Fortunately no such contretemps occurred. I tramped on, keeping a sharp look-out ahead of me, and at twenty past three by the church clock I entered the straggling outskirts of Shalston. A few minutes' walk along the main street brought me to my destination—a quaint little old-fashioned shop, with a large supply of buns, tarts, and other delicacies piled up in the bow-window.
As I pushed open the door, a bell above my head jangled fiercely. In answer to its summons a pleasant-faced middle-aged woman glided out from behind a rampart of freshly baked loaves, and gazed at me benignly across the counter.
"Good afternoon," I said. "I believe you have a room upstairs where you serve tea?"
"That's right, sir," she replied encouragingly. "There's a nice room on the first floor. Will you step this way, sir?"
She conducted me through a door at the back into a linoleum-lined passage, whence a flight of stairs led up to the landing above.
"I am expecting a friend to tea with me—a lady," I added. "When she arrives, would you be kind enough to tell her I'm here?"
"To be sure I will, sir," was the affable answer. "And mebbe you'd rather wait till she comes before you give your order?"
"Perhaps it would be safest," I admitted. "She might have a weakness for some particular kind of jam tart."
Proceeding upstairs, I entered the room facing me, where a table in the centre was already set out for tea. It was a fair-sized apartment, furnished in that engaging style which is generally associated with the name of the late Queen Victoria. There was a piano, a large horse-hair sofa with an antimacassar over its back, and two chairs of the same material, stiffly arranged on each side of the fireplace. The grate was filled with coloured paper, and from the mantelpiece above a stuffed canary in a glass case looked coldly across at Mr. Frith's attractive reproduction of a busy morning at Paddington Station. Two or three texts, a framed certificate from "The Ancient Order of Buffaloes," and several photographs of popular watering-places mounted on red plush, lent a finishing touch to the general harmony.
Laying my hat down on the sofa, I took up a defensive position in front of the hearth. I had not very long to wait, for five minutes could hardly have elapsed when I heard the passage door open, and a sound of voices became audible in the hall below. In spite of the fact that it ought to have benefited by previous experience, I could feel my heart beginning to beat in the most curious and uncontrollable fashion. Then, beautiful as ever, Christine appeared suddenly in the open doorway, and the next moment I was holding her hands in mine.
"I can't tell you how badly I've wanted you," I said. "It seems a hundred years since yesterday."
She looked up at me in a kind of half-humorous, half-protesting fashion.
"Mr. Dryden—please!" she murmured. "They can hear everything you're saying downstairs."
I let go her hands, and took an obedient step backwards.
"I suppose they can," I said. "I quite forgot that there was anyone else in the world."
She came forward into the room.
"Besides," she added with a smile, "tea will be up in one moment. They told me that you were waiting till I arrived, so I ordered it while I was in the shop."
"You're not going to run away again at once, are you?" I demanded anxiously. "There are a whole heap of things I want to talk to you about."
The troubled expression that I had seen before came back suddenly into her face.
"I mustn't stay very long—not more than half an hour at the most."
"Half an hour!" I repeated in dismay. "You can't possibly have tea in half an hour! Why, it's frightfully dangerous to try and drink hot things in a hurry."
Before I could make any further protests I was interrupted by the creak of footsteps laboriously ascending the stairs. There was a chink and rattle of cups and then, panting slightly from her exertions, the lady of the shop emerged into view, heavily burdened with an immense tray.
She set this down on the table, and surveyed us with a motherly smile.
"If there's anything else you fancy, p'raps you'll give me a call over the banisters," she said. "My sister's gone to a funeral to-day, and I'm all alone in the shop."
I gazed at the staggering collection of pastries which we were apparently expected to consume, and hazarded an opinion that they would probably see us through.
"Well, don't be frightened of 'em, my dear," she said, addressing Christine. "They're all home made. You can eat as many as you like without takin' no harm."
She left the room again, closing the door behind her, and, having inspected the various chairs at our disposal, I brought forward the one which looked the least uncomfortable.
"You pour out tea," I said, placing it in position. "I'm so tired of doing it for myself."
Without saying anything, Christine seated herself in front of the tray. She paused for a moment to take off her gloves, while I dragged up a second chair, and, sitting down alongside, contemplated her with unspeakable contentment.
"I hope you're not very angry with me about yesterday," I said. "Spying behind hedges isn't really a habit of mine; in fact it's the first time I have ever tried anything of the sort."
She finished pouring out the tea and handed me across my cup.
"No," she answered, "I am not angry with you; why should I be? You have every reason for feeling suspicious about us, and every right to do exactly what you think best."
She spoke almost wearily, and there was a touch of bitterness in her voice that gave me an uncomfortable sense of guilt.
"Christine," I said, "I want to settle this business once and for all. As far as you and I are concerned, there must be no chance of a misunderstanding." I paused. "I don't know in the least what the trouble is in connection with Greensea Island, or what your uncle has got to do with it. It's quite clear that there's some infernal mystery, however, and, judging by what happened in the docks, I seem to be playing rather an important part in it."
Her brown eyes, full of distress, were looking straight back into mine.
"Yes," she said in a low voice. "You are in great danger. I told you so the other day."
"I know you did," I replied cheerfully, "and you can be quite sure I haven't forgotten your warning. I like this planet, and I mean to stop on it as long as I can, but there's just one thing I want you to realise. I would allow myself to be murdered twenty times over rather than do anything in the world which was the least likely to injure you."
The distress in her face became deeper than ever.
"No, no," she said wretchedly. "You mustn't speak like that. If anything happened to you I should feel that—" Her hand gripped the arm of the chair until the skin stood out white over her knuckles. "Oh," she ended, almost with a sob, "I don't know what to do. It's all so hopelessly complicated and difficult."
I fought down a sudden fierce longing to take her in my arms.
"Don't look so unhappy, Christine," I said. "I can stand a good deal, but that finishes me completely."
With a gallant if rather wistful attempt to smile she sat back in her chair.
"There's only one thing I want to know," I went on, following up my advantage, "and you needn't tell me that if you would rather not."
She made a slight movement of her head, as if wishing me to continue.
"How long have you been friends with Dr. Manning?"
I put the question quite bluntly, and I saw the faintest possible flush come into her face.
"I am not a friend of Dr. Manning's," she answered. "I dislike him intensely. If the choice rested with me, I should never see him again."
"We appear to have one taste in common at all events," I remarked with approval.
"What do you know about him?"
She brought out the words almost reluctantly, as though half afraid of making some unwelcome discovery.
"I know very little at present," I admitted, "but I hope that by to-morrow we shall be much better acquainted. I have asked him to dinner with me this evening, and he will probably spend the night on the island."
If anything, my answer seemed to increase her misgivings.
"He is staying with you? He is going to sleep in the house?"
"Why, yes," I said. "There's nowhere else he can sleep, unless I put him in the kennel. That would certainly be the best place, but, unfortunately, my dog has taken rather a dislike to him."
In spite of her apparent anxiety the corners of her lips quivered into a smile.
"If you mistrust him so much, what made you invite him to the island?"
"I thought it would be a kind action," I explained. "I suppose you know that he has a special reason for being interested in my affairs?"
She looked at me curiously.
"What do you mean? What reason?"
"Well, to be quite exact, there are two of them," I said. "In the first place, he's the family physician. He came over and stayed in the house when my uncle was taken ill, and looked after him until he died."
"But you never told me that."
Christine was leaning forward again, with a queer excitement that she made no attempt to conceal.
"We've had so little time for exchanging confidences," I objected. "Anyhow, he did come, and, what's more, he seems to have fallen in love with the place. At least, ever since then he has been making me the most sporting and generous offers, which Mr. Drayton says I'm a fool not to accept."
"He is trying to buy the island?"
"That's the notion," I said, nodding. "According to his own account, he wants to start a new yachting club." I paused. "Of course, it may be so," I added, "but do you know, Christine, at the back of my mind I've a nasty, uncharitable feeling that he isn't telling me the truth."
For a moment we sat silent. There was a strange expression upon Christine's face, as though she were beginning to understand something which up till then had baffled and perplexed her.
"Mr. Dryden," she said slowly, "for your own sake I am going to be quite honest with you. Until we came down here I had no idea that such a person as Dr. Manning existed."
I was not altogether surprised at her confession, but in spite of that it gave me a very pleasant feeling of relief.
"Perhaps he is an old friend of your uncle's?" I suggested.
She shook her head. "He was an utter stranger to both of us. My uncle was taken ill with one of his heart attacks the day after we arrived, and somebody from the hotel suggested my sending for Dr. Manning. I am quite certain that they had never met before in their lives."
"If that's the case," I observed, "he needs kicking even more than I imagined."
Once again a faint shade of colour crept into her face, and then died away again almost at once.
"Listen, Mr. Dryden," she continued, "what I want to say to you has nothing to do with anything that you may have seen yesterday. That doesn't matter in the least. You have got to think entirely of your own safety. I believe that by asking Dr. Manning to the island you are putting yourself in the greatest possible danger."
"It seems to be the general opinion," I admitted. "At least, both Bascomb and Bobby Dean—" I paused. "By the way, I haven't told you about Bobby Dean yet, have I?"
She shook her head.
"I have been carrying out your instructions," I explained. "You ordered me to dig up a friend, and I have found the one man in the world who exactly fits the part."
"Who is he?" she demanded eagerly.
"Well, to give him his full title," I said, "he's Commander Robert Dean, V.C., of His Majesty's Navy. To save time I generally call him Bobby. We were serving together during the war, and, as luck would have it, he has just been shifted back here in charge of the Coast Patrol at Harwich."
"Oh, but that's splendid," she exclaimed thankfully. "Is he going to live with you on the island??
"I should like him to," I said, "but I am afraid the Admiralty might object. They are a conservative lot, and they always expect their employees to sleep over the shop. I shall be seeing a good deal of him though," I added, quickly, as a sudden shadow of disappointment again clouded her eyes. "He is constantly round here in his boat, and if I want him in a hurry any time I have only got to send him a wire."
There was a pause.
"Does he—does he know that—" She stopped, as if not quite certain how to finish the question.
"I didn't think it necessary to tell him everything," I said. "He knows about my being chucked into the dock, and he knows what I think of Dr. Manning. As I look at it, the rest of the story only concerns ourselves."
I saw that she was on the point of interrupting me, so I went straight on, without giving her the chance of speaking.
"Anyhow, I am not going to talk about myself all the time. There are several much more important things I want to discuss, and one's the fact that you appear to be risking your life every morning before breakfast in a way that I strongly disapprove of."
She looked at me for a moment in evident bewilderment.
"Do you mean my swimming?"
I nodded. "It would be most inconsiderate of you to get drowned," I said, "just when you've become absolutely necessary to me."
I saw the corners of her mouth begin to quiver into a smile.
"I am afraid I hadn't thought about it from that point of view," she replied. "In any case, you can make your mind quite easy, Mr. Dryden. I have swum over twenty miles in the sea before now, so I don't suppose I am likely to get into trouble bathing off a beach." She glanced at the slim gold watch which she was wearing on her wrist. "Why, it's past four o'clock," she exclaimed, with sudden consternation. "I had no idea it was as late as that."
She rose quickly to her feet, and I at once followed her example.
"Christine," I said, "you're not going like this? Last time you rushed away before we could make any arrangements, and I can't leave things in the same impossible state again."
She stood hesitating, the very picture of troubled indecision.
"I don't know what to say," she answered. "I have done wrong in seeing you to-day. I only came because—well, because you didn't give me much choice in the matter, did you?"
Once more I took her two hands in mine.
"I hadn't any choice myself," I said. "It's all very well for me to make promises, but how can you expect me to keep them? I love you so much that——"
"Oh, don't, don't," she broke in pitifully. "You mustn't say that sort of thing. I am trying to help you; I want to be your friend if I can; but——"
"Forgive me, Christine," I pleaded. "It just slipped out before I could stop it." I paused for a moment to gaze hungrily into her wide-open, tear-stained eyes. "Only for God's sake let me see you again before long. I don't know what I shall do unless I can look forward to that."
"Very well," she said, almost inaudibly. "If it's possible I will write to you or send you a message."
"Do you know a boy called Jimmy who is always hanging round the quay?" I asked her. "A little curly-haired kid of about eleven, with blue eyes and a dirty face?"
She nodded.
"Well, he's by way of being rather a particular friend of mine. If you just scribble a line and give it to him, he'll bring it over to the island immediately."
She nodded again, and made a movement as if to release her hands.
"You must say good-bye—please, Mr. Dryden. I oughtn't to have stayed as long as this."
I had intended to play the game to the end, but there are times when all the good resolutions in the world are perfectly useless. A sudden feeling that I was about to lose her swept over me with overwhelming force, and then, almost before I knew what was happening, I had drawn her close into my arms, and was pressing a passionate kiss upon her soft and slightly parted lips.
"Christine, Christine," I whispered hoarsely. "I've loved you from the first moment that you came on board theNeptune."
I felt her body tremble all over as I kissed her again, fiercely and recklessly. Then with a choking sob she pushed me away from her, and, freeing herself from my arms, turned blindly towards the door.
I remained motionless where I was, a mingled sensation of remorse and triumph rioting wildly through my heart. I was sorry and ashamed for what I had done, but even my self-reproaches could not alter the glowing conviction of Christine's love which had come to me as our lips met. It was a revelation so intoxicating that for several seconds I stood there like a man in a trance, the faint fragrance of her hair still lingering deliciously in my memory.
At last, with a big effort, I managed to shake off the spell, and, walking back to the mantelpiece, lighted myself a cigarette. The question uppermost in my mind was what I should do next. From every point of view it seemed advisable to allow a few minutes to elapse before attempting to leave the shop. It was quite on the cards that someone who knew Christine might have seen her come out, and to emerge myself a moment later would be simply to invite trouble. Besides, there was the old lady downstairs to be considered. She was probably under the impression that we had had a quarrel, in which case she would doubtless relate the circumstances to any of her friends and neighbours who happened to drop in for an afternoon gossip. I had to find some way of lulling her suspicions, and I felt that I could hardly begin better than by making my own exit in as leisurely and cheerful a fashion as possible.
So I finished my cigarette without any attempt at hurrying, and then, leaving the canary to brood over his ghastly splendour, I descended the staircase and pushed open the side door which led into the shop. The proprietress was engaged in serving out some sweets to a youthful customer, but by the time I had passed through into the outer department this piece of business was successfully transacted.
"I should like to square up accounts," I said; and, taking out two half-crowns, I laid them down on the counter.
The good woman pushed one of them back towards me.
"It won't be as much as that, sir," she replied. "One shilling's our charge, unless the party has eggs."
"And very cheap too," I said, pocketing the rejected coin. "I am only sorry my friend had to run away so soon, but unfortunately she had an appointment at four o'clock."
I was rewarded by a glance of sympathy. "Dear me, that was a pity, sir. I hope you both enjoyed your tea?"
"I did for one," I said truthfully. "In fact, it was quite the best shilling's worth I have ever had in my life."
With a gratified smile she handed me my sixpence change, and, feeling that I had left exactly the impression I desired, I walked to the door, and stepped out into the street.
I was in no immediate hurry to get home, and, apart from that, there was the chance that if I started at once I might overtake Christine on her way back to Pen Mill. Attractive as this prospect was, I had a regrettable conviction that it would be altogether against her wishes, so, strolling across the road, I entered the open door of the White Hart Hotel, where in bygone days Bobby and I had been accustomed to refresh our war-worn energies with occasional bouts of snooker.
I found a marker in attendance, a little rabbity-faced man with an unpleasant habit of potting the black from every conceivable angle. He beat me handsomely in both the games we played, and, having paid tribute to his skill in the shape of a large tankard of beer, I set out in a chastened mood on my return journey.
It must have been close on six o'clock by the time I reached the harbour. For once in a way there was no sign of Jimmy, so, going up to where my boat was moored, I began to unfasten the painter. I was engaged on this task when he suddenly appeared from the back door of the inn, and came hurrying up the jetty wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
"Sorry I weren't 'ere, guv'nor," he began. "I'd just gorn inside to 'ave me tea."
As though in proof of this assertion, he gulped down what seemed to be a large portion of the interrupted banquet.
"Quite right," I said. "One can't do really good work without plenty of nourishment." I handed him his usual retaining fee, and stepped down into the boat. "I have got a little job for you, Jimmy," I added. "I suppose you're the sort of boy who can keep his mouth shut?"
A reassuring nod was the prompt answer.
"Do you know Miss de Roda by sight?" I asked him. "The young lady who has come to live at 'The Laurels'?"
There was a brief pause.
"Wot, 'er with the pretty faice?" he enquired.
"That's the one," I said. "Well, some day she may give you a note for me. If she does, will you bring it over to the island at once?"
He nodded again. "You'll get it all right, guv'nor; you can trust me for that."
"And don't talk about it to anybody, will you, Jimmy?" I added. "Not even to your own pals?"
"Not me," he said stoutly. "There ain't no one who can keep a secret better'n wot I can."
There was a ring of pride in his voice which inspired confidence, and, under the comforting impression that I had established a reliable line of communication, I pulled off down the creek.
When I got back to the house I found a letter for me lying on the hall table. As I picked it up the green baize door which led down to the pantry opened quietly, and Bascomb came in with a plate basket on his arm.
"The postman brought that letter this afternoon, sir. 'E 'ad to call about some registration papers 'e wanted filled in."
I turned the envelope over, and saw the name of Wilmot and Drayton stamped on the flap.
"How about this evening?" I asked him. "Have you managed to get us a decent meal?"
He nodded ungraciously. "I reckon it's good enough—considerin' the party wot's expected. I'm just settin' about laying the table now."
"Well, let me know when the doctor arrives," I said. "I am going upstairs to change, and I don't want him wandering round the house by himself."
"I'll see to that, sir," was Bascomb's grim answer, and without another word he resumed his interrupted progress towards the dining-room.
On reaching my own apartment, I sat down on the bed and opened Mr. Drayton's letter. It was not typed, but written in his own handwriting, and bore the previous day's date.
"MY DEAR DRYDEN,—If you can tear yourself away from the numerous attractions of Greensea Island, I should be glad to see your cheery countenance in town one day this week. There are several fresh papers I want you to sign, and one or two details in connection with the estate which it would be more convenient to talk over than to write about.
"I hope that you have found things fairly comfortable, and that Bascomb and the dog have proved themselves to be entertaining companions.
"I saw our mutual friend, Inspector Campbell, yesterday. He enquired affectionately after you, and was particularly anxious to know how you were getting on. I fancy he is still a little piqued—professionally—over his failure to discover anything with reference to your late uncle. At all events he seems to be under the impression that there is something remarkably mysterious with regard to the whole affair, and that sooner or later fresh developments are bound to crop up. Let us hope that they will take the pleasant shape of a bundle of missing securities.
"Ring me up as soon as you get to town, and we will fix something in the way of lunch or dinner.
"Yours sincerely,"GEORGE DRAYTON."
Laying this genial missive down on the dressing-table, I began slowly to change my clothes.
I had no objection to a run up to town the next day; indeed, on the whole, the prospect distinctly appealed to me. I should be glad to see Mr. Drayton again and find out how my affairs were progressing, while, after a week on the island, I was quite ready for a little mild dissipation in the shape of a good dinner or a theatre.
I promised myself, too, that I would take the opportunity of looking up Inspector Campbell, who had given me his address the day we lunched at the Holborn. From the moment of my first introduction to him I had felt a curious confidence in this big, shrewd, slow-speaking Scotsman, and I derived no little comfort from the knowledge that he was still taking a friendly interest in my welfare.
There was one special matter in which his help might prove to be invaluable. He was just the sort of man who would probably be able to unearth a lot of interesting facts with regard to the past career of Dr. Manning, and if I could only persuade him to undertake the job without any inconvenient questions, my journey to town would certainly not be wasted.
Meditating in this fashion, I proceeded to array myself in a loose-fitting suit of tweeds, which was the style of evening dress I usually patronised on the island.
I was on the point of completing my toilet when the front door bell rang loudly, and, after a short interval, I heard Bascomb ascending the stairs.
As he advanced along the passage I opened my door.
"'E's come," observed my retainer, jerking his thumb towards the banisters.
"And what have you done with him?" I enquired.
"Left 'im in the 'all," was the answer. "'E's sittin' there nice and comf'table—long o' Satan."
I have an idea that Bascomb's reply was intended to be ironical, but it certainly summed up the tableau that met my eyes as I came down the staircase.
Lolling back in an easy chair, with his legs crossed and looking supremely at home, was the neatly dressed figure of Dr. Manning. Satan was standing on the hearthrug a few feet away. Every muscle in his great body was tense and rigid, and his whole soul seemed to be concentrated in the stare of watchful suspicion with which he was surveying the intruder.
At the sound of my footsteps both of them looked up.
"Sorry I wasn't here to welcome you," I said, coming forward across the hall. "I hope Satan has been doing the honours for me."
Manning rose lightly to his feet, and took the hand which I somewhat reluctantly offered him.
"I expect I'm a bit early," he answered, in that pleasant, imperturbable voice of his. "The fact is, I wasn't quite sure what time you said you had dinner."
"Well, it's a movable feast," I returned, "but seven-thirty is the usual hour." I took hold of his bag, which was lying on the floor beside him. "Come along up and see your quarters," I added. "Then we shall just have time for a cigarette and a cocktail. I hate rushing at food without any preparation."
"It's an uncivilised practice," he admitted, "though I'm afraid I'm often guilty of it myself. One gets into bad habits living on a barge."
I was quite prepared to believe his last statement, but thinking it wiser to keep my opinion to myself. I led the way upstairs to his bedroom, which was two doors down the passage from mine.
Having seen that he was provided with hot water and soap, I left him to his ablutions, telling him to rejoin me in the hall as soon as he was ready.
He sauntered down again about ten minutes later, by which time I had concocted a couple of alluring stimulants that even a Buenos Aires bar-tender would have been proud to father.
"By Jove, it's a treat to taste a real drink again!" he said, smacking his lips over my effort. "The English are a fine people, but they don't know much about mixing liquors."
He put down his glass, and, lighting a couple of cigarettes, we strolled towards one of the French widows, which was partly open.
"Still, there are compensations," I said, looking out into the garden. "An evening like this makes up for a lot of indifferent cocktails."
He leaned back against the lintel and gazed deliberately round the sky—a roof of cloudless blue, tinged towards the west with the saffron after-glow of a perfect sunset.
"Yes," he admitted, "it has been wonderful weather the last few days, but you can take my word we shall have to pay for it. Unless the wind gets up we shall have a sea fog that will probably hang around for a week. It's always the way here, when you get this sort of thing in April."
I was about to make some reply when an unexpected voice behind suddenly broke into our conversation.
"Dinner's ready," it announced.
We both turned round abruptly, to find the sombre figure of Bascomb silhouetted in the doorway.
"Come on in," I said, addressing myself to Manning. "However black the future is, we can at least eat and drink."
I conducted him across the hall to the dining-room, which looked very snug and comfortable in the pleasant light of two or three softly shaded candles.
We took our places at the table, and, having served us with soup, Bascomb noiselessly withdrew, closing the door behind him.
"How are you getting on with that fellow of yours?" enquired Manning, after a moment's silence.
"Oh, well enough," I said, pushing him across the sherry. "He's a queer, surly sort of beggar, but he looks after me all right, and so far I haven't caught him pawning any of the family silver."
My companion laughed easily and helped himself to the wine.
"I daresay I'm prejudiced against him," he observed. "The fact is, he didn't exactly go out of his way to make himself civil when I was here looking after your uncle. I expect it's my profession that's responsible. Like most ignorant people, he is probably convinced that all doctors are secret poisoners."
"I think he objects to strangers on principle," I replied. "My uncle evidently suffered from the same disease, and as likely as not they infected each other."
"Agoraphobia," said Manning, smiling. "Well, I shouldn't wonder if you're right. It's a fairly common complaint, and Mr. Jannaway certainly seems to have been a typical case." He paused. "By the way," he added carelessly, "have you managed to find out anything more about him?"
I shook my head. "Not a thing," I said, "except the fact that he had a very sound taste in drink."
It may have been my imagination, but I thought I could detect the faintest possible expression of relief flicker across my companion's face.
"Greensea Island's a curious place for a man of his age to come and settle down in," he continued. "I have often wondered what brought him to this part of the world."
"So have I," I replied truthfully. "In fact, the more I think it over, the more it puzzles me. I can only imagine he must have been inspired by some happy instinct that it would suit the tastes of his successor."
At this point there was a pause in our mutual confidences, owing to the re-entrance of Bascomb with the next course. He took several minutes clearing away and providing us with fresh plates, and by the time we were again alone the conversation had wandered off into a different channel.
Whatever one's personal feelings towards Manning might be, there was no getting over the fact that he was an excellent talker. He chatted away easily and pleasantly on a variety of topics, and if he had any other purpose in view beyond that of being entertaining, he certainly managed to conceal it with remarkable success. In spite of my prejudice against him, I could fully believe what Bobby had told me about his popularity in the neighbourhood. He seemed to possess an almost hypnotic power of making himself agreeable, though in my own case his choicest efforts were so much waste of labour. I had only to remind myself of a certain incident outside "The Laurels" to feel all my old inclination to punch his head welling up with renewed vigour.
When the time for coffee arrived I made a suggestion that we should move into the hall. Manning had declined a cigar, saying that he preferred to stick to his Egyptian cigarettes, so, taking the whisky and liqueurs with us, we established ourselves in a couple of easy chairs in front of the big open hearth. I put a match to the fire—more for the sake of hearing it crackle than for anything else—and with every outward appearance of complete harmony we settled down to spend the evening.
"You've got an ideal place in its way," said my guest, looking round with a sort of lazy approval. "The old chap must have spent a lot of money in fixing it up as comfortably as this."
"I don't think he did very much," I replied. "He had some workmen here, and tidied things up generally, but I fancy the house was in pretty good condition before he took it over. This fireplace was about the only new thing he put in."
Manning's gaze wandered critically over the improvement in question.
"Those are Dutch tiles, aren't they?" he said, bending forward to make a closer inspection.
"It's quite likely," I returned. "Bascomb tells me the work was done by a Dutch firm."
I brought this out purposely in the hope of encouraging further questions, but my companion's interest in the matter did not seem to be very acute. He remained silent for several moments, staring in front of him with a curiously absent expression, as though his thoughts had suddenly taken an entirely different direction.
At last, with something that was very like a start, he seemed to come back to his surroundings.
"It's a nice piece of work," he said, "and just the thing you want here in winter. I like the old barge well enough, but there are some advantages in living on dry land after all."
I poured him out a glass of my uncle's brandy which I knew from experience to be of a remarkably mellowing nature.
"I should think a barge was great fun," I said, "What put the idea into your head?"
He took an appreciative sip at the brandy, and lit another of his eternal cigarettes.
"It was more chance than anything else," he replied. "I heard she was up for sale, and I wanted some sort of a headquarters down here, so I just stepped in and bought her straight away. The chap she belonged to was only asking four hundred, and she was dirt cheap at the price."
"I wonder what our friend Drayton's opinion would be on that point," I said. "He nearly had a fit when I told him I was coming to live on Greensea."
Manning laughed. "Oh, he thinks I'm as mad as a hatter. He can't understand anyone being able to exist unless they're within a taxi-drive of Bedford Row," He paused. "All the same, I believe it's people like ourselves who really get the best out of life. I would give the whole of what London and New York have to offer for one good evening after duck, or a stiff beat to windward round the Bridwell buoy."
The ring of genuine enthusiasm in his voice was quite unmistakable, and I looked across at him with a sudden curiosity that I did my best to hide. I have run up against a fairly representative crowd of blackguards in my life, but there was something about Manning that certainly placed him in a reserved compartment. Leaving aside his charm of manner, it seemed almost incredible that a man whose tastes lay along such simple, healthy lines as duck-shooting and yacht-racing could really be the complete scoundrel that my imagination had gradually constructed. Still, facts were facts, and this very incongruity only helped to make the situation still more stimulating.
"You must get a boat and take up racing," he continued, finishing off his liqueur. "There's no sport in the world to touch it, and the little six metre class we go in for here aren't very expensive."
He launched out into an interesting description of the craft in question, bringing in several stories about local regattas, all of which he related with point and humour. As far as I was concerned he could hardly have pitched upon a more congenial topic. Although I have never been able to indulge in it to any great extent, small boat sailing has always been a particular hobby of mine, and a very few minutes were enough to convince me that I was listening to a man who was an expert at the game. Lying back lazily in his chair, and smoking cigarette after cigarette, he continued to hold forth in such an entertaining fashion that I paid little or no attention to the time. Indeed, it was quite a surprise to me when I suddenly heard Bascomb shutting and bolting the back door, and, glancing at my watch, found that it was nearly half-past ten.
Manning, who had copied my action, sat up and stretched his arms.
"If it's all the same to you, Dryden," he said, "I think I'll turn in. The fact is I've had rather a strenuous day. I have been painting and overhauling gear ever since six o'clock this morning."
"Well, you deserve a good night's rest," I said, getting up from my chair. "Stop in bed as long as you feel like it; we have breakfast here any time it's convenient."
"You won't be too early for me," he returned. "I was never much of a hand at sleeping, and as a rule the more tired I am the sooner I wake up."
I poured out a generous tot of whisky, into which I splashed about the same amount of soda.
"That's my prescription," I said "Take it to your room and drink it off as soon as you get into bed. If you don't sleep then there must be something seriously wrong with you."
He accepted the tumbler with a laugh, and, having lit two candles, which Bascomb had placed upon a side table, I accompanied him up the staircase.
"What happens to our friend Satan?" he asked, as we paused for a moment at his door. "Do you still turn him out in that hard-hearted way your uncle used to?"
"Just the same," I answered. "He has got so accustomed to prowling about at night, I don't suppose he would be happy in the house. Besides," I added, "he's a useful guard against poachers and chicken thieves."
Manning put down his candle on the corner of the chest of drawers. "Yes," he remarked drily, "I shouldn't think that strolling round the island in the dark was a very healthy form of amusement. At least I should be precious sorry to try anything of the sort myself." He held out his hand, which I again accepted with the same inward reluctance.
"Good night," I said. "Don't forget to take my prescription. I will give you a look up in the morning and see how it's worked."
I retraced my steps to the hall, where I latched the windows and fastened the front door. I was just taking a final look round when Bascomb came in from the back regions.
"What have you done with Satan?" I asked him.
"Let 'im out," was the answer, "same as ye told me to. I can fetch 'im in again easy enough if you'd rather 'ave 'im in the 'ouse."
I shook my head. "No," I said, "I think we'll stick to the usual arrangement." Then, pointing to the table, I continued: "You can clear away those drinks and lock up the dining-room. Doctor Manning has gone to bed, and I'm turning in myself too. I will let you know in the morning what time we want breakfast."
With a significant glance in the direction of the staircase he came close up to where I was standing.
"I dunno if I ever mentioned it before, guv'nor, but that there bell alongside your bed rings in my room. Mr. Jannaway 'ad it put up special. If you should 'appen to want me any time, all you got to do is just to give it a pull."
"Right you are, Bascomb," I said, and, feeling rather surprised and more than a trifle grateful at his evident concern for my safety, I once more made my way up to my own quarters.
Reviewing the events of the evening while I undressed, I could not find much cause for self-congratulation. As far as I could tell I had managed to avoid giving Manning any hint of my true feelings towards him, but with this exception the honours appeared to be all on the other side. He had acted the part of the friendly neighbour in such an easy and natural fashion that it was precious difficult to pick any holes in his performance. His enquiry as to whether I had found out anything more about my uncle, and the two questions he had asked with reference to Bascomb and Satan, were the only incidents I could recall which appeared to be in the least suggestive. Even these were quite in keeping with the character he had assumed, and neither of them threw a very penetrating light on what was really passing at the back of his mind.
That he was meditating some mischief, however, seemed to me highly probable. Not that I had much belief in the tragic forebodings of Christine and Bascomb, for I rated our friend's intelligence too highly to imagine him to be capable of any such blunder as that of trying to cut my throat while he was a guest under my roof. I was inclined to think that it was a thirst for information rather than a thirst for blood which had prompted his suggestion of an early retirement. My opinion was chiefly based upon what Bascomb had told me about his two previous attempts to get back into the house after my uncle's death. This persistence could only be explained by the theory that he wanted to make some further investigations, and now that he was actually on the spot he was not likely to neglect such a favourable opportunity.
Anyhow, whichever view of the situation was correct, I was faced with the cheerful prospect of spending a sleepless night. It was very annoying, especially as I had to go to town the next day; but my painful experiences at sea have given me a certain amount of philosophy in these matters, and I settled down grimly to make the best of it.
Anyone who has enjoyed a similar ordeal knows with what wearisome slowness the hours can occasionally pass. In my case, I had not even the consolation of a book, for I was afraid of treating myself to a candle in case the light should be visible under the door. I just tumbled into bed and lay there in complete darkness, keeping my eyes wide open and listening intently for the slightest noise.
Through the open window, at amazingly long intervals, I could hear the church clock at Pen Mill chiming out the quarters. Nothing else broke the silence except an occasional rustle in the shrubbery, which told me that Satan was patrolling the garden with his usual trustworthy thoroughness.
Midnight struck, and after a respectable foretaste of eternity between each, one, two, and three eventually followed suit. Very gradually the blackness of night began to slip into the gray twilight of early dawn, and bit by bit the various pieces of furniture in my room emerged into shape out of the surrounding gloom.
Outside, a bird started twittering in the creeper, but everything in the house still remained as quiet as the grave. Try as I would, I found it harder and harder to fight off the drowsiness that was constantly stealing over me, and more than once I only just roused myself in time as I was on the very point of falling asleep.
Whether I eventually dropped off into a doze I can't say. If I did, some important part of me must have remained awake, for I suddenly found myself sitting up in bed, perfectly cool and collected, but with every nerve in my body strained to the utmost attention.
For a moment nothing happened. Then, once again, came the sound that I was waiting for—the faint creak of a board in the passage outside my door.
Turning back the clothes, I slipped noiselessly out of bed. A glance at my watch on the table beside me showed me that it was close on half-past four—a time at which no respectable passage board has any right to indulge in such antics. My long vigil had not been useless, and, standing there in bare feet and pyjamas, I felt that pleasant glow of rewarded virtue which comes occasionally to the least deserving of us.
I made no attempt to rush things, however. Looking round the room, my eyes fell on the poker, which was leaning up invitingly alongside the fireplace. It struck me as being a nice, companionable sort of object, and, having tiptoed across the room and taken possession of it, I returned in the same stealthy fashion to the door.
With my hand on the knob I again paused to listen. My ears are pretty sharp, and, although extreme care was evidently being taken over the performance, I felt absolutely certain that somebody was descending the staircase.
Very gently I turned back the handle. It yielded to my pressure without making the slightest noise; and then, opening the door inch by inch until the gap was just wide enough, I stepped out warily into the passage.
A quick glance up and down showed me nothing more exciting than Manning's boots. They were standing neatly on the mat outside his room, where he had evidently deposited them before getting into bed. Somehow or other this tidiness of his filled me with an increased respect for him, and, taking a still firmer grip on the poker, I set off noiselessly for the head of the stairs.
As I crept along I debated with myself what was the best thing to do. Should I try and get down without being seen, or should I make a reckless charge and leave the rest to providence? The latter course was much more to my taste, but there are times in life when personal pleasure has to take a back seat, and I reluctantly decided that I must play the game. This was the one chance I was likely to get, and it would be madness not to take the fullest advantage of it.
Still exercising the utmost care, I stole across the landing and peered over the banisters. From where I stood only the further side of the hall was visible. Everything looked exactly as I had left it the night before, and, except for the steady ticking of the grandfather clock, the whole place was wrapped in profound silence.
Unless Manning had gone through into the back part of the house it stood to reason that he must be down below more or less under my feet. The sooner I found out what he was playing at the better, so, edging my way to the head of the stairs, I very cautiously began the descent.
I knew that from the next small landing half-way down one could overlook the entire hall. There were only about a dozen steps to negotiate, and for six of them I got along very nicely indeed. The seventh, however, proved to be my undoing. As I put my weight on it the damned thing let off a terrific creak, and almost simultaneously I heard a quick movement below. It did not take me long to realise that any more efforts in the Sherlock Holmes line would be singularly futile. With one jump I cleared the intervening stairs, and the next moment I was leaning over the banisters looking straight down into Manning's face.
He was standing on the hearthrug in front of the fireplace. Except for a pair of bedroom slippers he was dressed in the same scanty costume as myself, the only other difference being the poker which I still clutched affectionately in my right hand. He had evidently turned round directly he heard the noise, and, although taken by surprise, he looked perfectly cool and self-possessed.
"Hullo, Manning!" I said cheerfully. "What the devil are you doing here?"
For just an instant he remained motionless; then with a sudden laugh he seated himself deliberately on the rail of the fireguard.
"Caught in the act," he observed. "And I took such a lot of trouble not to wake you up."
"That's all right," I said. "I have been awake for the last half-hour." I came down the remaining steps as I spoke, and walked across the carpet towards him. "What's the matter?" I enquired.
He extended his hand, and I noticed for the first time that he was holding his cigarette case.
"This is the real culprit," he answered. "I put the blessed thing on the mantelpiece last night and forgot all about it. Of course at three o'clock this morning I felt I wanted a smoke more than anything on earth. I hung on as long as I could because I was afraid of waking you up, but at last it got to a point when I simply couldn't stick it. I crawled down like a mouse, and I was just thinking I had done the trick all right when you suddenly popped up over the banisters and gave me the start of my life." He paused, and, helping himself to a cigarette, held out the case. "I am frightfully sorry," he added. "It's a rotten trick to drag one's host out of bed merely because one happens to be the slave of a bad habit."
He made his explanation with such delightful ease that if I had not known he was lying it would certainly have convinced me.
"There is no need to apologise," I said. "You gave me a really enjoyable five minutes. I had quite decided you were a burglar, and I was looking forward to breaking your head."
He eyed me and the poker with a kind of cool appreciation.
"I am glad you found out your mistake in time," he said. "There's something unpleasantly primitive about you, Dryden, especially when you're in pyjamas."
All the while he was speaking I had been taking careful stock of our immediate surroundings. As far as I could see nothing had been disturbed—indeed, I had come down so quickly on his heels that he had had practically no chance of getting up to mischief. I realised now that what I ought to have done was to have given him a few minutes' grace, and a mortifying suspicion that I had made a hash of the whole affair began to rankle in my mind.
For a moment I was badly tempted to take him by the neck and see if I could shake the truth out off him then and there. The feeling that I might be running Christine into danger still kept me in check, however, and with a masterly effort I managed to preserve my politeness.
"We had better have a drink and go back to bed," I observed, "unless you'd like to stroll round the island and admire the beauty of the dawn."
As I spoke I moved towards the French window, and at the same moment a huge black shape loomed up on to the verandah outside.
"Hullo!" I added. "Here's somebody else come to see what the matter is. Quite a family party, isn't it?"
I unbolted and opened the window, and, waving his tail in a kind of dignified acknowledgment, Satan strolled slowly into the room. He pulled up short on seeing Manning; then, apparently satisfied that as long as I was present things must be more or less in order, he proceeded to seat himself very deliberately right in the middle of the hearthrug.
I refastened the bolt and turned back to my guest.
"He always sits there," I said. "I suppose my uncle taught him to originally, and now he thinks it belongs to him. We shall find him in exactly the same place when we come down to breakfast."
Manning, who had been watching the dog's proceedings with a curious intentness, rose slowly to his feet.
"I don't think I'll have a drink," he remarked. "It's a little early and I haven't got your cast-iron constitution. Bed seems to me the best notion. I've a sort of feeling that after I've finished this cigarette I shall be able to put in a couple of hours' sleep."
"Well, as I told you before, take it easy," I replied. "The eggs and bacon will keep till we're ready for them."
We set off up the staircase, and, pausing for a moment in the passage, Manning once more expressed his apologies.
"You're a real sportsman, Dryden," he said. "I should have been horribly peevish myself if anyone had dragged me out of bed at this unholy hour."
"I generally wake up in an amiable mood," I replied. "It's only a matter of good health and having the right kind of whisky."
I watched him go into his room and close the door, and then, feeling uncommonly thankful that I had not got to be civil to him any longer, I proceeded to follow his example.
I had bungled the business beyond any manner of doubt, and I was so angry with my own stupidity that I very nearly hurled the poker into the grate. It was maddening to think that if I had only displayed an ounce of gumption I might by now have got to the bottom of the whole infernal mystery. Instead of doing this, I had allowed Manning to walk clean out of the trap, and no doubt, in the security of his own room, he was laughing to himself over the easy way in which he had outwitted me.
The only consolation that remained was the fact that there was no further reason for keeping awake. I could at least turn into bed and get a few hours' sleep, with the comforting assurance that I was not neglecting my job. Whatever else Manning might have left in the hall, he would certainly manage to do without it as long as Satan was sitting on the mat.
"Just gorn 'aff-past eight, sir."
I opened my eyes with some resentment, and found Bascomb standing beside me, a cup of tea in his hand. I blinked at him for a moment and then sat up in bed.
"Might it be you as got up in the night and let Satan in?" he enquired surlily.
For a second I hesitated, wondering how much he knew.
"Were you awake?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No, I didn't 'ear nothin', but when I come through this mornin', danged if 'e wasn't sitting there on the mat."
He placed the cup on a small table beside me, and, crossing the room, drew up the blind.
"I changed my mind after I had gone to bed," I explained. "I felt I should sleep better if I knew that Satan was downstairs." I took a sip of the tea, and reaching out for my case, helped myself to a cigarette. "You can call the doctor in about ten minutes," I added. "I'll have my bath first and get out of his way."
Bascomb nodded and left the room without any further remark, though from the expression on his face I think he had a dim suspicion that I was keeping something back. Perhaps I should have been wiser to take him completely into my confidence, but to tell the truth I was half ashamed to confess the bungling way in which I had handled the business. Besides, faithful as I believed him to be, there was such a queer, sullen twist in his temper that I never felt quite certain how far it would be safe to trust him.
Washing and shaving are occupations which lend themselves to reflection, and I certainly found plenty to think about during the quarter of an hour that I spent in the bathroom. On the whole, as a result of my musings, I was inclined to take a slightly less pessimistic view of the situation. Although I had not exactly covered myself with glory as a private detective, I had at least established the truth of my theory that Manning possessed some strong and urgent reason for wishing to explore the house. Indeed, judging by the risks he had run, it looked as if the success of his schemes depended largely upon this particular point, and if that were the case I had apparently shoved a pretty effective spoke in his wheel.
All the same, I didn't quite like the way in which he had accepted his defeat. Even allowing for his cleverness and self-control, it was difficult to imagine that anyone who had been balked at the last moment in some vital enterprise could have betrayed so little sign of feeling. Disappointed he had certainly appeared, but it had been the disappointment of a man who has merely lost a trick which he hoped to gain, and who still cherishes a fond belief that he is going to win the rubber.
I wondered very much what he thought about my part in the performance. There had been, to put it mildly, a timeliness about my appearance on the scene which could hardly have failed to awake his suspicions. These were not likely to have been lessened by the deliberate way in which I had let Satan into the house, though in either case my action might very well have borne the innocent interpretation that I had attempted to give it. He was probably in a state of considerable uncertainty on the subject, and it was pleasant to feel that I was paying him back a small instalment of all the worry he had caused me.
What I would have given anything for was a good long chat with Bobby. I am all right in a straight-forward scrap, but I knew that at this sort of business his head was worth a dozen of mine, and that he would most likely pounce upon some important point which I had completely overlooked. Indeed, if it had not been for my appointment with Mr. Drayton I should have run up to Harwich to see him; as it was, I should have to put off our talk until my return from London.
On my way back to my room I tapped at Manning's door and informed him that the bath was ready.
He called out: "Come in," and, accepting his invitation, I discovered him in the act of sharpening his razor, which he had apparently just finished using. He greeted me with a friendly wave of the strop.
"How goes it?" he enquired cheerily. "I hope you managed to get off to sleep. I put in a couple of hours, and I feel as fit as a fiddle this morning."
"That's good," I replied. "You'll be able to do justice to Bascomb's bacon. It's one of the few things he's really sensitive about."
He smiled, and crossing to the washstand began to collect his sponge and towels.
"Did you tell him about our adventures?" he asked. "He must have guessed that somebody got up in the night when he found Satan in the hall this morning."
"I explained that I let him in," I answered. "I was too sleepy to go into details." I paused. "Besides, the whole thing sounds rather ridiculous by daylight, doesn't it?"
"Well, I suppose it might strike anyone else as being a bit comic," he admitted. "Better say nothing about it perhaps; we should be frightfully chipped at the club if the story got round."
His tone was light, almost careless, but it seemed to me that my answer had afforded him considerable relief. I made a mental note of the fact with a view to passing it on to Bobby.
"If I'm not in the dining-room when you come down," I said, "you'll find me just outside the front door. Satan and I generally take a little air before breakfast."
I left him on his way to the bath, and, re-entering my own room, proceeded to dress myself in a new suit of blue serge, which I had bought during my previous visit to London. Thus arrayed, and feeling unusually respectable, I descended into the hall, where, as I expected, I discovered Satan still occupying the same position on the hearthrug.
He got up as I appeared, and, after stretching himself elaborately, followed me to the French window, which was standing partly open. Here, contrary to his custom, he halted, looking round rather doubtfully, as though not quite certain whether it was safe to leave the place unguarded.
"Perhaps you're right, my son," I said. "We can't be too careful. You sit here and let me know when he comes down."
I patted his head and stepped out on to the lawn, where a couple of fat thrushes were hopping lazily about in the sunshine. It was another beautiful morning, hot and still as August, with an almost unnaturally blue sky, unchequered by the smallest cloud. I walked across to the border opposite, and with some care selected myself a small buttonhole. If I was going to play the part of country gentleman visiting his solicitor I might as well do the thing thoroughly.
At the very moment when I had succeeded in fixing it in my coat there came a warning growl from Satan. Strolling back to the window, I found Manning in the act of descending the staircase. He looked very cool and debonair in his grey flannels, and, in spite of Satan's inhospitable greeting, he seemed as usual entirely at his ease.
"You're a good host yourself, Dryden," he remarked, "but I'm hanged if I can say the same for your retainers. That dog resents my being here quite as much as Bascomb does."
"He is just as bad with everyone," I returned. "Uncle Richard evidently infected the entire staff."
I had hardly finished speaking when the dining-room door opened, and Bascomb himself appeared on the threshold. I don't know if he had overheard our remarks, for his face was as impassive as ever.
"Breakfast's ready," he announced curtly.
We took our places at the table, where a dish of eggs and bacon, a fresh tongue, and various other attractive items awaited our arrival. I poured Manning out a cup of coffee and told him to help himself to what he fancied.
"You look devilish smart to-day, Dryden," he remarked smilingly. "I believe I have a sort of reputation here for being the local dandy, but now you've come I'm afraid I shall have to take a back seat."
"I have to go up to town to see Drayton," I explained. "I always put on my best clothes when I visit a lawyer."
I thought it would be the safest plan to tell him the truth, for it was more than possible he might find it out for himself.
"That's rather a pity," he observed. "I was going to suggest that you should come over and have a look at the barge." He paused. "How long are you likely to be away?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "Goodness knows," I said carelessly. "I daresay I shall be back to-morrow. I believe he only wants me to sign a few papers."
There was a brief pause while Manning sipped his coffee.
"Well, as the Arabs say, 'To-morrow is also a day,'" he returned, putting down his cup. "Just get in your boat and come across any afternoon you feel like it. I'll show you the barge, and then we might go along and dine at the club afterwards."
I thanked him with every appearance of sincerity, though the sinister humour of the whole situation nearly made me laugh out loud. I felt sure, too, that under that imperturbable mask of his Manning must be appreciating it quite as much as I did.
If such were the case, however, he kept his feelings well under control, and we finished our meal without the least suggestion on either side of anything but the most perfect friendliness. After a cigar in the garden my companion went upstairs to pack his bag, and then, followed by Satan, we sauntered down to the landing-stage, where he proceeded to get out his boat.
"Thanks for a charming evening," he said, shaking my hand. "Remember me to Drayton, and mind you come and look me up as soon as you get back."
I made some suitable answer, and, settling down in his seat, he pulled off with the smooth, easy stroke of a practised oarsman. I stood and watched him till he reached the mouth of the creek, where he waved his hand to me before disappearing round the bend. Then I walked across to Satan, who was sitting by himself on the edge of the jetty staring resentfully after the vanished boat.
"It's no good looking like that," I said. "If you had been a little more civil you would probably have been included in the invitation."
I think he understood what I meant, for, rising to his feet with a disdainful expression, he strolled off ahead of me in the direction of the house. There were evidently some subjects on which he regarded humour as being completely out of place.
When I arrived back I found Bascomb clearing away the breakfast things.
"I am going up to town by the twelve-forty," I said. "I suppose I can get a trap at the inn to take me to Torrington?"
He nodded his head.
"They'll run you over right enough," he replied. "Mebbe I'd better slip across an' tell 'em though; they might be fixin' up with another party otherwise." He paused. "Are you comin' back to-night?" he enquired.
"No," I said, "I have got some business with Mr. Drayton. I shall probably be down to-morrow, but if not I'll let you know."
He finished clearing up and collected the debris on to a tray.
"'Ow about visitors?" he enquired. "I s'pose you don't want no one on the island, not while you're away?"
"There's one person I don't want," I said, "and that's Dr. Manning." I stopped, and then, feeling that I must at least make some appearance of taking him into my confidence, I added: "You were perfectly right about him, Bascomb. He's a rascal, only he's a damned clever one. I couldn't get anything out of him last night, try as I would. All the same, I'm more certain than ever that he's up to some dirty business."
A gleam of approval flickered across my companion's face.
"You can trust me safe enough, guv'nor," he returned. "'E won't set foot again in this 'ouse while I'm 'ere—not 'im nor that broken-nosed blighter Craill neither."
He brought out the epithet so unexpectedly that it was all I could do to keep back a sudden exclamation.
"Craill!" I repeated. "Isn't that the fellow who looks after his barge?"
Once again Bascomb nodded sourly. "That's 'im—an' you can take it from me that 'e's the right bloke for the job."
A vision of that furtive, sinister figure hanging about outside Mr. Drayton's office rose vividly in my mind.
"Yes," I said, with intentional carelessness, "I should think they were a very nicely matched pair. How did Craill manage to break his nose?"
"Someone done it for 'im, I reckon. Pity they didn't break his neck too while they was about it."
Lifting the tray, Bascomb marched off through the side door, and after a moment's hesitation Satan got up and followed him.
I crossed the room to the window and sat down on the sill. I felt like a man who by pure accident has suddenly picked up the very piece of a jig-saw puzzle for which he has long been vainly hunting. Ever since my first meeting with Manning I had had a suspicion that in some way or other he was chiefly responsible for that impromptu swimming exhibition of mine in the East India Dock. Bascomb's description of Craill placed the matter beyond doubt. Unless there was an epidemic of broken noses, the latter was certainly the man I had seen loafing about Bedford Row, and the odds were a hundred to one that it was his hand which had so nearly put an end to my troubles.
As to what possible motive or motives could have possessed this precious pair, I was as much in the dark as ever. They could not have been acting on behalf of de Roda, for I had Christine's assurance that until she and her uncle had arrived in England neither of them had had the least notion that such a person as Dr. Manning existed. My attempted murder must, therefore, have been a strictly private enterprise, and the only reason I could see for it was the fact that I had refused to sell the island.
Now, annoying as it is to be thwarted in a scheme of land purchase, people generally stop short of assassination as a method of expressing their disappointment. There must have been some very powerful inducement to lead Manning to such a desperate step, for, utterly unscrupulous as I believed him to be, he was too intelligent to run his neck into danger unless the stake at issue was well worth the risk.
Could it be possible that while he was on the island he had stumbled independently upon my uncle's secret? It was a new idea, but the more I thought it over the more feasible it seemed. It at least gave some explanation for his extraordinary anxiety to get hold of Greensea, and it might account for the curious dread with which Christine seemed to regard him.