn't talk about things in front of me.  I suppose
that somehow or other he had managed to make himself useful to them;
anyhow, I know they all trusted him absolutely."

"They seem to have been a nice confiding lot," I observed.  "I
wouldn't mind betting they paid for it too."

She smiled mirthlessly.  "Yes," she said, "they paid for it.  I
daresay you remember what happened; there must have been some account
in the English papers."

I shook my head.  "I wasn't reading the papers just then," I
explained.  "I was chasing about the Pacific learning to be a sailor."

"Everything that we had planned was betrayed to the Government," she
said fiercely.  "There was to be a general rising in Rio early one
morning while the soldiers were asleep in their barracks.  It was
almost certain that if our people could seize the public buildings
and capture the President the whole thing would be practically over.
A great many of the troops were friendly, and the rest would have
been quiet enough as soon as they heard that Gomez was a prisoner.
That was only part of the plot, however.  About a hundred miles up
the Amazon there's a place called Cinatti.  It's close to two or
three big diamond mines which belong to the Government, and all the
stones are collected and sorted there before they come down to Rio.
Our people had found out through one of the sorters that a specially
valuable lot would be sent off on the very morning that was fixed for
the revolution.  We wanted money badly, and Uncle Philip and several
of the others decided that the best plan was to attack the train
before it reached the capital.  They knew that it would mean some
terrible fighting, because the stones are always sent down under a
strong military guard, but there was no difficulty in finding dozens
of men who were quite ready to risk their lives.  One of the first
people chosen was Stephen Gardiner.  He was appointed second in
command, so that if anything happened to Uncle Philip he would be in
charge of the party."

She paused, and drew in a deep breath.

"There were twenty-five of them altogether," she went on quietly.
"They met just before midnight at the place which had been agreed
upon.  It was where the train had to cross a bridge over a deep
gully.  They blew away part of the bridge with dynamite, and hid
themselves as well as they could on both sides of the line.  When the
train came along of course the driver saw what had happened.  He
pulled up, and directly the engine stopped Uncle Philip gave the
signal.  He was badly wounded himself almost as soon as he jumped out
of the bushes, but about twenty of the others managed to reach the
cars.  There was a dreadful fight for a minute or two; then the
officer in command of the guard was killed by a bullet, and after
that the soldiers must have lost their heads.  Anyhow, half of them
threw down their guns, and the rest gave in to save their own lives."

"They would," I said; "it's a habit with all South-American
regulars."  I pushed away the tray, and leaned forward with my arms
on the table.  "What about the diamonds?" I asked.

"Oh, the diamonds were there," she answered, in the same curiously
level voice.  "They were packed in two sealed boxes, and they were a
magnificent lot of stones.  One of the men who knew something about
jewels put their value at a hundred thousand pounds.  As a matter of
fact, he was altogether wrong.  They were worth double that amount."

I whistled gently.  "And de Roda being knocked out," I said, "Mr.
Stephen Gardiner was in charge of the proceedings?"

She made a gesture of assent.

"Go on," I added grimly.  "Tell me what happened."

"By the time the soldiers had surrendered," she said, "Uncle Philip
had lost consciousness.  Three of the others were dead and six or
seven badly wounded.  This man, Gardiner, divided the party into two.
He left ten of them behind to look after their friends, and rode off
towards Rio with the other five, taking the diamonds with him.  No
one dreamed that there was anything wrong.  Gardiner had fought as
bravely as anybody, and they all imagined that when they got to Rio
they would find our people in control of the town."

Her voice shook, and for just an instant she seemed to be on the
point of breaking down.

"As a matter of fact," she continued, with a kind of desperate
calmness, "they were riding straight to their death.  At the last
moment everything we had planned had been betrayed to Gomez.  He had
brought troops secretly into all the public buildings, and when our
people came out into the streets they were shot down like dogs before
they could move a step.  Six hundred of them were killed in less than
ten minutes.  Gomez had given orders that there should be no
prisoners, and the soldiers went on firing at the wounded until there
wasn't a soul left alive."

"And I suppose my infernal uncle was at the bottom of the whole
business?" I broke in.

"You can judge for yourself," she answered.  "When he and the other
five reached the town they found troops everywhere.  In the very
first street they came to they were held up by a patrol.  Before
anyone quite realised what was happening Gardiner rode forward and
said something to the officer in command.  They let him through at
once, and he galloped away up the street, leaving the rest behind
him.  Some of our men tried to shoot him, but they were too late.
Directly he was past the soldiers opened fire and--"  She broke off
with a little mute gesture that needed no further words.

"My God!  What a swine!" I exclaimed.  "Do you mean to say he led all
his friends to their death, and then handed the stones over to Gomez?"

She laughed again in the same mirthless fashion as before.  "You are
doing him an injustice," she said.  "Anybody can be a traitor to his
friends; it takes a genius to betray the other side as well."  She
paused a moment, her curious dark eyes fixed steadily on mine.
"Gomez knew nothing about the attack on the train," she went on.
"For once in his life he had met a man who was even more cunning and
wicked than himself.  Your uncle had sold him all the rest of our
plans, but had kept that part an absolute secret.  When the patrol
let him pass they thought that he was going straight to the
President.  He had promised Gomez to bring in news of what was
happening outside the town, but instead of doing that he galloped his
horse down to the harbour, where he had a motor-boat waiting for him.
Before they discovered the truth he was six miles out to sea, with
the diamonds on board.  That was the last that anyone in Brazil ever
saw of Mr. Stephen Gardiner."

"Well I'm damned!" I remarked without thinking.  Then, feeling that
an apology would be rather futile, I leaned across and took her hand,
which was resting on the corner of the chair.  "And de Roda and the
others, Christine," I said.  "What happened to them?"

"Three of them were shot the next day," she answered.  "They were the
lucky ones.  Uncle Philip and the rest were flung into prison at Rio.
You can probably guess how they were treated.  When Gomez died six
years later Uncle Philip was the only one left alive.  Almost the
first thing the new President did was to release him, but it was too
late to be of much service.  He came out so terribly changed that
none of his friends recognised him.  He had been starved and tortured
until his brain and body had almost given way.  He had one idea
only--one idea that had been burning into his mind night and day for
all those six dreadful years--revenge on the man who had betrayed
him."

"I can imagine his feelings," I said with considerable sympathy.
"But how the dickens did he find out where my uncle had hidden
himself?"

"It wasn't easy," she admitted.  "Gomez had offered an enormous
reward to anyone who could arrest him and get back the stones, but
although the police in Europe had been on the look-out, they had
never been able to discover the slightest trace of him.  In the end
it was just pure chance.  A few of our friends had escaped after the
revolution, and amongst them was a man called da Silva.  He had
settled down in London, and one day, when he was out walking, he saw
your uncle on the other side of the street.  Although it was nearly
seven years since they had met he recognised him at once.

"Some people, I suppose, would have given him up to the police, in
the hope of getting part of the reward which was still on offer.  Da
Silva was not that sort of man.  He followed your uncle back to where
he was living, and then very secretly and carefully he set about
making enquiries.  When he had found out everything he wanted, he
wrote and told Uncle Philip."

"I wonder if the old ruffian guessed that he'd been spotted," I said.
"If he did, that would explain why he shut himself up here."

She shook her head.  "He was already trying to buy the island.  I
think he must have seen in the paper that Uncle Philip had been let
out of prison."

I suddenly remembered what Bascomb had told me the night we talked
together in the hall.

"You're right, Christine," I said.  "That's what happened beyond a
doubt, and I don't wonder he got the wind up.  It must have been
rather like reading one's own death-warrant."

"I hope it was," she said mercilessly.  "I should like to be sure
that he suffered before he died.  When I think of the way he escaped
us I sometimes feel that there's no justice in the world."

"But surely you knew he was dead before you started from Brazil?" I
interrupted.  "Your friend da Silva had plenty of time to write to
you."

"We never heard from da Silva again," she said.  "Three weeks after
he sent his first letter he was killed in that big railway accident
at Croydon.  Until you spoke to me on the boat we both believed that
Gardiner was alive."

"Good Lord!" I exclaimed.  "No wonder you were a bit flabbergasted."

"It was the thought of Uncle Philip that upset me most.  You see, it
was impossible for me to tell him then, and I felt certain that he
would never get over the shock and disappointment when he found out
for himself."

"But how about you?" I asked curiously.  "Wasn't it rather a relief
to know that you were too late?  You can't take the law into your own
hands in this country without paying for it pretty heavily."

"Do you suppose that mattered?" she demanded.  "Do you think I cared
what happened to me as long as Gardiner was punished?  Why, rather
than see him escape I would have killed him myself!"

"I believe you would," I said, with genuine admiration.  Then,
lighting another cigarette, I added: "How long was it before de Roda
discovered the truth?"

"It was two days after we landed.  Directly we came ashore he left me
at an hotel and went straight to da Silva's address.  He had been
very puzzled at not hearing again and getting no answer to his
letters, but of course when he found out what had happened it
explained everything.  Da Silva had told us about Greensea Island in
his first letter, however, so the next morning Uncle Phillip motored
down here to make enquiries.  The first thing he learned was that
Gardiner was dead."

"How did he take it?" I enquired

"He seemed almost stunned when he came back.  He sat all the evening
without saying a word, and, although I did my best to comfort him, I
don't think he even heard what I said.  It was not until the next
morning that he told me he had taken a lease of 'The Laurels.'  I
didn't bother him with any questions, but from the way he spoke I
felt sure he believed that the diamonds, or what was left of them,
were still hidden on the island.  By this time he had got a kind of
half-insane conviction that they were his own property."

"I am inclined to agree with him," I said.  "Anyhow, I'd a jolly
sight rather he had them than the Brazilian Government."  I paused.
"Had he tumbled across the fact of my existence?" I asked.

"Not then," she replied.  "Nobody down here had any idea of what
would happen to the property.  I was the only one who knew, and that
was why I asked you to meet me that day in Bond Street.  I was afraid
that directly Uncle Philip learned the truth he would suspect you of
having the stones.  You were Gardiner's nephew too, and in the queer
state he was in that alone was quite enough to put your life in
danger."

"You've acted like a brick all through, Christine," I said gratefully.

"I only did what anyone else would have done," she went on hurriedly.
"I felt you ought to be warned, but at the time I little guessed the
real state of affairs."  She stopped, with a queer expression in her
brown eyes.  "You see, it was not until two days later that I first
met Dr. Manning."

"Ah!" I said softly.  "Now we're getting to the part in which I take
a rather particular interest."

"I heard about him from the people at the inn," she continued.  "I
wanted to find out the address of some medical man in case Uncle
Philip was ill, so I called in at the Gunner's Arms the morning after
we arrived and asked the landlord's advice.  He told me that there
was no practising doctor nearer than Torrington, but that if I wanted
anyone in a hurry he had no doubt that Dr. Manning would come at
once.  That very night my uncle had one of his worst heart attacks.
The only other person in the house was an old Frenchwoman we had
brought with us from London.  I sent her to the barge with a note,
and Dr. Manning got up, dressed, and came along immediately."  She
laughed again, even more bitterly than before.  "I remember thinking
at the time how extraordinarily kind it was of him."

"Yes," I said.  "He's very obliging in cases of that sort."

"When I look back now," she went on, "it seems a sort of crowning
irony that I should have asked him to the house myself.  Not that it
really made the least difference."

"He knew, of course?" I interrupted.  "I suppose he had found out
while he was on the island?"

She nodded.  "Your uncle had been delirious for two days, and he had
evidently betrayed himself a dozen times over.  I think what he said
must have been all very broken and confused, but it had been enough
for Dr. Manning.  He had guessed that the stones were hidden there,
and he had made up his mind to get hold of them."

"Had he any idea that Señor de Roda was in the same line of
business?" I asked.

"He suspected it certainly," she replied.  "Your uncle must have
mentioned the name, and no doubt he had put two and two together.  He
was only waiting his time.  If I hadn't sent for him that night he
would probably have come to see us next day."

"But what was his object?" I demanded.  "From what I've seen of him I
should have thought his one idea would have been to get in first and
cut you out."

"So it was," she said.  "Thanks chiefly to you, however, he was up
against a blank wall.  He had had no chance of searching the place
properly while he was there, because Bascomb was always watching him,
and when you refused to sell the island that finished everything."

"It certainly came very near to finishing me," I observed grimly.  "I
suppose there's no doubt that it was either he or Craill who shoved
me into the dock."

"It was Craill," she observed.  "He is only half-witted, but he's
horribly cunning and dangerous, and absolutely under Manning's
influence."

"A jolly sort of pair to have as next-door neighbours," I remarked.
"And what was the doctor's actual proposition?  He must have been
counting on some pretty effectual help from you if he was ready to go
shares."

"I think he had an idea that we knew where the stones were," she
replied.  "When he discovered he was wrong it was too late for him to
draw back.  Besides, he had no wish to then.  He saw that he could do
just as he pleased with Uncle Philip, and--and--"  She hesitated as
if half unwilling to go on.

"You needn't explain, Christine," I said.  "I've seen something of
what you've had to put up with."

"Oh, it was horrible," she whispered, "but what could I do?  My uncle
seemed to have no will of his own left.  He believed everything that
Manning told him, and in a few days he hated you quite as bitterly as
he had ever hated Gardiner.  I felt sure they intended to kill you,
and the only way in which I could be of any help was by trying to
keep on friendly terms with both of them.  Even as it was, Manning
never trusted me altogether."

"What are their present plans, as far as you know?" I asked.

"Unless I am wrong," she said slowly, "they mean to attack the house
at once, while you and Bascomb are alone here.  I believe that on the
night Manning stayed with you he found out, or thinks he found out,
exactly where the diamonds are hidden.  He came to see us the next
day, and I could tell from his manner that he was extraordinarily
pleased and excited about something.  After a long talk Uncle Philip
went away to Harwich the same evening.  He told me he would probably
send me a wire, and that if he did I was to take it over to Dr.
Manning at once.  It arrived about twelve o'clock this morning."

"What on earth took your uncle to Harwich?" I enquired curiously.

"I don't know for certain.  I think, from one or two things I
overheard, that he wanted to buy a boat.  The telegram was probably
to say that he had got it."

"That looks like business, anyhow," I remarked.  "I suppose that if
they find the stones they mean to make a straight line for the
Continent."  I paused.  "When do you think I can expect the honour of
a visit?" I asked.  "To-night?"

"It will be very soon, anyhow," she answered.  "I believe they are
only waiting until my uncle comes back.  Unless everything had been
arranged, Manning would never have behaved as he did this afternoon.

"He wouldn't have poisoned Satan either," I added.  "It would have
been a mad thing to do if he wasn't prepared to follow it up at
once."  I rose from my chair and took two or three paces up and down
the room.  Then I halted just in front of her.  "Christine," I said
desperately, "there's only one way out of this infernal mess.  Stay
with me, and let them do just what they like.  I am expecting Bobby
Dean here to-morrow, and he and Bascomb can take charge of the place
while we go up to London and get married.  After that I don't care a
damn what happens.  De Roda can have all the diamonds in the world as
far as I'm concerned."

Her lips moved, but before she could speak I went down on my knees
and put my arms round her.

"I love you, darling," I whispered.  "I have loved you with all my
heart and soul ever since you came on board the _Neptune_.  There
isn't----"

"Ah, no, no," she interrupted.  "Don't--please!  You make it so much
harder."  Then with a little heart-broken sob she suddenly pressed
her face against mine, and I felt both our cheeks wet with her tears.

"Why not, Christine?" I pleaded.  "You have done everything you can."

"It's my uncle," she said pitifully.  "He has no one in the world
except me."

"But you can't go back after what has happened to-day?" I exclaimed.
"Even if Manning believes that my coming to the barge was pure
chance, he knows that I took you away in my boat, and he's simply
bound to suspect you.  He is sure to tell your uncle, and with a
madman like de Roda----"

"I am not afraid," she broke in.  "However mad Uncle Philip is, he
would never hurt me.  Oh, my dear, I would stay if I could, I would
stay with you so gladly, but when I think of all he has suffered, how
can I leave him now just when he needs me most?"

"You think of everyone except yourself," I cried hotly.  "I wish to
God I'd killed Manning on the barge.  To feel that you may be alone
in the house with that devil----"

She placed her hand softly on my shoulder.  "I shall be quite safe,"
she said.  "Most likely Uncle Philip will come back this evening, and
in any case there is always Marie.  She is kind to me in her way.  If
I couldn't leave the house I am sure she would take a note for me to
Jimmy, so you see there's really no need for you to be anxious or
worried on my account.  It's you who are in such dreadful danger."

"What, with Bascomb here and Bobby Dean turning up in the morning?" I
exclaimed.  "Why, if I can't take care of my own skin with the help
of a prize-fighter and a V.C.--"  I stopped short, as a sudden
difficulty occurred to me.  "How about Bobby?" I added.  "So far I
haven't even mentioned your name to him.  He is under the impression
that the whole affair is a little private speculation of Dr.
Manning's."

"You will have to tell him the truth," she said "It's too late to
keep anything back."  She glanced up at the clock above the
fireplace; then, bending forward, she took my face between her hands,
and looked long and tenderly into my eyes.  "I must go, dear," she
whispered; "you must take me back to Pen Mill and put me ashore.  I
daren't stay any longer, in case my uncle comes back unexpectedly."

Every instinct I possessed rose up in revolt, but, all the same, I
saw that any further protest would be useless.  For a moment I knelt
there, holding her in my arms, and studying every curve of her
beautiful face.  Then, hungry with love, I crushed her still closer
to my heart, and once again our lips met in a long, passionate kiss.




CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It was in a far from enviable state of mind that I pulled back alone
across the estuary after parting with Christine at Pen Mill.

By her own wish I had landed her at the extreme point of the jetty,
where, with a whispered farewell, she had climbed ashore and
disappeared silently into the mist, leaving me the prey of all sorts
of conflicting emotions.

My chief feeling was one of anger with myself for not having
prevented her from carrying out her reckless determination.  How I
could have done so it was difficult to see, but if there was any
comfort to be drawn from that fact I certainly failed to discover it.
Once more she was beyond the reach of my help, and, in spite of all
her efforts to make light of the danger, I knew that the horrible
misgivings which assailed my heart were only too well grounded.

Locking up the dinghy in its shed, I made my way back through the
shrubbery and let myself into the house.  A good fire was still
burning away brightly on the hearth, and our teacups and plates were
scattered about the table just as we had left them.  I thought of
ringing for Bascomb and telling him to clear away, but a sudden
disinclination to see anyone checked my purpose.  I walked across to
the fireplace, and, thrusting an empty pipe between my teeth, dropped
down again into my customary chair.

There I sat, thinking over Christine's story.  She had told it so
simply and naturally that even at the time I had felt a curious
absence of surprise.  Strange as the truth was, it had, too, only
confirmed my own belief that somewhere far back in Mr. Richard
Jannaway's chequered past lay the real source of all my present
troubles.  And yet, judged by any conceivable standard of the quiet
English countryside about us, what an amazing tale it was!  That
bloody massacre in the sunlit streets of Rio, the long untiring
search for vengeance, the death of my uncle at the very moment when
an implacable fate was closing in about him--it all seemed more like
the plot of some fantastic drama than a real sequence of actual
events in which I was intimately and urgently concerned.

For de Roda himself I felt nothing but the most profound pity.  I
knew something of South American prisons, and I could well imagine
the horrors of that six years' purgatory.  To have come through it
alive, and then at the last hour to have been cheated out of his
revenge, was, in my eyes at least, quite sufficient to excuse the
slight trace of homicidal mania with which he appeared to be
afflicted.

It was no doubt chiefly due to the diabolical prompting of Manning
that he had begun to confuse me with the original object of his
hatred.  The more I learned about things the more I became convinced
that under the easy manner and smiling face of my next-door neighbour
there lurked one of the cleverest and most ruthless criminal brains
that was ever destined for a medical museum.  His popularity in the
district, and the entire absence of suspicion with which everyone
seemed to regard him, only served to strengthen my belief.  I
wondered much what his past history had really been, and whether
Inspector Campbell's researches would have any practical result.
There had been an air of quiet assurance about that stolid Scotsman
which had inspired me with considerable hope, and as the memory of
his determined chin and his shrewd grey eyes rose up in my mind, I
suddenly realised that the time had come when I should be well
advised to take him fully into my confidence.  After all, de Roda had
committed no crime against the laws of England.  If we could get him
out of Manning's clutches he might yet be made to realise that
instead of seeking to rob him I was only too anxious to lend him a
helping hand.  Of course he could not be allowed to walk off with the
diamonds, much as I sympathised with his view on the subject.  Still,
if what Christine had told me were correct, the present Brazilian
Government would doubtless be prepared to fork out a handsome reward
for their recovery, and that would at least provide some compensation
for all the shabby tricks that fate had played him.

For my part, I wanted nothing in the world except Christine.  Some
men are so constituted that they are able to fall in love half a
dozen times, while with others every emotional capacity seems to
store itself up for one supreme experience.  It had been so in my own
case.  Until then the remarkable state of ecstasy, in which at
various times I had seen several of my friends engulfed, had always
struck me as being a little difficult to account for.  I was no
longer troubled by this apparent problem.  My heart thrilled with a
strange, inexpressible happiness, which not even my anxiety for
Christine's safety was able to destroy.  Everything which had been
missing in life seemed suddenly to have come to me, and, almost
forgetting the danger in which we still stood, I allowed my fancies
to drift out into that golden future where lovers have wandered from
the very dawn of time.

How long I lay there day-dreaming I really cannot say.  I know that I
was brought back to earth by the fall of a burned-out log, and,
looking up at the clock, I saw to my surprise that the time was close
on a quarter to seven.  It struck me as curious that Bascomb had not
yet been in to clear away the tea things, for such an oversight was
altogether contrary to his usual methodical habits.  Wondering what
he was doing, I roused myself out of my chair and crossed the hall to
the baize door.  I called his name twice, and then, as he failed to
answer, I walked along the passage as far as the kitchen.  There was
no sign of him there, nor did my investigations in the scullery and
pantry produce any better result.

With a vague feeling of uneasiness I made my way to the back
entrance, which I found unlocked, and stepped out into the garden.

"Bascomb!" I shouted.  "Bascomb!"

Once more a complete silence was my only reply.

Puzzled, and not a little upset, I stood peering out into the fog,
which still shrouded everything in impenetrable gloom.  Unless he had
gone down to the boat-house I could not imagine where on earth he had
got to, for if he were anywhere close at hand he must certainly have
heard me calling.  It was so unlike him, however, to disappear in
this fashion, just when he ought to have been preparing dinner, that
all my former doubts as to whether he was quite in his right senses
came back to me with renewed vigour.

Having pondered over the situation for a few moments, I decided that
the best thing to do was to go out at once and have a look for him.
It was not a particularly inviting prospect, but, on the other hand,
the evening was closing in rapidly, and it would soon be too dark to
see one's way about.  So, stepping back into the house, I picked up a
cap from the hall table, and then, after carefully closing and
locking the back door, I once more climbed over the railings, and
started off to grope my way along the shrubbery path.

By the time I reached the small iron gate which lead out on to the
foreshore I was beginning to feel uncommonly anxious.  I passed
through this, letting it clang noisily behind me, and before I had
taken another half dozen paces the low roof of the boathouse suddenly
loomed into view.

The first thing that caught my attention was the door.  Instead of
being shut, as I had left it, it was now wide open, and, naturally
concluding that Bascomb must be inside, I walked towards it with a
considerable feeling of relief.

A moment later I was standing on the threshold staring blankly in
front of me.  The place was as empty as a barn.  Not only was there
no trace of Bascomb, but in addition to that the dinghy itself was
also missing.

I don't know why it had not occurred to me till then that he might
have gone ashore, but somehow or other the discovery took me utterly
by surprise.  During the whole time that I had been on the island he
had never yet left me alone without first coming to ask my
permission, and I suppose I had begun to regard this as a kind of
inevitable rite.  At least I can think of no other way to account for
the sensation of aggrieved astonishment with which I remained there
gazing round the deserted shed.

Being eventually struck by the futility of my proceedings, I came out
on to the landing-stage, and stepped forward to the very edge of the
water.  In all directions a solid blanket of grey mist stretched
before my eyes, while, except for the sound of my own footsteps,
everything was as silent as the grave.

That Bascomb should have deserted me in this extraordinary fashion
was a thing which even now I found it hard to believe.  There was
only one conclusion to be drawn from the evidence, however, and that
was that as soon as he had heard me return he had slipped away
quietly with the extra key of the boat-house and had gone off alone
in the dinghy.  Why he should have chosen my dinner-time for his
excursion was a mystery, but, queer as he might be, I felt convinced
that he must have had some very definite purpose at the back of his
mind.

I tried to put myself in his place, and all of a sudden a startling
but far from impossible idea suggested itself.  Supposing he had gone
to the barge!  Supposing that, in his mad fury at the death of Satan,
he had set off single-handed to try to wreak his vengeance upon
Manning and Craill!

Straining my eyes, I stared vainly through the mist in the direction
he would have taken.  If I were right there was no saying what
cheerful work might even now be in full swing, for I knew enough of
all the three principal actors to be quite certain that none of them
would stick at trifles, and yet, without a boat, I was powerless to
interfere.  Until Bascomb returned or somebody else came over from
Pen Mill I was as much a prisoner as Napoleon on St. Helena.

At the very moment when this unpleasant truth was forcing itself into
my mind the almost uncanny stillness was broken by a low whistle.  I
turned round sharply, and then six times in quick succession the same
sound repeated itself from somewhere close about me.  It was the call
of a whimbrel--that queer, mournful note which, according to every
fisherman along the east coast, is the sure herald of death or
disaster.

For a sailor I don't think I am particularly superstitious.  All the
same, there was something so weird and ominous in that unexpected cry
that just for an instant I felt as if a cold hand had suddenly been
placed against my heart.  Then, by a big effort, I managed to pull
myself together.  With a kind of impatient anger at my own idiocy I
stepped down off the landing-stage, and, walking back to the
boat-house, had another look at the interior.

There was nothing further to be learned there.  Bascomb and the
dinghy had both vanished beyond a doubt, and the only thing I could
do was to await their return with such philosophy as I had at my
command.  After all, it was just possible that he had crossed over to
Pen Mill.  In view of his somewhat distracting day, he might have
overlooked the fact that we were short of food, and have hurried off
to remedy the deficiency at the last possible moment.  I can't say I
had very much faith in this conjecture, but it did at least provide
me with a gleam of hope.  Anyhow, having once more closed the door, I
abandoned the shed to its own desolation, and set off in a shade
better spirits on my return journey to the house.

The first thing I did on getting back into the hall was to go to the
sideboard and mix myself a drink.  I have always found that I can
bear suspense better with the aid of a good stiff whisky and soda--a
peculiarity which I share with Bobby Dean and most of my naval
acquaintances.  Carrying the tumbler to the hearth, I placed it
within convenient reach upon a neighbouring table, and then, having
thrown another log upon the fire, I sat down deliberately to wait
upon events.

For the best part of an hour I maintained my solitary vigil, the only
interruption being the chiming of the clock, which hammered out every
quarter with what sounded to me like a kind of malicious amusement.
I bore it doggedly until close on half-past eight, by which time I
had begun to feel so devilish empty that my stock of patience was
rapidly exhausting itself.  It was long past my usual dinner hour,
and the experiences I had been through that afternoon were scarcely
the sort to blunt the edge of a naturally healthy appetite.

A tour of inspection to the larder resulted in the discovery of half
a cold chicken which had apparently been left over from my last meal.
In addition to this I also succeeded in routing out a stale loaf and
a promising-looking Cheddar cheese.  Though not quite up to my usual
standard, it was a good enough banquet for a really hungry man, so
without bothering about a table-cloth or any other superfluous
details, I carried the whole lot back to the hall, and settled down
to repair my wasted energies.

By the time I had finished nine o'clock had already struck.  Except
for the flickering gleam of the fire I should long ago have been in
complete darkness, and, feeling that a little extra illumination
would not be amiss, I got up to light the lamp.  Before doing so,
however, I took the precaution of closing the shutters.  In the
absence of Satan anyone could steal up to the verandah without being
detected, and it would be a sideways sort of ending to be shot
through the window just when my affairs seemed to be approaching a
really interesting climax.

Having guarded against the possibility of this disaster, I proceeded
to make myself comfortable for the evening.  Tired as I was, I had no
intention of going to bed as long as there was any reasonable chance
of Bascomb's return.  Even if I did so, I should certainly be unable
to sleep, and I should probably have the additional joy of being
hauled out in the middle of the night in order to unbolt the door and
let him into the house.

So, providing myself with one of Uncle Richard's biggest cigars, I
refilled my glass again, and wheeled the sofa round in front of the
fire.  Then, taking Manning's revolver out of my pocket, I laid it
carefully on the table beside my tumbler.  Although its original
owner might still be too indisposed to threaten any immediate danger,
there were always Craill and de Roda to be considered.  Either of
them might take it into his head to pay me a surprise call, and,
mentally afflicted as I believed them both to be, they were the sort
of visitors for whom it was just as well to be fully prepared.

The warmth and stillness of the room soon began to affect me with
such a pleasant sense of drowsiness that I found some difficulty in
keeping myself awake.  In order to assist in the process, I started
going over again in my own mind the whole tangled skein of events
which had led up to the present crisis.  It was an interesting
exercise, and, apart from that, it served a double purpose.  I was
determined to make a clean breast of everything to Bobby the next
morning, and, if his advice was to be of any value, it was highly
essential that the version I gave him should be an absolutely correct
and unprejudiced one.

Ten, eleven, and twelve all struck in turn, but outside the house the
silence of the night remained unbroken by the faintest sound or
movement.  Towards one o'clock my desire for sleep became positively
overwhelming.  By this time any hope I had ever had of Bascomb's
putting in an appearance had practically ceased to exist, and it
seemed worse than useless to tire myself out to no purpose just when
I might need every ounce of energy and intelligence that I could
possibly rake together.

I debated for a moment as to whether I should go upstairs and get
into bed.  The prospect had its attractions, but, on the other hand,
I felt extremely comfortable where I was, and from a strategic point
of view the position could hardly be improved upon.  As long as I
remained in the hall no one could break into the house without waking
me.  If I were fast asleep upstairs in my bedroom the odds would be
altogether in favour of the visitor, and since the safety of my
throat appeared to be the stake at issue, this consideration was
quite enough to turn the scale.

By an heroic effort I roused myself sufficiently to make a final
inspection of the back premises, in order to be quite certain that
all the window fastenings were properly hasped.  Satisfied on this
point I returned to my couch, and, taking off my collar and tie (the
only form of undressing that I attempted), I dropped back on to the
cushions with a little grunt of contentment.  I just remember seeing
the gleam of the lamp reflected on Manning's revolver, and then, as
far as I was concerned, that weapon and all the remaining troubles of
life were suddenly and completely blotted out of existence.

When I woke up again it was to find myself in semi-darkness.  The
lamp had gone out, and the only light there was filtered in dimly
through the cracks in the shutters.  Everything looked very cold and
depressing and for a minute or two I lay there staring vaguely round
the room, and wondering how long I had been asleep.

At last, with considerable reluctance, I sat up and pulled out my
watch.

I expected the time to be between six and seven, but to my utter
amazement the hands, which were just visible pointed distinctly to a
quarter past ten.  I thought at first that the damned thing must have
stopped, but on putting it to my ear I found that it was ticking away
merrily.

Thoroughly roused now, I scrambled to my feet, and, crossing to the
window, unbolted one of the shutters.  As I threw it back a flood of
daylight poured into the room, and an instinctive glance up at the
clock merely helped to confirm the previous verdict.

Under the circumstances the fact that I had managed to oversleep
myself was not without its comic side.  It was the sort of thing that
would tickle Bobby immensely, but, as far as I was concerned, there
were too many other pressing considerations to give my own sense of
humour a sporting chance.

Opening the window, I stepped out on to the verandah.  Though still
leaving a good deal to be desired, the weather had actually improved
during the night.  In place of the fog there was now only a thin
drifting mist, which barely obscured the opposite trees.  One or two
birds were chirping away in the shrubbery, while overhead a
lemon-coloured, watery-looking sun was striving bravely to make its
belated appearance.

Slightly cheered by these discoveries, I walked back into the hall.
Unless things were very much worse out at sea there was nothing to
prevent Bobby from running down the coast in his motor-launch.  It
would be necessary for him to go a bit carefully, of course.  Even
under such conditions, however, the passage was a comparatively short
one, and, provided he had been able to get away in good time, any
moment might bring him to the island.

Knowing Robert, it seemed to me that the sooner I fixed up something
in the way of breakfast the better.  He would probably have contented
himself with a cup of coffee before starting, and I could hardly
expect him to listen intelligently to a long story until he had
backed it up with a little solid nourishment.

As a first step towards this desired end I set about lighting the
fire.  It proved an evasive job, but, having at last persuaded it to
burn, I opened the remainder of the shutters and carted away the
debris of my previous night's feast.  Leaving this on the kitchen
table, I prowled off once more to the larder, where I had noticed a
basin of eggs during my former investigations.

Heaven knew how long they had been there, but it was no time for
indulging in any false delicacy.  I brought them into the hall,
together with a pot of marmalade and what was left of the bread and
butter, and then, after laying the table and putting on a kettle to
boil, I began to think with some favour of a well-earned wash and
shave.

I had actually reached the foot of the staircase when a sound from
outside pulled me up short.  It was the unmistakable clang of the
garden gate, and, hurrying towards the verandah, I saw to my delight
a sturdy figure in naval uniform advancing across the grass.

With a joyous shout I flung back the window and stepped forward to
meet him.

"This is splendid, Bobby," I said.  "You're just in time for
breakfast."

He came up to me, grinning cheerfully, and wrung my hand in a
double-fisted grip.

"I'm glad to hear it, my lad," he said, "and I'm still more glad to
see you looking so devilish well.  After your alarming note I
expected to find nothing but a nasty mess on the carpet."

"You were always an optimist," I remarked.  "Come along inside and
make yourself useful.  You can attend to the tea while I run upstairs
and have a wash and shave."

He followed me over the threshold, and, tossing his cap on to the
sofa, established himself in a comfortable position in front of the
fire.

"Where's that sunny-faced butler of yours?" he enquired.  "Doesn't he
like early rising?"

"For the time being," I replied, "Bascomb is off the map.  You shall
hear everything if you'll wait a minute, but it's a long yarn, and I
don't want to start telling you in bits and pieces."

"Right you are," he drawled.  "You bung along off and wash your face.
I'll look after the kettle and answer the front door."

Leaving him in the act of lighting a cigarette, I retired upstairs to
the bathroom, where with the aid of a cold swill and a hasty shave I
managed to make myself a little more presentable.

I got back to the hall just in time to catch Bobby emerging through
the baize door with a saucepan in his hand.

"You must excuse the liberty," he remarked, "but I couldn't find
anything to boil the eggs in."

"I am afraid we are a trifle disorganized," I confessed.  "The fact
is we have had a lot of trouble in the family in the last twenty-four
hours."  I paused.  "By the way," I added, "what have you done with
your crew?  I suppose you didn't come down here single handed?"

"I brought one chap with me," was the reply.  "I left him on board
down at the landing-stage.  He's all right.  He'll sit there on his
little behind until further orders."

I took the saucepan away from him and motioned him towards a chair.

"That's your programme also, old dear," I said.  "I'll finish getting
the breakfast ready, and I'll talk to you at the same time.  You
freeze yourself into that pew and listen to me as you never listened
to anyone in your life."

There must have been something in my manner which showed that I was
in dead earnest, for without another word Bobby seated himself at the
table.

I put the saucepan on the fire and stood up facing him.

"It pains me to confess it, Robert," I said, "but the last time you
were here I'm afraid I wasn't quite straight with you."

"I had an idea you were keeping something up your sleeve," he
replied.  "It takes a lot of practice to make a really convincing
liar."

I nodded a little sadly.  "Yes," I said, "honesty was always a
handicap of mine--especially in the Service."

A sudden hiss from the kettle attracted my attention, and, stepping
forward, I picked up the teapot.

"You're going to hear the real truth now, Bobby," I added, "and don't
you dare to open your mouth again until I've got it off my chest."

Long and complicated as my story was, the whole thing had burned
itself into my mind so vividly that I was in no danger of forgetting
the smallest detail.  I enjoyed, too, the additional advantage of
having rehearsed it the previous night, and when once I started I
found myself going ahead with amazing fluency.  Without attempting to
skip anything, I told him exactly what had occurred from the fateful
moment when Christine and her uncle had arrived on board the
_Neptune_ in Manaos Harbour.  He already knew, of course, about my
interview with Mr. Drayton and my adventure in the dock, but all the
rest of it was, so to speak, fresh ground, and I did not think there
was much chance of his finding my narrative either tedious or
redundant.

To say that this confidence was justified would be putting it at its
mildest.  Munching his food and sipping his tea, he followed every
word with an expression of absorbed interest that never varied from
start to finish.  Once or twice he interrupted me to ask a question,
but otherwise he sat there in profound silence, his blue eyes fixed
steadily on mine.

Bit by bit I proceeded to unravel the whole tangled skein of my
adventures, until I at last reached the point when the clang of the
garden gate had announced his own arrival upon the scene.

"I don't want to appear emotional," I concluded, "but I must admit
the sight of your ugly mug filled me with the most inexpressible
joy."  I paused to moisten my lips, which were as dry as parchment.
"That's as far as we've got up to the present, Robert," I added, "and
now for heaven's sake let's have a drink."

"Well, the first thing's easy," remarked Bobby, as he accepted the
tumbler which I offered him.  "Here's to Christine, and if she's half
as nice as she sounds you're the luckiest beggar that ever trod this
planet."

We drained the toast in silence, and then, putting down his glass, he
hoisted himself out of his chair and walked across to the window.

"That's that," he observed grimly, "and----"

I saw him pull up with curious abruptness, and stand there perfectly
still staring out into the garden.

"What's the matter?" I demanded.

He looked back over his shoulder with a queer smile on his lips.

"I don't know if you're expecting any visitors," he began.

Before he could conclude his sentence I was standing alongside of him.

Crossing the lawn and coming directly towards the house were two
figures.  One was an enormously stout, broad-shouldered man, whom I
recognised immediately as the landlord of the Gunner's Arms; the
other was a police sergeant in uniform.

Bobby was the first to break the silence.  "We seem to have finished
the story just in time," he said drily.

Without making any reply, I unlatched the window and threw it open.

The two men came up to the verandah side by side and halted exactly
in front of us.

For a moment nobody spoke; then the landlord, who was breathing
heavily, stepped forward and touched his cap.

"Beg pardon, Mr. Dryden," he said huskily, "but this is Sergeant
'Umphries of Torrington.  He wants to have a word with you."

"Why, certainly," I replied.  "Come inside, both of you."

I moved back, and, mounting the verandah, they tramped in heavily
over the threshold.

"I expect you know Commander Dean," I added, "at all events by sight."

There was an exchange of salutes, followed once more by an
embarrassing silence.

"Well," I said encouragingly, "what is it?  Anything I can do for
you?"

Sergeant Humphries cleared his throat

"I'm afraid I come on rather an unpleasant business, Mr. Dryden," he
began.  "I believe you have a man in your employment name of John
Bascombe?"

A sudden feeling of impending tragedy tightened round my heart.

"That's right," I said.  "He has been with me ever since I came here."

"Do you happen to know where he is now?"

I shook my head.  "He went ashore last night without my permission,
and so far he hasn't returned."

There was another pause.

"He won't return," said the Sergeant, "and if you want to know the
reason why I can tell you, Mr. Dryden.  At the present moment he's
lying dead in the stable at the Gunner's Arms."




CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Although I was half prepared for what he said, the announcement left
me momentarily dumb.

"Dead!" I repeated at last.  "Bascomb dead!  How in God's name was he
killed?"

The Sergeant looked at me with a certain sympathy in his stolid
features.

"We reckon he must have run into the jetty in the fog last night, and
upset his boat.  As like as not he stunned himself at the same time;
anyhow, he was found lying on the mud this morning with a gash in his
head that you could shove a couple of fingers into."

"We got the dinghy all right," put in the landlord.  "It was floatin'
about the estuary bottom upwards."

I caught Bobby's eyes fixed upon my face, and I knew that the same
thought was in both our minds.

"This is pretty bad news, Sergeant," I said.  "What do you think I
ought to do?"

The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  "Well, sir, I take it the
first thing's for you to come ashore with us and identify the body.
There'll have to be an inquest, of course, but seein' as the
Coroner's away at Ipswich I don't suppose it will be until the day
after to-morrow."  He paused.  "Per'aps you know where the poor
fellow belonged, mister?  If so we shall have to write and tell his
relatives."

I shook my head.  "I haven't the slightest notion," I said.  "He had
been with my uncle for some time, and I re-engaged him on the
lawyer's recommendation.  He wasn't the sort of man to talk about his
own affairs."

"That's a fact," added the landlord emphatically.  "If ever there was
a bloke who kept his mouth shut----"

"It ain't of no real consequence," interrupted the Sergeant with some
dignity.  "The police can always find out what they want sooner or
later."  He turned to me.  "If it's convenient to you, mister, I
reckon we'd better get across at once.  The doctor's examinin' the
corpse, and mebbe 'e'd like to have a talk with you."

"The doctor?" I repeated.  "What doctor?"

"Doctor 'Ayward of Torrington," was the answer.  "He came over in the
car with me as soon as we got the message."

I remained silent for a moment, thinking rapidly.

"Very well, Sergeant," I said.  "I will be ready almost at once.  I
must have a word with Commander Dean first; we are just settling up
some rather important business."  I crossed to the sideboard and
fetched a couple of glasses.  "Help yourselves to a whisky," I added.
"I shan't keep you more than two or three minutes."

They both murmured their thanks, and, motioning Bobby to follow me, I
walked into the dining-room and closed the door behind me.

I couldn't have controlled myself much longer.

"The devils!" I said hoarsely.  "The infernal devils!  They've
murdered him, just as they murdered Satan."

Bobby laid his hand on my shoulder.  "It's a rotten business, but we
mustn't lose our heads, Jack.  We've got to decide what we're going
to do."

"I feel as if it were all my fault," I muttered.  "I ought to have
killed Manning yesterday when I had the chance."

"What the hell would have been the good of that?" demanded Bobby
impatiently.  He thrust his hands into his pockets and took a couple
of rapid turns up and down the room.  "Look here, old son," he went
on quietly.  "We haven't any time to spare, so the sooner we fix
things up the better.  In the first place, what are you going to tell
the police?"

"Nothing," I said curtly.  "There's only one other person in this
beside ourselves, and that's Inspector Campbell.  I shall go up to
London as soon as I can and put the whole thing in front of him."

He nodded his approval. "Just what I was about to propose.  There'll
be the very devil to pay if these local people get hold of the
faintest idea of the truth."  He paused.  "You must lie to them for
all you're worth," he added.  "You must make them believe that no
suspicion of foul play has ever entered your head.  I'll stop here
and look after the place until you get back."

"You're sure you can manage it?" I asked.

"Easily," was the comforting rejoinder.  "There's next to nothing
doing in our line at present.  I must run over to Martlesea some time
to-morrow; otherwise I'm at your disposal for the next three days."

Considerably cheered by this assurance, I led the way back into the
hall where I found our two visitors in the act of wiping their
moustaches.

"Very good whisky that, sir," observed the landlord approvingly.
"'Tain't often you get a taste of the pre-war stuff nowadays."

"Well, I'm ready if you are, gentlemen," I said.

With a regretful glance at the decanter the Sergeant picked up his
helmet, and, leaving Bobby standing in the window, we all three set
out across the lawn.

We found the motor-launch lying about twenty yards out in the
estuary, and a dilapidated dinghy tied up alongside the landing-stage.

"I had to bring one of me own boats," explained the landlord as he
unfastened the painter.  "We got yours all right, sir, same as I told
you; but the rudder's broke and two of her planks stove in."

"She must have been smashed up pretty badly," I remarked.  "It seems
to me as if she'd been run down."

"I should have said the same," put in the Sergeant, "but accordin' to
what they told me at Pen Mill there wasn't a craft afloat yesterday.
That's so, ain't it, Mr. Robinson?"

The landlord nodded.  "None of our folks was out, at all events," he
observed.  "Might 'a' bin a stranger goin' up to the lock, but it
don't seem likely--not in a fog like that."

"Well, we can find out, I suppose," I said, taking my place in the
boat.  "The point is sure to be raised at the inquest, anyhow."

We sculled rapidly across to the opposite shore, and disembarked on
the jetty, close in front of the inn.  It was easy to see that
something unusual had happened, for the whole population of the
village had apparently collected on the hard, and were hanging about
in small groups eagerly watching our arrival.

Through a fire of curious glances we marched up to the stable,
outside which a solemn-looking constable was standing on guard.

Lifting the latch, the Sergeant opened the door just wide enough for
us to enter; and then, following on our heels, closed it carefully
behind him.

We found ourselves in a large, dimly lit coach-house, which had
evidently been emptied for its present tragic purpose.

Stretched out on a bundle of straw was the dead body of Bascomb, and
stooping over it a tall, grey-haired man who bore the unmistakable
stamp of a country doctor.

In a businesslike fashion the Sergeant stepped forward.

"Well, here we are, doctor," he said.  "This is the gentleman I was
speaking about.  Mr. Dryden--Dr. 'Ayward."

The doctor straightened himself, and, having surveyed me for a moment
through a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, came up to where I was
standing.

"I am pleased to meet you, sir," he said.  "I only wish it was under
less distressing circumstances."

We shook hands.

"It's a very sudden and shocking business," I said.  "Bascomb was the
sort of man who ought to have lived to be a hundred."  I paused.
"Have you any idea how it happened?" I asked.

Dr. Hayward pursed up his lips and looked at me a little queerly.

"I am quite certain of one thing at least," he answered, "and that is
that the poor fellow didn't meet his death by drowning.  He was dead
before he ever reached the water."

There was a brief silence.

"Then the idea about his having run into the jetty--" I began.

The doctor shook his head.  "He was killed by a violent blow on the
back of the skull.  If you think you can stand a rather unpleasant
sight, I'll show you the actual injury."

I contented myself with a nod, and, moving forward, followed him
across the stone floor.

Bascomb's body was lying on the straw, face downwards.  It had been
stripped to the waist, and in the grey light which filtered in
through the glass roof the enormous muscular development of his back
and shoulders was plainly visible.

My companion took out an electric torch from his pocket, and, bending
down, switched on the current.

"See that?" he enquired briefly.

Hardened as I was by my experiences in the war, I was unable to
repress a shudder of horror.  Right in the middle of the
close-cropped hair the bone had been smashed in like the top of an
eggshell.

"Not much doubt about the cause of death--eh?"  The doctor switched
off his torch, and stood up facing me.  "One doesn't do that sort of
thing without a little assistance," he added grimly.  "He may have
been struck by the prow of a boat or the screw of a steamer; the only
other explanation I can offer is that he was deliberately murdered."

"Murdered!"  The Sergeant strode forward, and then, suddenly pulling
up, stared incredulously from one to the other of us.

"We must at least consider the possibility," I remarked.

The Sergeant rubbed his chin in the same thoughtful fashion as before.

"It's a startlin' notion," he observed at last.  "There's never been
a murder in Pen Mill yet--at least not in my time."

"I don't say there has now," interrupted the doctor, with a slight
touch of impatience.  "It all depends upon whether any vessel went up
the estuary last night in the fog."

"We can find that out easy enough," chimed in the landlord.  "Only a
matter of enquiries at the lock.  She couldn't 'ave got no
farther--not till this mornin'."

The Sergeant looked at him with a certain severity.  "I know my
business, thank ye, Mr. Robinson.  When I want any help I'll ask you
for it."  He turned to me.  "What's your opinion, sir?  Any party in
your knowledge as had a grudge against the deceased?"

I shook my head.  "I am absolutely ignorant about his private
affairs," I answered.  "As I told you before, he was one of the most
reserved men who ever lived.  For all I know he might have been at
daggers drawn with the entire neighbourhood."

"Was he violent tempered or quarrelsome?" asked the doctor.

"I never saw any sign of it," I replied.  "We were alone together for
a month, and I couldn't have wished for a better servant."

"I reckon our first idea was the right one," announced the Sergeant.
"It must have been some craft coming up in the fog that did it.  The
odds are they thought it was an empty boat they had run down, and,
seeing as they'd be liable for damages, they made up their minds to
say nothing about it."  He took out his note-book and sucked the
stump of a pencil.  "What time was it when the deceased left the
island?" he enquired.

"I couldn't say exactly," I replied.  "It was probably between five
and six."

"Just about high tide," he observed, in a satisfied voice.  "That
more or less settles it to my way of thinking."

He asked me one or two other questions, to all of which he noted down
the answers; then, with the air of a man who has efficiently
discharged a difficult duty, he snapped together his book and
replaced it in his pocket.

"I don't think we need detain you any longer, Mr. Dryden.  If the
Head Constable comes over he'll probably wish to speak to you, but as
like as not he'll leave the case to me.  I'm going along to the lock
straight away now, and it's my belief that before to-night we'll have
our hands on the party that's wanted."

"I shouldn't be surprised, Sergeant," I said untruthfully.  "All the
same, it will be a smart bit of work if you do."

The doctor, who appeared to have lost interest in our conversation,
picked up a piece of sacking and spread it across Bascomb's body.  I
had an idea that he was very far from satisfied, and the moment we
left the coach-house my suspicions were confirmed.

Drawing me slightly to one side, he glanced impatiently at the
Sergeant, who was engaged in giving some instructions to his
subordinate.

"The man's a fool," he said in a low voice, "but there's nothing more
to be done at present.  We must wait until the Head Constable comes
over."

Before I could make any reply we were joined by Mr. Robinson, the
landlord.

"Excuse me, sir," he began apologetically, "but if you 'appen to be
wantin' a boat while that dinghy o' yours is under repair, you're
welcome to the use o' the one we came across in."

"That's uncommonly good of you," I said, "and, what's more, I should
like to thank you for all you've done this morning.  I am very sorry
you should have been put to so much trouble and inconvenience."

"There ain't nothing that calls for mention," he objected.  "You and
me are neighbours in a manner o' speakin', and quite apart from that,
sir, I'm always ready to do me duty by a corpse."

I was still searching for a suitable rejoinder to this sentiment when
I was released from my embarrassment by the Sergeant.

"I'll wish you good morning, Mr. Dryden," he remarked, coming across
to where we were collected.  "Don't you get upsetting yourself over
this business; you leave it to me, and I'll see that it's brought
home to the right quarter."

I shook hands all round, and, followed by the fascinated glances of
the public, made my way down to the jetty, where I proceeded to
re-embark.  On the whole, in spite of Dr. Hayward's suspicions, the
affair had gone off as well as I could possibly have hoped, and it
was with feelings of considerable relief that I ran in alongside the
landing-stage and stepped out once more on to my own territory.

I found Bobby lying in a deck chair on the verandah awaiting my
return.  He jumped up as I appeared and came forward across the lawn
to meet me.

"Welcome home, my lad," he observed.  "I was just beginning to be
afraid they'd clapped you into the local dungeon."

"Anything fresh happened while I've been away?" I asked.

He shook his head.  "It's been positively dull.  I've spent the time
sitting in the sunshine, brooding over your family affairs."

He led the way back to the verandah, and, taking the chair alongside
of him, I plunged straight away into an account of my experiences at
Pen Mill.

"I hope I handled the thing right, Bobby," I concluded.  "The doctor
was evidently inclined to think it might be a case of murder, and to
have set myself up against him would have been simply asking for
trouble.  If he felt the least suspicious about me, he'd probably
have wired bang off to the Head Constable.  As it is, thanks to that
fool of a Sergeant, we ought to have at least twenty-four hours'
breathing space."

Bobby patted me approvingly on the back.  "You displayed a surprising
amount of tact," he remarked.  "It looks to me as if falling in love
had considerably sharpened your wits."

"I think it was falling into the dock," I retorted.  "Anyhow, the
question is, What are we going to do now?  According to the Sergeant
the inquest will probably be on Friday morning, and unless we make
pretty good use of our time----"

"We shall," interrupted Bobby.  "I've been chewing the whole thing
over while you were ashore, and I've come to one or two highly
intelligent conclusions."  He leaned across the arm of his chair, and
knocked out his pipe against the side railing.  "In the first place,"
he continued, in a rather more serious tone, "we've got to face the
fact that Bascomb's death puts us into a devilish awkward position.
I'm not very strong on law, but there's such a thing as being an
accessory to murder.  If we suspect Manning and de Roda we've no
right to keep the fact from the police merely because we don't want
to get your girl into trouble."

"But it was your advice," I protested.  "Besides, I don't believe
that de Roda had anything to do with it.  I'm almost certain that
Bascomb went over to the barge with some mad idea of revenging
himself upon Manning.  He probably found Craill there as well, and
between the pair of them----"

"Exactly my idea," broke in Bobby.  "All the same, we've got to be
precious careful what we do or the police will end by nabbing the
whole damned lot of us."

"Well, what do you suggest?" I asked.

"I think your notion's the right one.  You must cruise up to town
first thing to-morrow morning and get hold of this detective Johnnie.
Tell him everything, just as you have told it to me.  He is evidently
a long-headed sort of bird, and he'll probably see some way out of
the difficulty.  Even if he can't we shall have put ourselves on the
right side of the fence."

"Hadn't I better go at once?" I proposed.

Bobby glanced at his watch.  "You may as well wait till the morning.
He would most likely have left his office by the time you got there,
and it's quite on the cards you might be missing all sorts of fun
down here."

"Not much chance of that," I said regretfully.  "They'll give us a
fairly wide berth as long as your motor-boat's lying off the jetty."

"One never can tell," observed Bobby philosophically.  "If Manning
has found out all he wants to, and if he and Craill really did
Bascomb in, you can bet your boots they won't hang about any longer
than they can possibly help."

"I wish I could guess where the diamonds are hidden," I remarked.

Bobby looked at me with that queer provoking grin of his.

"Well?" I demanded.

"You're not very good at riddles, are you, Jack?" he said slowly.  "I
suppose it's never occurred to you that your uncle must have had some
damned good reason for putting in a new fireplace?"

"By God!" I cried, jumping up from my chair; "I believe you've hit
it."  I paused for a moment, as a whole stream of significant
memories rushed back into my mind.  "It explains everything," I
almost shouted.  "Bascomb told me he had workmen over from Holland to
put it in, and----"

"Why the devil didn't you say so before?" interrupted Bobby.  "Of
course, if that's the case, it absolutely settles the matter.  I was
merely going on the fact that directly Manning thought you were
asleep he made a bee-line for the hall."

"I'm an ass, Robert," I admitted humbly.  "Manning told me so
yesterday, and I'm hanged if for once in his life he wasn't speaking
the truth."  I glanced in through the open window in the direction of
the hearth.  "Have you got as far as making a search?" I asked.

He nodded.  "I went over every inch of it while you were away.  It's
my belief they're bricked up behind one of the tiles.  You don't want
much space to hide a packet of diamonds in."

"Well, come along then," I exclaimed.  "There's a good hefty chisel
in the kitchen, and if we can't----"

"Don't be in such a hurry," drawled Bobby.  "We've an uncommonly
tricky course to navigate, and we can't afford to run aground."

"But where's the harm?" I objected.  "It's my property.  I've every
right to hack it about if I want to."

"I'm not questioning your title deeds," returned Bobby languidly.
"What we've got to consider is how it will look in a Court of Law.
If there's any trouble we shall be more or less dependent on this
detective merchant of yours to get us out of it, and that being so, I
don't propose to do any treasure-hunting until he's actually on the
spot."

"I suppose you're right," I said after a short pause.  "I only hope
Campbell will be able to come."

"Hoping's no good; unless you find him and bring him back with you
to-morrow night we shall have to tell the Head Constable the whole
truth.  If the Coroner knows his job something's sure to come out at
the inquest, and you don't want to see your girl stuck up in the dock
alongside Manning and Craill."

"It's the one idea that's been haunting me all through this ghastly
business," I exclaimed.  "I'm not talking rot, Bobby, but I'd hand in
my ticket without a kick as long as I could keep Christine out of it."

"Of course you would," he replied.  "Otherwise I shouldn't be wasting
my time trying to help you."  He hoisted himself out of his chair and
put his hand on my shoulder.  "You have my blessing for what it's
worth, Jack," he added.  "I don't know much about girls--not what you
call nice girls; all the same, I'm absolutely certain that you've
struck a regular prize-packet."

Compliments were so rare in Robert's vocabulary that I appreciated
his effort at its proper value.  We shook hands solemnly, and then,
with a little grunt of satisfaction, he reseated himself on the arm
of his chair.

"Well, that's that," he observed; "all we've got to do now is to
carry on till to-morrow morning.  You'll trot up to town by the first
train, and I'll stop here and look after the treasure."

"I don't quite know how we shall manage about the housekeeping," I
said.  "There's tons of liquor, but the grub's running devilish
short."

"It doesn't really matter," replied Bobby cheerfully.  "Drink's very
sustaining, provided one has enough of it."

As things turned out, I think we should have contrived to get through
the rest of the day successfully, even without the help of Uncle
Richard's well-stocked cellar.  Although Bobby had heard my story
from start to finish, there were still so many points on which he was
anxious for further enlightenment that it took me all my time to
answer his innumerable questions.  He cross-examined me with a dogged
persistence that would have done credit to a prosecuting counsel, and
in more than one instance I was extraordinarily impressed by the
shrewdness and insight of his comments.

At seven o'clock we adjourned the discussion in favour of a scratch
meal, which consisted chiefly of champagne and biscuits.  The former
being Pol Roget of a particularly good vintage, we were able to give
Bobby's nutriment theory a really convincing test.  It worked out
most successfully, for resuming our conversation over a couple of
cigars, we talked on for the next two hours without the faintest
feeling of exhaustion.

About ten Bobby glanced at his watch.  "You'd better turn in now," he
remarked firmly.  "You've got a long day ahead of you, and the more
sleep you have the better."

"Hang it all!" I protested.  "I'm not going to dodge my share of the
work.  Somebody's got to keep awake."

"That will be all right," he interrupted.  "I shall have nothing to
do to-morrow after you're gone.  If I want to I can sleep the whole
blessed morning."

"But how about to-night?" I persisted.  "Suppose Manning and Craill
pay us a visit?"

Bobby smiled grimly, and, putting his hand in his hip pocket, pulled
out a vicious-looking Mauser pistol.

"You'll probably hear the shooting," he replied.  "You can come down
in your pyjamas and help me throw out the bodies."

I saw that it would be a waste of time to argue any further, so,
having made sure that he was provided with plenty of smokes and
drinks, I assisted him to close the shutters and lock up the house.
This done, I wished him a pleasant vigil, and, retiring upstairs to
my own room, I was soon safely between the sheets, with Manning's
Smith and Wesson tucked away under the pillow beneath my head.

I must have dropped off on the spot, for the next thing I remember is
suddenly sitting up in bed and finding Bobby standing beside me with
a cup of tea in his hand.  He had drawn back the curtain, and the
grey light of early day was coming in through the open window.

"Here you are, my son," he remarked cheerfully.  "You shove this down
your neck and tumble out at once.  It's getting on for six o'clock."

"Anything happened?" I enquired.  "I've been sleeping like a log."

"The champagne's finished," he announced with a grin.  "There's no
other news that I can think of at the moment."

I gulped down the tea, and, scrambling out of bed, proceeded to
commence a hasty toilet, while Bobby, who looked very unshaven and
disreputable, seated himself on the window sill and puffed
contentedly at a cigarette.

"I've never spent a more peaceful night in my life," he continued.
"If we can't find the diamonds you might do worse than turn the place
into a rest cure.  I believe you'd make a pot of money."

"It's not a bad notion," I admitted.  "We could have Manning as a
resident physician."

I ducked my head into a basin of water, and emerged from the process
feeling considerably refreshed.

"How's the weather?" I enquired, seeing that he was looking out of
the window.

"Better than it was.  There's still a lot of mist hanging about the
estuary, but the wind's south-east, and it will probably get up later
in the day."  He turned back into the room.  "What time are you due
in town?" he demanded.

"Just after nine," I said.  "I ought to be in Fleet Street by half
past."

He sat there swinging his foot and meditating while I rapidly pulled
on my trousers and laced up my boots.

"It all depends whether the sleuth-hound's in his kennel," he
observed.  "If he is you'll be through by about ten-thirty.  Send me
a wire directly you've fixed up your arrangements.  I want to let
them know when to expect me at Martlesea."

"You couldn't put off the trip till to-morrow?" I suggested.

He shook his head.  "I must look in for an hour.  It doesn't matter
what time though; there's always someone there till eight o'clock."

"I shall try and bring Campbell back with me by the mid-day train," I
said.  "Then we can have a hunt for the diamonds before you start."

"That's the idea," he replied approvingly.  "With any luck it ought
to be a very interesting and profitable afternoon."

He hoisted himself off the sill, and, coming up to where I was
standing, helped me on with my coat.

"I'll row you ashore now," he added, "and if you'll let me know when
to expect you I'll be waiting for you at Pen Mill."

"But how about the house?" I objected.  "We oughtn't to leave it
empty."

"I've only got to tip the word to my man Jenkins," he replied.
"He'll take damned good care that nobody lands on the island."

We made our way downstairs, and, shutting the front door behind us,
we set off at a brisk pace for the landing-stage.

The motor-boat, which had slewed round with the tide, was now lying
with her nose towards the island, and Jenkins himself--a stalwart
figure in white slops--was leaning pensively over the iron railing.
As soon as he saw us he drew himself up and saluted.

We paddled alongside, where Bobby gave his instructions; and then,
pulling straight across the estuary, ran in under the end of the
jetty.  Except for an aged fisherman mending his nets the place was
entirely deserted.

With an encouraging "Good luck" from my companion I jumped ashore.  I
expected any moment that the landlord would appear at his door and
waylay me before I could pass the inn, but by the mercy of providence
his attention must have been otherwise occupied.  Anyway I reached
the village green unchallenged, and a few minutes later I was half
way up the hill and safely beyond the reach of any such unfortunate
encounter.

It was a full hour's tramp to Torrington, even for a quick walker
like myself.  Bobby had timed things perfectly, however, and just as
I arrived at my destination the train came steaming in alongside the
platform.

I made a rapid inspection of my fellow-passengers, and, having
discovered that to the best of my knowledge they were all complete
strangers, I took my seat in the corner of an empty smoker.  The
doors banged, the guard waved his flag, and with a triumphant whistle
we slid slowly forward on our fifty mile journey to London.

I don't know whether the Great Eastern is generally punctual, but on
this occasion its performance was beyond criticism.  The hands of the
big timepiece at Liverpool Street were pointing to exactly nine
o'clock as I stepped out of the carriage and, hailing a taxi,
instructed the man to drive me to Angel Court.  He put me down
outside the entrance, and with a queer feeling of excitement at my
heart I walked up the narrow passage and pressed the bell of the
Inspector's office.

My ring was answered by an alert-looking youth in his shirt-sleeves.

"Mr. Campbell hasn't come yet, sir," he said, in answer to my
enquiry.  "I'm not expecting him till half past ten this morning."

I suppose he saw my disappointment, for he added civilly: "Was it
something important you wished to see him about, sir?"

"It was important enough to get me out of bed at six o'clock this
morning," I explained.

"Well, perhaps you could look in again, sir," he suggested "If you
like to leave your name I'll give it to him directly he arrives.
He'll be here for certain by ten-thirty."

"I'll come back in an hour then," I replied.  "If he turns up before
tell him that Mr. John Dryden wants to see him."

I had met with the first hitch in my programme, but as I walked back
into Fleet Street I consoled myself by reflecting that things might
very easily have been much worse.  Even if we missed the earlier
train there was another, an equally good one, at two-fifteen.  This
would get us to Pen Mill shortly after four, which would still give
Bobby plenty of time for his trip to Martlesea.

It occurred to me that the best thing I could do while I was waiting
was to lay in a stock of fresh provisions.  I could hardly expect
Campbell to subsist entirely upon a diet of dry biscuits and
champagne, so summoning another taxi, I told the driver to take me to
Fortnum and Mason's.  Here I purchased a number of delicacies,
including a couple of cold chickens and a fresh tongue.  I gave
instructions that they should be packed in a hamper and sent off to
the cloak-room at Liverpool Street to await my arrival, and then,
still having half an hour to spare, I strolled across to the
Piccadilly Hotel and treated myself to a glass of sherry and two or
three caviare sandwiches.

At ten-thirty exactly I was back once more in Angel Court with my
finger on the Inspector's bell.  It had scarcely rung before the door
was pulled open and the burly figure of Campbell himself appeared in
the passage.

"Glad to see you, Mr. Dryden," he exclaimed, giving me a hearty grip.
"My clerk told me you'd be along in a minute.  I'm sorry I wasn't in
when you called before."

"It was my fault," I said, following him into the office.  "If people
will come at such unholy hours they can hardly expect to find you at
home."

"We're used to early visitors in this line of business," he replied
with a laugh.  "Besides, you couldn't have come at a more convenient
time anyhow.  As a matter of fact I was just going to write to you."

He pulled forward a tattered arm-chair, and, relieving me of my coat
and hat, laid them on the sofa.

"Are you busy this morning?" I asked.  "Can you fix things so that we
shan't be interrupted for at least a couple of hours?"

He glanced at me sharply from under his bushy eyebrows.

"I daresay I can if it's really essential.  Do you mind waiting a
minute while I speak to my clerk?"

He stepped out into the passage and entered the opposite room.  A
minute later he returned, and, having shut the door behind him, took
the chair opposite mine.

"Now," he enquired genially, "what's the trouble?"

I suppose that the task of listening to the most incredible stories
is just part and parcel of a detective's business.  Few men had
probably had more experience in this line than Campbell himself, but
as I began to speak I wondered in my own mind if he had ever
encountered such a strange yarn as the one which I was about to
unfold.

Following the same course that I had adopted with Bobby, I once more
described my first meeting with Christine and her uncle that sunny
afternoon in Manaos Harbour.  Then, step by step, and taking infinite
pains to omit nothing which might be of the least significance, I
laid bare the whole amazing train of incidents which had led up to my
present visit.

As a feat of uninterrupted talking (for, unlike Bobby, Campbell made
no attempt even to ask a question) it was the nearest approach to a
record that I am ever likely to achieve.  Long before I had finished
my voice was as hoarse as a crow's, and even now I can remember the
feeling of relief with which I lay back in my chair when it was all
over, and gazed expectantly into the shrewd, wide-awake eyes of my
apparently unwearied companion.

It was he who was the first to break the silence.

"I congratulate you on a really remarkable performance, Mr. Dryden,"
he observed.  "I have never met anyone who would make a better
witness."

"Well, if that's the case," I replied, "I hope to God my abilities
will be wasted."

Campbell looked at me for a moment with a queer, half-quizzical
smile; then very suddenly his expression changed to one of the utmost
gravity.

"Aye," he said in his harsh North country accent, "it's a serious
enough matter in all conscience.  The pity is that you couldn't come
to me before.  It might have saved one poor fellow's life anyway."

"You believe that Bascomb was murdered then?" I answered slowly.

"I'm sure of it," was the grim reply, "and, what's more, I'm
practically certain that every word which that young lady told you is
the Gospel truth."  He sucked in his upper lip, and sat there for a
moment gnawing the end of his short stubbly moustache.

"It's curious what a fool one can be at times," he continued.  "I've
been looking out for those stones ever since the Brazilian Government
sent round their first notice.  Twenty per cent was the offer they
made, and on their own original estimate that would have worked out
at something like forty thousand pounds.  There isn't a police
officer or detective in Europe who hasn't tried his hand on the
job--and to think that for the last three months I've been walking
around with the blessed things right under my very nose!"

"Oh, hang the diamonds!" I exclaimed.  "We've got something more
important to think about than them."

"Quite so," assented Campbell drily.  "All the same, you may find the
subject of some interest--after we've settled with Dr. Manning."

"Have you any doubt in your own mind as to whether he killed
Bascomb?" I asked.

"I should think it's more likely to have been Craill," was the
answer.  "There was a touch of crudeness about the affair which
doesn't quite fit in with our friend's record."

I leaned forward eagerly.  "You've traced him?" I exclaimed.  "You've
found out who he is?"

Campbell pulled open a drawer in the table beside him and took out a
piece of paper.

"I've managed to dig up one or two interesting little details.  I was
going to send them along to you this morning if you hadn't saved me
the trouble."  He glanced at his memoranda.  "The gentleman's right
name," he continued, "is not Manning at all.  It's Francis Maitland
Winter.  He is thirty-six years old, a graduate of Harvard
University, and I should say one of the most complete scoundrels that
ever infested this earth."

I looked at my companion with open admiration.  "How on earth did you
discover all that?" I demanded.

"It wasn't difficult.  The cleverest criminal makes a slip at times,
and when our friend let out to you that he had once been a ship's
surgeon he was actually speaking the truth.  It was an unpardonable
piece of carelessness, and he has probably regretted it bitterly ever
since.  Of all people in the world a ship's surgeon is one of the
easiest to trace.  A few enquiries in the right quarter convinced me
that Dr. Manning was the same person who, under the name of Francis
Winter, was tried for murder some years ago in New York and
triumphantly acquitted by a well-meaning but remarkably thick-headed
jury."

"Whom did he murder?" I asked.

"Well, he was charged with having poisoned one of his own
patients--an old gentleman who had been ill-advised enough to make a
will in his favour.  He seems to have carried the whole thing through
with extraordinary cleverness.  Anyhow, he was not only acquitted,
but he actually got away from America with the money.  I believed it
amounted to about a hundred thousand dollars."

"He must be a greedy devil," I observed.  "If I'd made a coup like
that, I'm hanged if I'd risk my neck a second time."

Campbell shrugged his shoulders.  "I don't suppose he's well off.
According to the evidence that came out at the trial, the man's a
born gambler.  He's probably lost the whole of it by now."

"But what are we to do?" I exclaimed, getting up from my chair.  "I'm
tied hand and foot for fear of dragging in Christine and her uncle.
Unless you can help us----"

"I'll help you, Mr. Dryden, that's what I'm here for."  The Inspector
had risen to his feet also, and somehow or other the sight of his
burly figure and the fighting gleam in his hard grey eyes sent a
fresh wave of hope and confidence through my heart.  "Our first job,"
he continued, "is to get Mr. de Roda and the young lady out of the
hands of these ruffians.  We must do that immediately.  As soon as
we've made quite certain that de Roda had nothing to do with the
murder of Bascomb we can put the Yard on to Manning straight away.
That will keep them busy while we're looking for the diamonds."

"I'd better go out and wire to Bobby that I'm bringing you back with
me," I said.  "I promised to let him know as soon as I could."

Campbell glanced at the watch which he was wearing on his wrist.

"The only trouble is that I can't leave here until after five.  I've
asked a man to come and see me this afternoon, and there's no
possible way in which I can put him off."

I did a moment's rapid thinking.  "Have you got such a thing as a
time-table?" I enquired.

He handed me an A.B.C. off the mantelpiece, and, hunting up the right
page, I soon found what I wanted.

"The best plan for you," I said, "will be to come straight through to
Martlesea.  There's a six o'clock train from Liverpool Street which
gets in at seven-fifteen.  I'll go back this afternoon and arrange
with Bobby to pick you up at the station.  Then he can bring you over
to Greensea in his motor-boat."

Campbell nodded.  "That will do me all right.  What time shall we get
in?"

"Oh, somewhere about eight-thirty," I replied "It's not more than a
dozen miles, and you won't hang about on the way--not if Bobby's
driving her."  I picked up my hat and coat.  "I'd better be clearing
off now," I added.  "That will give you a chance to settle up your
affairs and make your will."

With a twinkle in his eyes Campbell held out his hand.

"Well, good-bye for the present," he remarked.  "Don't do anything
rash while your friend's away, Mr. Dryden.  If you take my advice
you'll just lock yourself in the house and wait there till we arrive."

He walked with me to the front door, and, leaving him standing on the
steps, I made my way back down the alley into the roar and bustle of
Fleet Street.

In answer to my enquiry a friendly policeman directed me to the
nearest post office, where, after a brief deliberation, I sent off
the following wire to Bobby:


    "Business satisfactorily arranged.  Meet me Pen Mill four
    o'clock."


By the time I had handed this in it was already a few minutes past
one, and, feeling that whatever else I had accomplished I had
certainly earned a good lunch, I turned into the Cock Tavern, which
was only half a dozen yards away.

Here I feasted sumptuously on roast saddle of mutton and a bottle of
Burgundy--an excellent wine for anyone who is suffering from the
after-effects of two hours' continuous oratory.  There being no
occasion for hurry, I dawdled away another pleasant half hour over a
cigar, and then at a leisurely pace I walked back through the City to
Liverpool Street.  At five and twenty to three I was watching the
panorama of East London slip by the carriage window, with Fortnum and
Mason's hamper reposing safely in the opposite rack.

On reaching Torrington station I was fortunate enough to secure the
same ramshackle cab which had carried me to Pen Mill two days before.
Packing myself and the hamper inside, I requested the driver to
repeat the performance, and at a stumbling trot we once more jogged
off through the wet and narrow lanes.

Bobby had evidently received my wire, for as we descended the hill I
caught sight of him strolling in solitary state up and down the hard.
He came forward to meet me, and opened the door of the cab when we
drew up.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed.  "Where's the sleuth-hound?"

I stepped out, clasping the hamper in my arms.

"Don't worry," I said, "I've got him all right."

Bobby looked round blankly.  "Well, where is he?" he demanded.  "In
the basket?"

"No," I explained.  "That's a little addition to the larder.
Campbell couldn't get away till the six o'clock train.  He's coming
straight through to Martlesea, and I've arranged for you to pick him
up at the station."

With a satisfied nod Robert relieved me of my burden, and having paid
the cabman, we started off together up the jetty.

"There's no reason why you shouldn't shove off at once," I added,
"not if you're in a hurry.  We can't do anything here till Campbell
arrives."

"I suppose I ought to," said Bobby rather doubtfully.  "All the same,
I'm not over keen on leaving you alone."

He stepped down with the hamper into the dinghy, and I took my place
at the tiller.

"I shan't get into any mischief," I assured him.  "I shall take
Campbell's tip and lock myself up in the house with a loaded
revolver.  He's heard the whole yarn and he quite approves of our
present arrangements."

As briefly as possible I went on to describe my interview in Angel
Court and the dramatic news which the Inspector had given me with
regard to Manning's real identity.

"I always knew he was a bad egg," grunted Bobby, tugging away grimly
at his oars.  "It's uncommon lucky for you that you happened to make
a hit with that girl of yours.  If it hadn't been for her----"

He left the sentence unfinished, and with a few vicious strokes ran
up alongside the motor-boat, where Jenkins was awaiting our arrival.

"Well, you pop off," I said, preparing to take his seat.  "I've told
Campbell to look out for you on the platform, so you can't very well
miss each other.  I'll expect you back here about eight-thirty."

Bobby clambered on board, and, waving him farewell, I rowed on to the
landing-stage, where I proceeded to disembark.  I stood there until
they had cast off their moorings and were heading out into the
estuary; then with the hamper on my shoulder I trudged off towards
the house.

The first thing I did on getting inside was to lock the front door
and close up all the shutters.  It was rather an undignified
business--barricading oneself in one's own house in broad
daylight--but, as somebody says in the Bible, "there's a time for
everything," and it seemed to me that this was the right occasion for
a little judicious cowardice.

Having secured my defences, my next step was to unpack the hamper.  I
arranged its contents in a tempting array on the empty shelves of the
larder, and then, after boiling a kettle and making myself a cup of
tea, I settled down on the hall sofa with a bundle of papers which I
had brought down from town.

For any use they were to me, however, I might as well have left them
behind.  Try as I would, I was quite unable to fix my attention on
what I was reading, and in a very little while I gave up the attempt
in despair, and finally abandoned myself to my own thoughts.

Now that I had done everything I could I was once more beginning to
feel intensely worried about Christine.  Not a word or message had
come from her since she had disappeared into the fog at Pen Mill, and
knowing, as she must have done, the state of anxiety I should be in,
this complete silence was all the more ominous and suggestive.

The murder of Bascomb and the facts which Campbell had discovered
with reference to Manning's past history added to my misgivings.
Except for the poor protection afforded by her uncle and the old
French servant, she was at the mercy of one of the most cunning and
pitiless scoundrels who had ever escaped the gallows.  Every evil
impulse in his nature must have been roused to life by the events of
the previous afternoon, and still more bitterly than before I cursed
my own folly and weakness in ever having permitted her to leave the
island.

I was sitting there gnawing my lip and staring at the empty grate
when a sudden sound in the verandah outside attracted my attention.
Faint as it was, every muscle in my body stiffened instinctively.  In
one rapid movement I whipped out Manning's revolver, and the next
moment I was crouching forward, my eyes fixed on the shutters.

For perhaps a couple of seconds the silence remained unbroken.  Then,
clear and unmistakable, came a low whistle, followed almost
immediately by two sharp taps upon the pane.




CHAPTER SIXTEEN

By a great effort of will I remained exactly as I was.  I had to
decide what to do, and I had to decide in a hurry, but it was
obviously one of those situations in which one could not afford to
make the least mistake.  If I called out, the answer, for all I knew,
might take the shape of a Mills bomb.  On the other hand, if I kept
silent, how could I discover the identity of my visitor?

_Tap, tap, tap._

Once again came the mysterious summons--this time more imperative
than before.

As the last knock died away, an idea flashed into my mind.  Rising to
my feet, I moved stealthily across the hall, and, creeping up the
staircase like a cat, I turned into my own bedroom, which looked out
on the front of the house.  The window was still open, and, advancing
towards it with infinite care, I was just preparing to make a
cautious reconnaissance when I suddenly heard a shuffling movement
down below.  I paused, and, almost at the same second the loud
jangling peal of the front door bell echoed up from the kitchen.

Somehow or other, the sound acted on me like a tonic.  Without
hesitating any longer, I thrust my head out over the sill, and there,
right underneath me, I saw the ragged, curly-haired figure of my
little friend, Jimmy.

"Hullo, James," I called out, "what are you doing here?"

He took a step back, and looked up.

"I gotter letter for you guv'nor--a letter from the young laidy."

"The devil you have!" I exclaimed eagerly.  "You hang on there, my
son.  I'll be with you in half a tick."

Thrusting the revolver into my pocket, I hurried downstairs again,
and with feverish haste unchained and opened the front door.  Jimmy
wiped his boots noisily on the mat, and with a cheerful grin advanced
into the hall.

"I seed the light through the shutters," he explained, "and I guessed
you was inside.  That's why I knocked at the winder."

"Quite right, Jimmy," I said.  "Where's the note?"

He dived into his pocket, and produced a crumpled and dirty-looking
envelope, which he handed to me.

"When did you get this?" I demanded, refastening the door.

"On'y just now, guv'nor.  It was give me by the old Frenchwoman wot
lives at 'The Laurels.'"

I crossed to the lamp, and, tearing open the flap, pulled out the
enclosure.  It consisted of half a sheet of notepaper closely covered
in Christine's small writing.


    "DEAREST,--I am giving this note to Marie, who has promised to
    deliver it to Jimmy.  I believe she is to be trusted, but I dare
    not say more for fear that it should fall into the wrong hands.
    At the present moment I am a prisoner in my own bedroom.  I
    expect to be free again, with Marie's help, at half-past eight
    this evening.  If all goes well I shall come across to the island
    immediately.  Will you be on the landing-stage at twenty minutes
    to nine?  Come straight down across the garden and through the
    iron gate, _but on no account leave the house a moment before
    it's necessary_.  I will explain everything when I see you.  With
    all my love,

    "CHRISTINE."


I read it through to the end, and then turned back to Jimmy, who was
still standing where I had left him.

"Did the old woman say anything when she gave you this note?" I asked.

"On'y as I was to let 'er know whether you'd got it," was the answer.
"She's going to wait for me at the corner o' Butcher's Lane."

"Well, you can tell her it will be all right," I said, thrusting the
letter into my pocket.  "I suppose you haven't heard whether Mr. de
Roda is back at the house--the young lady's uncle, you know?"

Jimmy nodded.  "'E's there all right.  'E come up in a motor-boat
about mid-day.  She's lying out in the tideway round the point."

"How do you know it was Mr. de Roda?" I asked.

"Why, George Ellis, the boatman, seed 'im and Craill rowin' ashore.
I 'eard George tellin' my dad.  She's a fine boat, too, guv'nor--the
old _Seagull_, wot used to belong to Captain Stainer of 'Arwich.
George reckons 'e must 'ave bought 'er while 'e was away."

"Big enough to go to sea in?" I asked.

He nodded his head.  "That's a fact," he answered in the usual Essex
idiom.  "The Capt'n run across to France in 'er once, and George says
she done the trip in a reg'lar treat."

I pulled out my pocket-book and extracted a ten shilling note.

"Here you are, Jimmy," I said, "you cut back and give the old lady my
message.  Just say that I've received the letter, and that I'll do
exactly what Miss de Roda wishes."

I conducted him to the door, stammering his thanks, and assuring me
that my errand should be faithfully discharged, and having watched
him hurry across the lawn and disappear into the shrubbery, I once
more turned the key and shot home the bolts.

I felt that if ever I had cast my bread successfully upon the waters,
it was in picking out Jimmy as a trustworthy confederate.  Except for
him, Christine would have had no chance of sending her letter across
to the island, while the news he had brought with regard to de Roda
was perhaps of even greater significance than anything she had dared
to write.

There was only one explanation which would account for this sudden
purchase of a sea-going motor-boat.  Manning and de Roda must have
made up their minds that the time had arrived for their final effort.
Believing that I should be alone in the house that night, they had
evidently decided to seize the diamonds by force and to make a bolt
for the continent, where their plans were no doubt already arranged.
Having become suspicious of Christine, they had apparently taken the
simple course of locking her in her own room, so that she should have
no possible opportunity of communicating their designs to me.

The one weak point in their otherwise excellent scheme had been the
old French servant.  Her affection for Christine had manifestly
over-ridden her fear of the others; and, while pretending to carry
out their orders, she had secretly consented to assist her young
mistress.

If only the suggested plan worked successfully, nothing would fit in
better with my own arrangements.  To get Christine and de Roda into
our hands was, as Campbell had said, the first and most essential
step in our future proceedings.  By eight-thirty, or soon after, he
and Bobby ought to be back from Martlesea, and matters would be
enormously simplified if they were to find half of the opening task
already accomplished.

I was under no delusion, however, with regard to the dangerous nature
of the undertaking.  Should Christine's attempt fail, she would be in
greater peril than ever, while even if she succeeded it was more than
probable that her escape would be immediately discovered.  In that
event the house might be attacked before Campbell and Bobby returned.
It was impossible to foretell to an exact certainty what time they
would arrive, and, with everything at stake, Manning was not the sort
of gentleman to allow the grass to grow under his feet.

I took out my revolver, and, having emptied the contents, carefully
tested its mechanism.  There was a comforting efficiency about the
ensuing click, click, click, which left nothing to be desired, and,
picking up the cartridges one by one, I reloaded it in every chamber.
After all, if it came to a fight, the odds would be in my favour.  I
am a pretty safe shot, and, unless they blew the whole place to
pieces, I ought to be able to hold the house against half a dozen
assailants.  No one could force an entrance without exposing himself
to a bullet, and I was cheerfully prepared to shoot both Craill and
Manning at the very first opportunity that presented itself.

A glance at the clock showed me that it was close on half-past six.
There were still two hours to spin out before the appointed time--a
prospect which certainly demanded all the patience that I possessed.
I took the precaution of going upstairs again and fastening my
bedroom window, and then, having filled a fresh pipe, I settled down
grimly to my long vigil.

With exasperating slowness the minute hand crept up to seven, and
began to drag round again on its interminable circle.  By the time it
had reached eight the strain of sitting there and doing nothing had
become unbearable--so much so, indeed, that if it had not been for
the very emphatic warning contained in Christine's letter I could
hardly have resisted the temptation of starting out for the
landing-stage.  Her instructions had been too definite, however, to
admit of any doubt as to their importance, and I felt that it would
be madness to run the risk of endangering the whole plan for the lack
of a little extra self-control.

At last the half hour struck, and with a sigh of relief I got up from
my seat.  Being careful to avoid any unnecessary noise, I unlocked
the front door, and for a moment I stood on the step, revolver in
hand, taking a rapid survey of the garden.  Viewed from there in the
gathering dusk, it presented a singularly peaceful and deserted
appearance.  A faint rustic in the tree-tops was the only sound which
disturbed the silence, and, closing the door quietly behind me, I set
off across the lawn in the direction of the iron gate.

On reaching that point I came to a temporary halt.  The path
beyond--always a sombre and depressing place even in broad
daylight--was now so dark as to be hardly distinguishable from the
rest of the shrubbery.

I peered ahead into the blackness, listening intently, but except for
the occasional creak of a branch everything was as still as the
grave.  It was about as uninviting a route as one could very well
imagine, but there was no other method of getting to the boat-house
unless I disobeyed Christine's instructions, and I had been along it
too often to be in much fear of losing my way.

Opening the gate, I passed through.  For another second I again
paused to listen; then with my revolver ready for immediate use I
stepped boldly forward into the gloom.

As I did so my foot struck against a piece of wire, which was
stretched across the path a few inches above the ground.  So sudden
was the shock that I had no chance of recovering my balance.  The
revolver escaped from my hand, and almost before I realised what had
happened I had pitched forward full length on the point of my
shoulder.

At the same instant there was a crash amongst the bushes and two men
hurled themselves on top of me.  One of them fell across my legs,
clutching me by the knees; the other landed with his full weight
right in the middle of my back.

Half dazed, and almost entirely winded, I still had strength to make
one desperate effort.  Twisting myself sideways, I jabbed back my
elbow into the face of the man above me, and a smothered oath told me
that the blow had gone home.  Before I could repeat it, however, his
fingers sank into my throat, and I felt a cold ring of steel pressed
against my forehead:

"If you move again, I'll blow your brains out."

It was Manning's voice, and, low as the whisper was, there was no
mistaking its savage sincerity.

I ceased struggling, for beneath that suffocating hold it was
impossible to do otherwise.

"Hurry up, de Roda," came the sharp command.  "Tie his arms and legs
and be quick about it, we've no time to spare."

I felt my ankles being lashed together, and then a thrill of pain
darted through my shoulder, as somebody jerked my arms roughly behind
my back.  A minute later I was as helpless as a trussed fowl.

Manning let go my throat and rose to his feet

"The first sound you make," he observed softly, "I'll shoot you like
a dog."

"Better knock 'im in the 'ead," suggested a hoarse voice, "it'll save
a lot of trouble."

I heard Manning laugh, as though he found the suggestion amusing.

"I have a better plan for dealing with Mr. Dryden, Craill," he
remarked.  "Do you think you can carry him to the house?"

The other made no answer, but, stooping down and gripping me round
the waist, hoisted me over his shoulder as though I had been a sack
of flour.  Considering that I turn the scale at fourteen stone, the
fellow's strength must have been prodigious.

Manning opened the gate for us, and we passed out on to the lawn.

Every step Craill took gave me a fresh thrill of pain, but the
physical suffering I felt was nothing to the agony of rage and
mortification that was tearing at my heart.  The devilish ingenuity
by which I had been trapped only added to my torture, for since the
contents of Christine's letter were known to my captors, it was only
too probable that her position was as dangerous as my own.

As we reached the verandah Manning's voice once more broke the
silence.

"You had better put our friend down for a moment," he said.  "We
shall have to borrow his key to get into the house."

With a heave of his back Craill let me fall heavily on the stonework,
and moving up to where I was lying Manning ran his hand quickly
through my pockets.

"I've got it," he announced.  Then, turning towards the silent figure
on his right, he added almost mockingly, "Quite a dramatic moment,
isn't it, de Roda?"

I heard the sharp click of the lock, and almost simultaneously a
flood of light streamed out through the doorway.

With a strange gasping sob de Roda thrust his companion aside, and,
trampling on my foot as he passed, stumbled blindly ahead of us into
the hall.

Manning shrugged his shoulders.  "You must make allowances for the
old gentleman, Dryden," he said.  "He has been very hardly treated,
and I'm afraid it's affected his manners."

He stepped forward, laughing quietly to himself, and, without waiting
for further orders, Craill dragged me roughly in after him and closed
the door behind us.

"I think that end of the room will be a good place for our host,"
observed Manning, pointing towards the staircase.  "You can tie him
up comfortably there, and then he will be able to get a nice
uninterrupted view of our researches."

Powerless to resist; I was hauled to my feet and lashed securely with
my back to the banisters--a proceeding which gave me such pain in my
injured shoulder that I had all my work cut out to remain silent.

With a cruel smile upon his lips Manning stood watching the
operation.  One side of his face was still bruised and swelled almost
out of recognition, and even in the midst of my own suffering the
sight filled me with fierce and exulting pleasure.

"You are not looking quite at your best, Manning," I remarked, "I am
afraid you must have had another sleepless night."

"Shall I give 'im a wipe across the mouth?" growled Craill.  "That'll
stop his jaw."

Manning silenced him with a gesture.

"I don't think I shall be very much in your debt by the time I have
finished with you, Dryden," he replied pleasantly.

A queer exclamation from de Roda, who was crouching in front of the
fireplace, broke in suddenly upon our conversation.

"You were right," he cried hoarsely, "you were right, doctor!  It is
here!  I see it myself."

He pointed with trembling fingers towards a small ornamental knob in
the centre of the grate, which I had noticed on several occasions
bore a rough resemblance to a bull-dog's head.

Manning glanced round unconcernedly, and then turned back to me.

"You must excuse me for a moment," he said.  "Mr. de Roda is
naturally impatient."

He walked across to the hearth, and the gaunt, huddled figure of the
other moved aside to make room for him.

"Now we shall see," he remarked.  "It will be very disappointing if I
am wrong after all."

He caught the knob in both hands, and, bending forwards, gave it a
sharp wrench.  Instantly, and without the least noise, the whole
front of one of the side pillars swung open like a door, exposing a
high narrow cavity lined with brick.

In a second de Roda had flung himself on his knees and was groping in
the aperture.

"They are here!" he screamed wildly.  "My God, they are here!"

Sobbing with excitement, he began to drag out handful after handful
of rough uncut stones, which rolled about the floor as he dropped
them in his frantic haste.

Manning stood looking down on him as though he were regarding the
antics of a child.

"Don't get too excited," he said soothingly.  "You will only make
yourself ill if you do."  He beckoned to Craill.  With staring eyes
fixed upon the treasure, the latter shambled across the room.  "Go
into the kitchen," he added, "and see if you can find something to
put them in.  There's pretty sure to be a bag or basket about, and I
don't suppose Mr. Dryden will object to giving us the loan of it."

Craill turned obediently towards the baize door, but he was checked
by another gesture.

"I shall also want some paraffin oil," continued Manning in the same
dispassionate tone.  "Let me have all you can find, and if you come
across any old newspapers bring them as well."

He glanced once more at de Roda, who was gloating over the diamonds
and babbling to himself, then with his hands in his side pockets he
strolled back to where I was pinioned.

"And now, Mr. John Dryden," he said, "I have time to attend to you."

For a moment we stood face to face, his china blue eyes fixed upon
mine with a kind of pitiless satisfaction.  I felt sure that I was
very close to death.  Even though Bobby and Campbell arrived in the
course of the next few minutes, it would make no difference to my own
fate.  Manning would certainly kill me if it were his last act on
earth, and in the absolute conviction that whatever happened I was a
doomed man, a curious and almost detached calm seemed to find its way
into my heart.

I looked back at him with a smile on my lips.

"For an expert, Manning," I said, "you take a long time about
committing a murder."

He laughed easily.  "I am sorry to keep you waiting," he replied.
"It won't be very long--I can assure you of that--but there are just
one or two little bits of information which I should like to give you
first."  He came a step closer.  "I don't often take people into my
confidence, but, you see, in your case I can afford to make an
exception.  Dead men are notoriously reticent."

I realised that every moment he indulged in the luxury of trying to
torment me the more slender became his chances of escape.

"Go ahead, doctor," I said cheerfully.  "Your conversation is always
stimulating."

Provoking as my attitude must have been, he managed to control
himself admirably.

"In the first place," he began, "it may amuse you to learn that the
letter which brought you blundering out of the house in that
singularly convenient fashion was written by myself."

Incredible as his statement seemed, something told me that he was
speaking the truth.

"I congratulate you," I said coolly.  "I knew you were a murderer and
a thief, but I had no idea that you were an accomplished forger as
well."

"You flatter me," he replied.  "As a matter of fact it was a very
hurried and rather clumsy piece of work.  Any intelligent person
would probably have seen through it at once."  He pulled out an
envelope from his pocket and held it up mockingly in front of me.
"This is the touching and affectionate original," he added.  "It was
given to Marie by Christine, and, like a good servant, the old lady
promptly handed it on to me.  Very trustworthy domestics the French,
Dryden."

For a moment I made no answer.  The sight of Christine's letter in
that brute's hands sent such a fresh wave of anger surging through me
that I was afraid I should be unable to control my voice.

"I won't read it to you," he continued.  "You might find it
upsetting, and I should like your last moments to be really peaceful
and happy."  He paused.  "Besides, you would probably be more
interested to hear about my own future arrangements, especially as,
to a rather important extent, they involve those of Miss de Roda."

He put the letter back into his pocket, and once more surveyed me
with the same Satanic enjoyment.

"I have been fortunate enough to get hold of a really nice little
ocean-going steam yacht, Dryden.  At the present moment she is lying
in the harbour at Rotterdam, and by to-morrow night we hope to be
well on our way to the South Seas."

He glanced round again carelessly at de Roda, who was still
scrabbling amongst the treasure, apparently blind and deaf to our
presence.

"For Christine and myself," he continued softly, "the voyage will be
full of romance.  It will be our honeymoon, Dryden; a rather
unwilling one on her part, perhaps, but none the less enjoyable for
that."

I bit my lip until I could feel the blood trickling into my mouth.

"A pleasant family party at first," he went on, in a still lower
voice; "but between ourselves, I don't think we shall be troubled
with the old gentleman's company for very long.  It would be sad, of
course, if anything were to happen, but I shall do my best to console
Christine.  I fancy she has one of those rare natures which will
respond to affectionate treatment."

God knows how much more of this I could have stood, but at that
instant the baize door opened and Craill re-entered the hall.  He had
a bundle of newspapers under his arm, and was carrying a large tin of
paraffin and a canvas bag.

Manning relieved him of the latter, and held it up to the light.

"That will do, Craill," he observed, handing it back.  "You can put
down the other things and help Mr. de Roda pack away the stones.  We
shall be leaving very shortly."

He turned towards me again, brushing off a patch of mud which he had
apparently just noticed on his sleeve.

"By the way, Dryden," he added, "in the excitement of the moment I
have clean forgotten to thank you for telling me where to look for
the diamonds.  It was the one point in which I was utterly at a loss.
Your late lamented uncle was always babbling about a dog's head, but
somehow or other I never connected it with the hiding-place.  I
always thought he was talking about that brute Satan.  It was only
when you confided to me that he had had the fireplace specially put
in that I happened to notice that ingenious little bit of carving in
the centre of the grate.  Curious that I should have been so stupid,
but the best of us make mistakes at times.  _Non semper arcum tendit
Apollo_, as our delightful friend Horace used to say."

He looked deliberately round the room, as though in search of
something, and then walked across to the writing-table, where there
were a couple of candle-sticks with stumps of candles in each.

He took out one of them, and, strolling back, picked up the bundle of
newspapers which Craill had deposited on the floor.

"I have devoted considerable thought towards providing you with a
fitting exit, Dryden," he remarked.  "One or two very attractive
ideas have occurred to me, but I think on the whole that the best
plan will be to burn down the house.  I trust that in the throes of
courtship you have not overlooked the precaution of insuring against
fire?"

His fiendish purpose had been obvious ever since he had sent Craill
for the paraffin, and if he hoped for any sign of weakness from me he
must have been singularly disappointed.

"I am afraid there will be no premium this time," I said.  "You can't
expect all your murders to be equally productive."

In spite of his wonderful self-control the shot went home.  I saw the
fingers of his left hand tighten sharply, while a sudden look of
surprise flashed across his face.

"So you have been making enquiries into my past history?" he observed
almost caressingly.

"Just a few," I admitted.  "It was an unsavory business, but I have
managed to dig up one or two quite interesting facts.  At the present
moment they are in the hands of the police."

He laughed gently.  "I was doing Christine an injustice," he replied.
"You seem to have occasional gleams of intelligence after all."

We were interrupted by Craill, who, leaving de Roda and the diamonds,
lurched menacingly across the room.

"You 'eard wot 'e said, boss!  Shove 'im through it, quick, and let's
be off.  We got to fetch the girl an'----"

"Don't upset yourself, Craill," came the imperturbable answer.  "We
shall have plenty of time to carry out our original programme."

He took another leisurely inspection of the room, and then, walking
across to the opposite corner, dropped the newspapers in a tumbled
heap alongside the grandfather clock.

"You can pull up those two tables," he added, "and empty out the log
basket against the wall.  I don't think we shall have much trouble in
starting a really satisfactory bonfire.  That's the best of these old
panelled houses: they burn beautifully when they once catch alight."

With an evil grin upon his face, Craill set about the business, while
de Roda, clutching the bag of diamonds in his trembling hands, stared
vacantly at all three of us.

As soon as his instructions had been obeyed Manning picked up the
paraffin.  Taking out the cork, he poured half the contents of the
can on to the wood, and splashed the remainder over the two tables
and the wall.  Then, bending forward, he placed the stump of candle
in the middle of the pile of newspapers.

"You see the idea, Dryden?" he remarked, turning to me.  "Something
after the principle of a delayed fuse.  Bar accidents, it will take
the candle about ten minutes to burn down.  That will afford you a
nice comfortable opportunity to say your prayers.  It will also give
us plenty of time to call for Christine and be well on our way down
the estuary before anyone has grasped the important fact that you are
in need of assistance."

He struck a match, and, having carefully ignited the wick, stepped
back to contemplate the result.

"For Gawd's sake 'urry up, boss," repeated Craill, more insistently
than ever.  "There ain't no sense in messin' abaht 'ere--not now
we've got the stuff."

"You two can start now," replied Manning, "I shall catch you up
before you reach the landing-stage."

Craill made a movement as if to take the diamonds from de Roda, but
with a snarl, almost like that of a wild animal, the latter started
away.

Manning laughed again.  "Mr. de Roda will carry the stones, Craill,"
he said.  "They will be quite safe in his charge."

Still hugging the bag fiercely in his arms, de Roda followed his
companion to the hall door, and without any further remark from
either of them the two men passed out into the darkness.

Directly they had gone Manning sauntered up to me.  "I think we had
better gag you, Dryden," he said thoughtfully.  "I want to leave the
window open so as to ensure a good draught, and it's just possible
that somebody might hear you squealing."

Twisting his handkerchief into the shape of a bandage, he stepped up
on to the staircase behind me, and, drawing the broad part tightly
across my mouth, knotted the ends together at the back of my head.
Then, coming round in front of me again, he took a last smiling
survey of his handiwork.

"Good-bye, my friend," he drawled slowly.  "I am afraid you are in
for a rather uncomfortable time, but you must try to regard your
suffering as a kind of disguised blessing.  If there is any truth in
what the church teaches us, you will probably find it an excellent
preparation for the next world."

He made me a low mocking bow, and then with a final glance at the
candle walked quickly across to the doorway and strode out into the
garden after his two companions.




CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SILENCE!

Silence so complete that I could almost hear the beating of my own
heart as I stared across the room at the little cone of flame which
burned away steadily amongst the tumbled pile of newspapers.

Five minutes had passed since Manning had left me--five ghastly,
interminable minutes that had seared themselves for ever into the
very fibre of my being.  Twice I had tried to close my eyes, but on
each occasion the hideous fascination of that ever-shortening stump
of candle had proved far stronger than my own will.  I had wrenched
at the ropes which held me until my wrists were bleeding, and, now,
utterly exhausted and almost sick with pain, I leaned back waiting
for the end.

I had no feeling of fear for myself; all my thoughts were of the
horrible fate that awaited Christine if Manning succeeded in getting
her on board the yacht.  I tried desperately to imagine what would
happen when Bobby and Campbell reached the island.  As far as I was
aware they knew nothing of Manning's intentions.  They would probably
arrive only to find the house a mass of blazing ruins, and unless by
some miracle they guessed the truth, they would be powerless to
interfere until it was too late.

With straining eyes I watched the little yellow flame as it began to
flicker ominously in its final stages.  The end was very near now.  A
minute--forty-five seconds----

Clang!

Merciful God!  What was that?

A stifled cry broke from my lips, and, jerking my head round, I
stared through the open doorway into the darkness outside.

Someone had passed through the garden gate and was hurrying towards
the house.  I heard a rustle on the lawn, the swift pad of footsteps
across the verandah, then, breathless and dripping wet, a slim,
solitary figure stumbled into the light.

It was Christine.

Dressed only in the scantiest of swimming costumes, with the water
still trickling from her bare arms and legs, she stood there,
white-faced and horror-struck, gazing at the sight before her.

"The candle!" I stammered wildly.  "Quick, put it out!"

With a faint splutter the wick suddenly heeled over, and a thin wisp
of smoke shot up into the air.

In a flash Christine seemed to realise the peril in which we stood.
Almost before the words left my lips she had darted across the room,
and the next moment she was stamping out the smouldering paper with
her bare feet.

I remember making a queer sound which I think was intended for a
protest.  For an instant she leaned against the wall, trembling and
sobbing from the reaction; then with a kind of pitiful blind haste
she groped her way to my side and began to unfasten the handkerchief
which Manning had knotted across my mouth.

"What have they done to you?" she faltered.  "Oh, what have they done
to you?"

I gulped down a mouthful of sorely needed fresh air.

"Christine, my darling," I whispered, "how in heaven's name did you
get here?"

"I swam over from the shore," she answered breathlessly.  "I landed
on the saltings just opposite the garden."

"You did _what_?" I exclaimed.  I stared at her in amazement.  "You
swam in the dark across the estuary?"

She nodded.

"There was no other way of reaching the island.  Marie had promised
to send you a message by Jimmy, but instead of keeping her word she
must have given it to Dr. Manning.  He came to my room and told me
what he was going to do.  I made up my mind then that as soon as they
started I would try to follow them.  I got out through the window and
I managed to climb down by the creeper.  I thought the tide would be
too strong for me, but I didn't care either way.  If I wasn't in time
to help you, I just wanted to be drowned."

She stopped, and her eyes fell upon an old-fashioned American bowie
knife which was hanging from the wall at the head of the stairs.
With a quick movement she stepped forward, and, unhooking it from the
nail, began to saw away feverishly at the ropes which fastened me to
the banisters.

She had just cut through the first strand when I suddenly realised
that at any moment Manning might return.

"Shut the door before you do anything else," I explained.  "Lock it
and bolt it top and bottom.  If they guess where you are----"

I had no need to finish, for Christine hurried off at once, and,
forgetting my injured shoulder in the excitement of the moment, I
gave an impatient tug at the nearly severed cord.  I was rewarded by
such a stab of pain that before I could stop it an involuntary grunt
broke from my lips.

"What is it?  What's the matter?  You are hurt after all!"

With a face whiter than ever, and her eyes full of concern, Christine
had hastened to where I was standing.

"It's nothing much," I said.  "I blundered over a bit of wire they'd
stretched across the path and I rather think I've cracked my
collar-bone.  It will be all right as soon as I've tied it up."

She knelt down beside me, and with trembling fingers set about the
task of freeing my wrists.  I heard her give a sudden gasp of horror
as she saw the state they were in.

"Oh, the brutes!" she sobbed.  "The utter brutes!  How can God allow
such people as Manning to exist?"

"He won't allow it much longer," I replied grimly.

The cut ends of the rope pattered down on to the floor, and, shaking
myself loose, I stepped forward, a free man.  Christine dropped the
knife and rose unsteadily to her feet.  The next moment I was
crushing her soft wet body in my uninjured arm, and pressing kisses
upon her bare neck and shoulders.

"My own dear love!" I whispered.  "I must have been mad ever to let
you go."

I strained her to me, kissing her again and again, until the little
round oilskin cap that she was wearing slipped off her head, and her
slender beauty was almost hidden by a rippling torrent of dark brown
hair.

At last a faint recollection of our rather precarious position began
to intrude itself into my mind.

"I hate to stop kissing you, Christine," I said, "but would you mind
helping me load my gun?  I don't believe I can manage it with one
hand."

She released herself from my embrace, and stood there like some
lovely sea Naiad, her breast rising and falling and her lips slightly
parted.

"Where is it--where do you keep it?" she asked.

I nodded towards a leather case which was standing up on end in the
opposite corner.

"That's it," I said.  "Do you think you can put it together and shove
in a couple of cartridges?  I want to be ready for Manning in case he
comes back."

She started towards it, and for the first time the gaping aperture in
the fireplace suddenly attracted her attention.

"Yes," I said, "they got the diamonds all right.  Your uncle went off
hugging them in a bag.  I should feel quite pleased about it if I
only thought he would be allowed to keep them."

Christine stepped forward to the case, and, laying it on the floor,
began to unfasten the straps.  In spite of her agitation there was a
promptness and efficiency about all her proceedings which filled me
with admiration.

"Why were you alone here?" she asked, as she snapped the barrels into
their place.  "Has anything happened to your naval friend?"

"Something must have happened to him," I replied, "but goodness knows
what.  He and Campbell, the detective, ought to have been back by
eight-thirty.  They may turn up any moment now, and----"

Christine rose hastily, holding the loaded gun in her hand.  A
delightful little tinge of colour had suddenly crept into her face.

"They mustn't find me like this," she faltered.  "Could you lend me a
coat or something?"

She gazed desperately round the room, as though in search of some
likely garment.

"My entire wardrobe is at your service," I assured her.  "You shall
come upstairs and take your choice."  I paused.  "All the same," I
added regretfully, "I shall never make you look as nice as you do
now."

She blushed again, and, moving impulsively towards her, I once more
slipped my arm round her waist.

"My own darling," I exclaimed, "you must be simply frozen to death;
and your poor little feet----"

"No, no," she protested, "I'm quite all right, really I am.  It's
your shoulder we've got to think about."

"Oh, bother my shoulder!" I objected.  "It only wants a little
support of some sort.  A scarf or a handkerchief or any old thing
will do.  I'll come upstairs with you, and you can fix it for me
while I'm routing you out some clothes."

I tried to relieve her of the gun, but with a shake of her head she
insisted upon carrying it, and side by side we mounted the staircase
which led to my own bedroom.  There was a box of matches upon the
dressing-table, and, having leaned her weapon carefully against the
wall, Christine proceeded to light the candles.

"Now we'll see what we can find," I said.  "I've got any amount of
kit, but I'm afraid none of it will fit you very well."

"I'm going to attend to you first," she answered, pulling open the
top drawer.  "Why, here's the very thing I want!  This will make a
beautiful sling."

She took out a large silk handkerchief, and, crossing to the
washstand, picked up the wet sponge.  Then with an air of almost
professional gravity she came back to where I was standing.

"I learned something about accidents when I was living on the ranch,"
she went on.  "You must let me put this under your arm before I
fasten you up.  That will keep the collar-bone in position until we
can get it properly set."

With a neatness that would have done credit to Harley Street she
rapidly completed the operation, and, feeling considerably eased as
far as the pain was concerned, I moved over to the wardrobe and threw
back the door.

"Here you are, dear heart!" I said.  "Coats, shirts, trousers,
underclothes--anything necessary to a person of taste and fashion."

She laughed softly, and, taking a step forward, peeped in at the
crowded shelves.

"I expect I shall find something that will do," she said.  "I only
want to feel a little more respectable and just a tiny bit warmer."

"Well, help yourself to whatever you like," I observed.  "I shall
take the gun and go and sit on the staircase until you've finished."

"But you can't use a gun now," she exclaimed, "you've only got one
arm."

"That's quite enough to shoot Manning with," I returned; and, without
waiting for any further remonstrances, I picked up the weapon and
walked out into the passage.

A moment's consideration convinced me that the finest strategical
position was the small landing half-way down.  At that point I should
be practically invisible from the hall below, and at the same time I
should command a full view of the front door.  Crippled as I was, I
could certainly lay out anyone who attempted to ascend the staircase,
and with this consoling thought I made my way down, and seated myself
comfortably on the first step of the next flight.

In spite of everything, an inexpressible joy was rioting through my
heart.  What the devil did such details as a cracked shoulder and the
loss of the diamonds matter when compared with the glorious fact that
I had recovered Christine?  From the blackest depths of despair I had
been lifted suddenly to the very heights of human felicity, and the
most carefully balanced human nature is apt to be a trifle upset by
such an abrupt and dazzling transition.

The one disturbing factor in the situation was the thought of de
Roda.  His mind had evidently given away entirely, and the memory of
his haggard face and those strange burning eyes of his haunted me
like a reproachful ghost.  Manning and Craill were not likely to
burden themselves for long with such a companion.  Even if they
spared his life, or what was left of it, they would almost certainly
abandon him at the first possible opportunity.  They would go off
with the treasure, leaving him robbed and helpless in some
out-of-the-way-corner of the world, and I knew what suffering it
would mean to Christine unless we were able to save him from such a
fate.

Until Bobby and Campbell arrived, however, there was absolutely
nothing to be done.

I was staring at the door, and asking myself for the tenth time what
could have happened to them, when a thundering rap on the knocker
nearly made me jump from my seat.  With an instinctive movement I
thrust the barrel of my gun through the banisters.

"Who's that?" I called out.

"Who the blazes d'you think it is?" came the cheery answer.

It was the one voice in the world that I was longing to hear, and,
scrambling to my feet, I plunged recklessly down the staircase.  The
next moment the door was open, and two stalwart figures, clad from
head to feet in glistening oilskins, stepped forward into the light.

"We're very late," began Campbell, "but----"

The sentence died on his lips, and with a sudden sniff he stood
gazing first at me and then at the tumbled heap of logs and furniture
on the further side of the hall.

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Bobby.  "What have you been doing?  Playing
football?"

I looked at them both, and for the life of me I could not help
laughing.

"You were quite correct about the diamonds, Bobby," I said.  "Manning
found them without the least difficulty."

I pointed to the fireplace, and with a queer exclamation Campbell
strode across the room and peered into the recess.

"Are you serious, man?" he demanded.  "D'ye mean to say he's got
them?"

"Yes," I said, "he's got them all right, and it's only by the mercy
of God and her own pluck that he hasn't got Christine as well."

"When did this happen?"

Campbell shot the question at me so savagely that it sounded like the
bark of a dog.

"Twenty minutes ago," I said.

"And where is he now?" This latter from Bobby.

"Unless he's mad," I replied, "he's probably half a mile down the
estuary on his way to Rotterdam."

There was a moment of pregnant silence.

"So it was their launch we saw," observed Bobby coolly.  "I thought
it must be."

Campbell closed the door in the grate with a vicious swing, and came
swiftly back to where we were standing.

"Let us have the facts, Mr. Dryden, just the bare facts and nothing
more."  He caught hold of a chair and thrust it towards me.

"Better sit down, man," he added in a gentler voice.  "You're looking
as if a rest would do you good."

I took his advice, accepting at the same time the somewhat battered
silver flask which Bobby lugged out hastily from an inside pocket.
It was full of neat brandy, and, having gulped down a generous
mouthful, I proceeded to give them a compressed but faithful
description of the evening's entertainment.  The whole recital only
occupied a short while, for in spite of its amazing nature neither of
them attempted to interrupt me.

"So you see what comes of not keeping your appointments, Robert," I
finished.  "The diamonds have gone; here am I with a cracked
collar-bone, and----"

A sudden sound attracted our attention, and we all three turned round
abruptly.  Christine was standing at the head of the staircase, with
her hand on the banister.  Dressed in an old sailing jersey of mine,
with a pair of white flannel trousers rolled up over her bare feet
and ankles, she presented such a delightfully unexpected picture that
for perhaps a couple of seconds none of us moved or spoke.

"Let me introduce you," I said.  "Christine, this is Bobby, and this
is Inspector Campbell.  I have just been telling them how you saved
my life."

She came down the staircase, and with a simultaneous movement both my
companions started forward to meet her.  Bobby, however, arrived
first.

"Put it there," he exclaimed, burying her slender hand in his huge
brown fist.  "I told Jack he'd got a prize-packet, and, by God! it's
the truth."

Campbell's greeting was a shade more formal

"You're a very gallant young lady, miss, and I'm proud and honoured
to make your acquaintance."

With shining eyes Christine looked from one to the other of them.

"I knew that you wouldn't fail us," she said.  Then, coming towards
me, she added eagerly: "But what are we waiting for?  Why don't we
start at once?"

I got up from my chair.

"Christine's right," I cried.  "How about your launch, Bobby?  Has
anything gone wrong with her?"

"Gone wrong with her!" he echoed indignantly.  "Of course it hasn't."

"Then why were you late?" I demanded.

"I was kept for an hour at that cursed office.  There was some
Admiralty business that had to be attended to."

Christine turned to him, her face alight with excitement.

"We have still time."  she said.  "If we can catch them up before
they get to Holland----"

She was interrupted by Campbell.

"She's talking sense, the young lady," he exclaimed.  "They can't be
very far ahead of us, and there's twenty thousand pounds reward if we
get the stones."

"It's my uncle's life I'm thinking of," declared Christine
passionately.

Campbell made an obvious effort to appear sympathetic.

"Never fear, miss," he rejoined.  "We'll bring him back to you and
the diamonds as well."

"I am coming too," said Christine quietly.

The Inspector stared at her in dismay.

"But, my dear young lady----" he began.

"You may as well save your breath, Campbell," I remarked.  "If three
hundred yards of water can't stop Miss de Roda----"

"Why the blazes shouldn't she come?" demanded Bobby indignantly.
"She's got more pluck and grit than all the rest of us put together."

"Have it your own way," returned Campbell.  "I'm thinking there'll be
some bloody work before we get the bracelets on Dr. Manning, but if
you choose to run the risk--"  He broke off with a shrug of his
shoulders, and Bobby stepped forward, glancing down at Christine's
bare feet.

"Haven't you got any shoes?" he asked.  "You can't go through the
shrubbery like that."

"Yes, I can," she replied.  "I've done it already."

"Well, I'm hanged if you'll do it again," he retorted.  "You're all
cut about and bleeding as it is.  You hop up on my back like a
sensible girl."

He stooped down, and, without making any fuss or protest, Christine
at once accepted the proffered lift.

Campbell's grim eyes watched her appreciatively.

"You stick close to me, Commander," he said.  "I'll go ahead of you
with the light, and then you can see where you're putting your feet.
I wouldn't have you drop that lass, not for a twenty pound note."

He produced an electric torch from his pocket, and switching on the
current, led the way out into the garden.  Bobby followed, with
Christine on his back, and, just waiting to close the door, I hurried
after them and ranged myself alongside of Campbell.

There was very little mist left, and the moon, although occasionally
obscured by clouds, was now shining brightly.  We passed through the
iron gate and entered the shrubbery, where I showed them the broken
wire which had been the cause of my downfall.  Then, step by step, we
moved cautiously forward along the winding path, until a glimmer of
light in front of us showed that the trees were coming to an end.

As we emerged on to the saltings Christine slipped lightly to her
feet.

We could see the launch lying out in the tideway, and a dark figure,
silhouetted sharply against the water, standing on guard over a small
dinghy.

"There's Jenkins!" said Bobby, in a relieved whisper.

At the sound of his voice the sailor wheeled round quickly; and then,
seeing us advancing across the grass, drew himself up to the salute.

"Anything happened?" enquired Bobby.

"All quiet, sir," came the curt answer.

"In you get," continued Bobby, motioning us towards the dinghy.

He turned to Jenkins, who was moving away to unhitch the painter.

"We've got to catch that launch, Jenkins," he said, "the one we saw
coming out from the opposite shore.  She's making for Rotterdam, and
no matter if we break the blasted engines we're going to overhaul her
before she gets there."

"Very good, sir," returned Jenkins indifferently.

He waited until we had scrambled in, and then, unfastening the rope,
took his place at the oars.  Two or three strokes brought us
alongside, where Bobby held the boat steady while we clambered on
board over the low iron railing.

I shepherded Christine and Campbell to the cockpit, and, leaving them
there, lent what assistance I could to the others in the task of
getting under way.

Within five minutes of our feet touching the deck the anchor was
hauled in, and we were heading out into the open estuary, with the
black water rippling past our stern.

Bobby, who had taken the wheel, signalled to me to come aft.

"You'll find a pair of night glasses in the cabin," he observed.
"You'd better go up into the bows and keep a look-out."

I nodded.  "If you've got such a thing as a spare gun," I said, "I'll
borrow that too."

"There are a couple of Webleys about somewhere," he replied.  "Ask
Jenkins for them and give the other one to Campbell."

I dropped down the narrow hatch, and, having discovered the glasses,
made my way forward to where Jenkins was busy with the engines.  He
left them for a moment, to reappear with a brace of useful-looking
revolvers, and thus equipped I crawled back to the cockpit.

I found Christine and the Inspector sitting side by side, apparently
on the most friendly terms.

"Here you are, Campbell," I said, offering him his choice.  "I
promised you a bit of shooting, and the odds are that you'll get it."

With a significant gesture the detective tapped his hip.

"Not for me, thank you," he replied.  "If Dr. Manning wants to argue
I've got an old friend here who'll do all the talking that's
necessary."

Christine stretched out her hand.

"I'll take the other one," she announced.

Campbell made an attempt to interfere, but he was too late to be
effective.

"You needn't worry about me," said Christine reassuringly.  "I know
how to use a revolver."

"I'm not surprised to hear it, miss," was the answer.  "All the same,
if it comes to a shooting match, the proper place for you is in the
cabin."

"He's right, Christine," I added.  "For heaven's sake keep under
cover when we run alongside."

She looked up at me eagerly.

"You think we shall catch them, then?"

"Of course we shall," I answered.  "It's not likely that they can do
more than twenty, and Bobby can knock nearly forty out of this old
jigger."  I squeezed her hand comfortingly in the darkness.

"I'm going up forward now to keep a look-out for them," I continued.
"As soon as you hear me let off a yell you'll know that they're in
sight."

With surprising tact Campbell turned away his head, and, having taken
full advantage of the opportunity, I swung myself up on to the deck
and started off in the direction of the bows.

We were now racing through the water at a tremendous speed, the whole
frail shell quivering and rocking beneath the powerful beat of the
engine.  On either side a great rolling wave curved away from the
ship's stern, and behind us a broad wake of white foam gleamed and
tossed in the fitful light of the moon.

I crept forward to the end of the deck, and, crouching down in the
angle of the railing, stared long and steadily through my glasses.

As there was no sign of our quarry it was clear that she was already
round the point.  Manning had doubtless seen Bobby's launch returning
up the estuary and had wasted no time in getting away from "The
Laurels" directly he had discovered Christine's flight.  At the
lowest computation he must now be at least six miles ahead of us.
Provided the moonlight held, however, he would still be in sight by
the time he reached the bar, and I glanced anxiously at heavy masses
of cloud which were gathering ominously from the south-east.

On we went, the water becoming rougher every minute as we forced our
way into the trough of the incoming tide.

Bit by bit the coast opened out on our right, until at last we were
almost opposite the big clump of trees which marks the extreme end of
the southern shore.

Clutching the rail to steady myself, I once more raised my glasses.
Then, in a lather of spray and foam, we suddenly shot out into full
view of the sea, and at the same moment a wild, involuntary shout
broke from my lips.

There, not half a mile ahead of us, was the launch.  She was lying
broadside on under the full light of the moon, and one glance was
sufficient to show me she had broken down.  Even at that distance I
could make out two figures working frantically at the engines and
another huddled shape in the bows.

"We've got 'em!" roared Bobby, above the throb of the pistons.

He spun over the wheel, and, swinging round like a greyhound on the
trail, we leaped seaward straight for our helpless prey.

I found Campbell standing beside me, a revolver gripped in his hand.

"If there's any sign of trouble," he said quietly, "shoot at once.
You keep your eye on Craill and I'll look after Manning."

I had rather it had been the other way on, but there was no time for
arguing.

Even as he spoke I saw Manning fling down his useless spanner, and,
wiping his hands coolly with a piece of cotton waste, step up into
the stern.  Craill followed, his evil, scowling face in strange
contrast to the smiling calm of the other.

Slackening speed at just the right moment, Bobby brought us alongside
with masterly precision.

Campbell leaned forward, his eyes fixed grimly on the pair of them.

"It's no use, doctor," he said, "your luck's out this time."

With a ghastly sound, half-way between a sob and a scream, the gaunt
figure of de Roda rose suddenly from the deck.  A torrent of Spanish
curses burst from his throat, and, dropping the bag of diamonds which
he was still holding, he staggered to the side, shaking his fists at
us in a frenzy of maniacal rage.

I heard a low cry of anguish beside me, and, as I half turned round,
I saw Manning and Craill whip out their revolvers.

I think we must all have fired simultaneously.  The only thing I
actually remember is a blinding crash in my head as I pitched forward
against the rails.

* * * * *

For a little while I thought that I was still dreaming.  Then the low
murmur of voices became so persistent that at last, with a tremendous
effort, I managed to open my eyes.

"What's that?" I demanded.

There was the scrape of a chair, and the next moment Bobby and
Christine were standing beside the bed.

"It's all right, old lad," said the former soothingly.  "We're both
here."

I looked up in bewilderment.  I had a vague feeling that I was back
in my cabin on the _Neptune_ and that somehow or other Bobby ought to
be Ross.

"Some blighter pushed me into the dock," I said irritably.

Then, with the same startling abruptness as before, a wave of memory
surged through my aching brain.

"Good Lord!" I cried, starting up.  "Where am I?  What's happened?"

Christine sat down beside me, and very tenderly took my hand in hers.

"You are back on the island, dear, in your own room.  There's nothing
to be anxious about or worried over.  It's all finished, and we are
just here together--you and I and Bobby."

I let my head sink back on the pillows.

"I remember now," I said.  "I stopped a bullet, didn't I?  I've a
sort of recollection of seeing a lot of stars, and after that
everything's a blank."

Bobby seated himself on the other side of my couch.

"This is splendid," he remarked.  "You'll be asking for a whisky and
soda before we know where we are."

Christine leaned forward and rearranged the pillows.

"Tell me," she whispered, "is your head hurting you very much?"

I put my hand to my forehead and found it encircled by a wet bandage.

"It's aching a bit," I admitted.  "What's the damage?  Anything
serious?"

"Well, it was rather a close shave," said Bobby drily.  "Manning's
bullet ripped along the side of your skull and knocked you out as
clean as a whistle.  A devilish good shot--under the circumstances."

There was a moment's pause.

"Go on, Robert," I said, "you're just getting interesting."

Christine made a faint movement of protest.

"The doctor will be here in a minute.  Hadn't we better wait?"

"No, no," I protested.  "I must hear what happened."

She glanced across at Bobby.

"Very well, then," she said quietly, "you tell him."

"I don't know if Manning saw you fall," continued Bobby, "but if so
it was the last thing he did see on this earth.  We all fired
directly he raised his hand.  He got three bullets, one from
Christine, one from Campbell, and one from me.  It will be a very
interesting point as to which of us killed him."

"And Craill?" I asked.

"You laid Craill out all right.  At the present moment he's in the
Pen Mill Police Station nursing a sick elbow."

For an instant I hesitated.  Christine must have guessed my unspoken
question, for when I looked up at her her eyes were wet with tears.

"We found my uncle lying dead on the deck," she whispered.  "Dr. Ross
had always told me that any great shock or excitement----"

Her voice faltered, and, breaking into a pitiful little sob, she
buried her face in her hands.

"My poor darling," I said hoarsely.  "I'd have given anything in the
world----"

With a brave effort she raised her head and brushed away the tears
which were running down her cheeks.

"I know," she said, "I know how you feel.  I can't help crying, it's
all so sad and terrible, but even if it were possible I don't think I
would wish him to be alive.  It nearly broke my heart to see him as
he was.  Now at least he is at peace."

She turned to Bobby.

"Don't bother about me," she added.  "Just tell him the rest before
the doctor comes."

"There isn't much more to tell," said Bobby quietly.  "We towed the
launch to Pen Mill, and Campbell went ashore and rang up the police.
The Head Constable came over at once and brought the doctor with him.
There was the devil of a fuss, as you can imagine.  Fortunately,
however, the old boy knew all about Campbell, and after a lot of jaw
we were allowed to bring you back here and put you to bed.  It was
nearly midnight by then, and we've been taking turns sitting up with
you ever since."

"What's the time now?" I demanded.

Bobby glanced at his watch.

"Close on twelve."

"And where's Campbell?" I asked.

"He stopped ashore with the police.  There's going to be an inquest
on Manning this afternoon, and----"

He was interrupted by a loud ring at the front door bell.

Christine rose quickly.

"It's probably the doctor," she said.  "He promised to come over as
soon as he was free."

She motioned Bobby to remain where he was, and, crossing the room,
disappeared into the passage.

"We got the diamonds all right," added Bobby cheerfully.  "Campbell
had a squint at them, and he says there are only about a third
missing.  He reckons you ought to get at least twenty thousand out of
the Brazilian Government."

"I've had my share," I said.  "You and he and Christine can split it
up between you."

"I'll do nothing of the sort," began Bobby indignantly.  "If you like
to give Campbell--"  He stopped short at the sound of returning
footsteps, and a moment later Christine entered the room.

"A man has called with a message from Mr. Campbell," she said.  "He
wants you to go over to the hotel at once."

Bobby got up from the bed.

"Something to do with this infernal inquest I suppose."

He reached for his cap, which was lying on the dressing-table, and,
having patted Christine paternally on the shoulder, walked to the
doorway, where he turned round and surveyed us both.

"So long, my children," he observed.  "Settle it for when you like,
but don't forget that I'm to be best man."

* * * * *

For just a second after he had gone we both remained silent.

"I suppose we must let him have his way," I said.  "We can't very
well refuse after all he's done for us."

Christine stood looking down at me with a world of love and
tenderness in her eyes.

"I don't know why it is," she said helplessly, "I feel as if I wanted
to laugh and cry at the same time."

I stretched out my hand and drew her down on to the bed beside me.

"It's only this house, dear heart," I said gently.  "As soon as it's
all over we'll go away together and----"

She stopped me with a little gesture.

"But I don't want to go away," she whispered.  "I think Greensea
Island is the only place in the world that I was ever really happy
in."

I sat up, and, putting my arms around her, pressed my lips to hers.

"Oh, but your shoulder!" she faltered.  "Your poor shoulder!  The
doctor said----"

"Hang the doctor," I exclaimed, and with this ungrateful sentiment I
kissed her again.



THE END







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