"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 theNeptune, 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 themen 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 theNeptunefor 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 theNeptunewas 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.
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 theNeptune?" I asked. "She came in early this morning."
"TheNeptune!" 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 theNeptunereared 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 theNeptune'sdeck.
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 theNeptune'sdeck.
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."