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 theNeptune. 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.
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 theNeptunein 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."
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.