If this were really the truth, the whole question of his relations with the de Rodas became one of the utmost importance. Did he know the reason which had brought them all the way from South America, and, if so, had he purposely made friends with them in order to achieve his own ends? From what I had seen of the two men I could well imagine that de Roda, broken in health and in the grip of some half-insane purpose, might clutch eagerly at the unexpected assistance that was suddenly offered him. That Manning's motives for entering into any such partnership must have been purely selfish I had no manner of doubt. Possibly he was in ignorance about some essential point on which de Roda was the only person able to enlighten him, or perhaps—and at the mere notion I felt the blood surge hotly through my heart—it was Christine's beauty which had been the lure that had attracted him. Once more the recollection of that scene outside "The Laurels" came back to me with extraordinary clearness. I could see the expression on Manning's face as distinctly as if I were still crouching behind the hedge, and with a half-suppressed oath I flung open the lattice window and got up from the sill. It was certainly fortunate for one or other of us that he was no longer on the island.
Looking back indeed, I have often wondered since how I managed to get through that morning without doing something idiotic. The temptation to jump into my boat, row over to the barge, and settle up matters with Manning once and for all, was at times so strong that it became almost irresistible. By packing my bag and otherwise occupying myself, however, I succeeded in holding out until Bascomb returned from the inn, bringing the news that a trap was in readiness to take me to the station.
"You'd better let me run yer across," he added. "Then the boat'll be 'ere in case I wants it."
"I can easily send it back by Jimmy," I objected. "Isn't it a bit risky for both of us to be away at the same time?"
"I reckon there won't be no risk," he replied grimly. "If anyone comes messin' about 'ere the next 'alf hour it's a —— certainty wot'll 'appen to them."
A glance at Satan's expression convinced me that there was some truth in what he said, so without making any further difficulties I consented to his proposal.
He carried my bag down to the landing-stage and rowed me across to the jetty opposite, where I stepped out discreetly, so as to avoid soiling my new suit.
"Good-bye, Bascomb," I said. "I shall tell Mr. Drayton how well you've looked after me."
For a moment he seemed almost embarrassed. "That's all right, guv'nor," he returned gruffly. "I ain't the bloke to go back on anyone wot's treated me fair."
He settled down again to his oars, and, picking up my bag, I started off in the direction of the shore. Outside the inn a smart-looking horse and trap were waiting my arrival. The driver, a shock-headed youth who might have been an elder brother of Jimmy, touched his cap to me as I clambered in, and the next minute we were bowling off up the hill on our way to Torrington.
During the journey to town I divided my time between pondering fitfully over my own affairs and listening to the improving conversation of my fellow travellers—a Baptist minister and his wife, who were going up to London to attend their aunt's funeral. They were a very staid and respectable couple, and, sitting back in my corner, I could not help wondering what they would say if I were suddenly to put my difficulties before them and ask them for their advice.
Such an interesting experiment being unfortunately out of the question, we reached Liverpool Street with the problem still unsolved. A porter from the Great Eastern Hotel came forward as I stepped out of the carriage, and, since I had made no arrangements to stay anywhere else, I allowed him to take possession of my bag. He conducted me up some stairs to the office, where, after a brief parley with the reception clerk, I was duly accepted as a desirable guest.
My first step, after going to my room and having a wash, was to telephone to Mr. Drayton. I was informed that he was still out at lunch, but had left a message, in case I rang up, that he would be able to see me any time between three and four. It was then getting on for half-past two, so, having treated myself to a glass of sherry and a sandwich, I started off straight away for Bedford Row.
I kept a pretty sharp look-out as I turned the corner into that respectable thoroughfare, but this time no one seemed to be taking the least interest in my movements. The street indeed was practically deserted, and it was almost with a feeling of neglect that I pushed open the front door and sought out my aged friend in his little rabbit hutch on the right. He informed me that the head of the firm had just returned, and conducted me upstairs with impressive formality. In his eyes I had evidently attained the rank of a distinguished and valuable client.
There was nothing of this about the bearing of Mr. Drayton, however, who greeted me with a cheerful lack of ceremony that was much more to my taste. As before, he insisted on my accepting one of his excellent cigars, and then, having asked me several questions as to how I was getting on, he proceeded to explain his reasons for bringing me up to town.
"I've something to tell you, Dryden," he said, "that I think you'll probably approve of. The fact is, we have been getting on with your affairs a good deal faster than I expected. For once in a way I have actually persuaded the British law to hustle itself, and, to cut a long story short, you can dip your fingers into Uncle Richard's money-box just as soon as ever you like." He leaned back in his chair and regarded me with a friendly twinkle. "I know you're tired of travelling, but I thought that this particular bit of news was worth a journey to town."
"I should rather think it was," I replied, with considerable enthusiasm. Then, jumping from my seat, I gripped his hand heartily in mine. "I'm blessed if I know how to thank you," I added. "I am no good at making pretty speeches, so you must take the will for the deed."
Mr. Drayton extricated his fingers, and examined them with a rather rueful smile.
"There's no need to apologise," he said. "Your gratitude's quite pressing enough for me." He rose to his feet and, turning towards the table, pulled forward a bundle of papers. "There are one or two things here that want signing, and then I think I had better take you round to the bank, before they shut, and introduce you to the manager. It's only just across the road in Holborn."
I sat down at the table, and scribbled my name in the spaces he pointed out. I suppose I ought really to have read the documents through, but so complete was my confidence in his good faith that I made no attempt at this elementary precaution.
"You have got a delightfully trustful nature, Dryden," he said with a sigh. "I wish I inspired the same sort of feeling in all my clients."
He rang the bell for his clerk, and, having informed the latter that he would be out for the next quarter of an hour, he picked up his hat and led the way downstairs.
"Are you staying in town to-night?" he enquired as we emerged into Bedford Row. "If so, and you have nothing better to do, come and dine with me at my club. It's very dull, but you're not likely to notice that after a fortnight at Greensea Island."
Had I chosen I think I might have been able to disillusion him on the subject of Greensea's dullness, but for the present at all events I still thought it wiser to keep my own counsel. So with a perfectly truthful remark that I was never bored in good company, I laughingly accepted his invitation, and without further discussion we turned down a narrow passage into the roar and bustle of Holborn.
Our interview with the bank was not a very formidable affair. We were shown into a private room, where a brisk, bald-headed little man with gold-rimmed eye-glasses was seated at a table several sizes too large for him.
Mr. Drayton introduced me as the heir to the Jannaway fortunes, and the manager—for such the bald-headed gentleman proved to be—congratulated me cordially on what he termed my "romantic inheritance." He announced that a sum of eleven thousand and forty-five pounds seven shillings and six-pence was lying in the office awaiting my attention—a statement which I tried to receive with becoming nonchalance. At his request I wrote out a specimen of my signature, receiving in return a useful-looking cheque-book. He then informed me that if at any time I needed expert financial advice he would be delighted to place himself at my disposal; after which he again shook hands with us both, and escorted us in state to the door of the bank.
"I like being a capitalist," I observed, as we stood for a moment on the step. "It's a much more restful life than the sea, and everybody one meets is so extraordinarily obliging."
Mr. Drayton chuckled appreciatively. "Wait till I've sent you in my bill," he retorted. "You'll have some excuse for feeling cynical then." He dived into his pocket and produced a card-case. "Here's the address of my club," he added, "in case you forget it. I must be off now, but I'll expect you at seven-thirty. Don't dress up and make yourself beautiful—come along just as you are."
With a friendly wave he disappeared amongst the traffic, while almost at the same moment a prowling taxi pulled up in the gutter. I moved forward and accosted the driver.
"Have you ever heard of a place called Angel Court, somewhere off Fleet Street?" I asked him.
He eyed me critically.
"Are you wantin' Inspector Campbell's office?" he enquired.
"Yes," I said. "Do you know him?"
He leaned across and opened the door. "Know 'im," he repeated rather scornfully. "Why, 'e pinched a bloke outer this very cab last March twelve-months. There ain't a taxi driver in London as don't know 'Foxy' Campbell."
Considerably impressed with this unexpected tribute to the Inspector's reputation, I climbed inside the vehicle. We sped away rapidly through a number of side turnings, coming out at last within a few yards of the bottom of Fleet Street. A moment later the taxi pulled up, and as I stepped out the driver jerked his thumb in the direction of a narrow archway.
"That's Hangel Court," he said. "You'll find the party you're looking for the second door on the right."
I thanked him, and, passing through the opening, entered a kind of paved yard, on three sides of which were quaint narrow little houses with old-fashioned window-panes. The second doorway bore a carefully polished brass plate, with the inscription "James Campbell. Private Enquiry Agent."
I was just hunting around for a bell when suddenly the door swung back, and, looking up, I found myself face to face with the Inspector himself. He was evidently on the point of going out, for he was wearing a bowler hat and carrying a walking-stick.
Directly he saw me his big square-jawed face lit up in a smile of welcome.
"Why, it's Mr. Dryden," he exclaimed, holding out his hand. "Well, this is a bit of luck. If you had been a moment later you'd just have missed me."
"It's my lucky day," I said "But, all the same, I mustn't keep you if you've got an appointment."
"It's nothing very important," he replied. "Come along inside. I can spare a minute or two anyhow."
He led the way into a comfortably furnished office on the right, and, pulling forward a chair, seated himself exactly opposite me. His large and very wide-awake blue eyes scanned me with friendly interest.
"I'd better start by apologising," he began. "You mustn't think I've forgotten your invitation to come down and have a bit of shooting, but the fact is I've been so busy I've had no time to write. People have been misbehaving themselves the last three weeks in a way you wouldn't believe; I suppose it's the hot weather."
"I shouldn't wonder," I said. "I've felt a little vicious myself once or twice." I tossed away the stump of the cigar I was holding and helped myself to another from the case which he offered me. "As far as the invitation goes," I added, "it's open permanently. I am not the sort of a person who wants a lot of notice. Just send along a wire as soon as the crime wave subsides."
"The very minute," he said with a twinkle. Then, putting his thumbs in his waistcoat, he leaned back comfortably in his chair. "And how are you getting on down there?" he asked. "You know, I take a special interest in your affairs, Mr. Dryden. There's something about Greensea Island that I didn't quite get to the bottom of, and no one likes to be hit in his professional pride."
He spoke in such a frank and good-humoured fashion that once again I was sorely tempted to make a clean breast of my difficulties. I stuck to my resolve, however, for the thought of Christine as the central figure in some public scandal was too utterly repugnant to be considered. At the same time I felt that in the case of Inspector Campbell a certain measure of honesty would undoubtedly be the best policy.
"As a matter of fact," I said, looking him straight in the face, "I've come here to ask you for your help."
He nodded his head.
"I thought you might," he said. "That was one reason why I gave you my address."
"The trouble is this," I went on bluntly. "I want you to do something for me, but for certain reasons which I can't explain it's quite impossible for me to answer any questions. I know it sounds pretty rotten, so I shan't be the least surprised or offended if you tell me to go to the devil."
He smiled genially. "That's the last thing I should do, Mr. Dryden. There's no sense in encouraging a rival firm." He paused. "You know your own business best, of course, but if there's any particular way in which I can be of assistance you can count on me from this minute."
"Well, there is," I confessed. "You remember a chap called Dr. Manning—the fellow who looked after my uncle when he was dying?"
Once again the Inspector nodded. "Yes," he answered. "I remember him very distinctly. He lived on a barge about three hundred yards above the island."
"That's the gentleman," I said. "He's living there still; in fact, to all intents and purposes he's my next-door neighbour. What I want you to do, if you can possibly spare the time, is to get me a little accurate information about his past life."
If my companion felt any surprise or curiosity he certainly didn't show it.
"That oughtn't to be very difficult," was his reply. "Doctors are fairly easy to trace as a rule." He reached across to the table and picked up a half sheet of notepaper. "Has he ever mentioned a particular town, or given you any idea of what hospital he was at?"
"He once told me he had been a ship's surgeon," I said. "It was probably a lie, so I shouldn't attach much importance to it."
The Inspector made a brief note. "One never knows," he observed hopefully. "People sometimes tell the truth by accident. They generally regret it afterwards."
A telephone bell tinkled sharply in the corner of the room, and with a word of excuse he rose from his seat and walked across to the instrument.
"Yes," he said. "I'm Campbell—speaking." There was a pause. "What's that?" Another and longer pause followed. "Oh, very well. Don't let him go. I'll be round almost immediately."
He hung up the receiver and turned back to me.
"I'm sorry," he said, "but I'm afraid I shall have to run away after all. I have got to meet a man who wants to leave for Scotland this afternoon." He folded up the paper he was holding, and put it away carefully in his pocket "I'll get on to this little job at once. You shall hear from me directly there's any news."
"Thanks," I said gratefully; "and, meanwhile, if the wicked should happen to cease from troubling——"
"You'll not only hear from me, but see me."
He gave me a friendly grip, and, collecting his hat and stick, led the way out into the yard. We walked together under the archway and emerged on to the crowded pavement of Fleet Street.
"There's one thing I should like to add, Mr. Dryden," he said, just before we parted. "If you ever find yourself in real difficulty or actual danger, don't hesitate to let me know. Whatever I'm doing I shan't be too busy to lend you a hand."
I tried to thank him, but, without waiting to listen, he stepped off into the roadway, and a moment later he was swallowed up amongst the traffic.
Brief as our interview had been, however, it had left me in a very satisfied frame of mind. From what I had seen of the Inspector I felt pretty sure that if there was anything worth knowing about Manning's past career he would soon succeed in ferreting it out. Apart from that, the knowledge that in a tight corner I should have him as well as Bobby at my back was the kind of encouraging thought that would have put heart into a rabbit.
My good spirits were in no way damped by one or two drops of rain, which at that moment, much to my surprise, began to dot the pavement. Looking up, I noticed for the first time that a change was taking place in the weather. A great bank of cloud was creeping slowly up from the east, and spreading in a black, threatening line all across the sky.
Manning's prophecy at once came into my mind, but, not being particularly anxious for a ducking, I wasted no time in further reflections. Hailing a passing taxi, I instructed the man to take me back to the Great Eastern Hotel, which I reached in comfort and dryness just as the rain began to descend in a steady drizzle.
There was nothing to do under the circumstances but to make the best of things indoors. I am never at a loss how to amuse myself if I can get a game of billiards, and I soon discovered that the hotel possessed a couple of excellent tables, presided over by a red-headed marker, who spoke Scotch and looked as if he drank it.
We played several hundred up with varying success; and at six-thirty, feeling quite ready to face a good dinner, I set out for Mr. Drayton's club. As an additional encouragement to my appetite I walked the whole way to St. James's Street, for by this time, although the pavements were still wet, the rain itself had practically ceased falling.
The club proved to be a big, sombre establishment, inhabited chiefly by middle-aged gentlemen of a distinctly morose aspect. What they had to be morose about I can't imagine, for a better meal than the one put before us I never wish to eat. Mr. Drayton, who was waiting for me in the hall and conducted me straight into the dining-room, confessed frankly that he had joined the place purely for the sake of its excellent cooking, and the respect which I already had for his judgment rose steadily with each succeeding course.
After dinner we made our way to the smoking-room upstairs, where, with the assistance of a couple of leather arm-chairs and a plentiful supply of whisky and soda, the time passed away so pleasantly that it was close on midnight before I got back to my own bed at the hotel.
The whisky must have been of the same high quality as the rest of the food, for in spite of the amount that I had put away, I woke up next morning feeling remarkably fit and cheerful. One of the first things I did was to pull aside the blind and have a look at the weather. The result was not encouraging, for my window faced on to a blank wall of dirty white brick, and in the intervening space a thin grey drizzle was coming down with monotonous persistence.
Once more Manning's predictions about a sudden change in the weather came back to my memory. If it were like this in London, the odds were that Greensea Island would be wrapped in a regular sea fog, which I knew from experience might last for several days. However, I consoled myself with the comforting reflection that it would save me a deal of hard work with the watering can, and that, after all, I was no longer compelled to tramp up and down a dripping bridge with a miniature trout stream trickling down the back of my neck.
I had made up my mind to go back by the mid-day train, which gets into Torrington somewhere about two o'clock. There were several things I still wanted to buy, and, now that I was actually in town, it seemed a pity to waste such a favourable opportunity. I had no wish to get soaked through, however, so on my way down to the dining-room I gave the hall porter a sovereign and told him to go out and buy me an umbrella. He returned with a sporting-looking affair, the handle of which terminated in a bull-dog's head. Though a trifle spectacular, it was a sound article for the money, and, armed with this and my cheque book, I set off after breakfast, pleasantly determined to make a good opening in Uncle Richard's life savings.
As intentions go, it must be admitted that I was fairly successful. In addition to half a dozen things I bought for myself, I discovered in a Bond Street jeweller's a perfectly charming little emerald pendant, which struck me at once as having been obviously designed for Christine. Under the circumstances twenty-five pounds seemed to be a ridiculously cheap price, but I felt that it was unnecessary to point this out to the shopman, who appeared quite satisfied with the transaction.
Returning to the hotel with my purchases, I made an early but excellent lunch off cold duck and salad, and at a quarter to one I was steaming out through the damp squalor of East London, comfortably established in the corner seat of a first-class smoker.
It was a cheerless journey, for all the way down a driving rain beat incessantly upon the windows, and most of the landscape was blotted out by drifting clouds of mist.
At Torrington things were not much better. It was not actually raining, but the little cobble-paved market-place reeked with wet, and a depressing air of forlorn moisture brooded over the entire place.
Packing myself and my belongings into a solitary growler which was standing in the gutter, I instructed the man to take me as far as the Gunner's Arms. We plodded off, and, after half an hour's drive between dripping hedgerows, came out at last over the brow of the long slope that overlooks the estuary. I lowered the sash, and, putting my head out of the window, inspected the prospect. Down below, the roof of the inn was just visible, but the harbour itself and everything beyond was hidden under a pall of fog, which stretched like a grey shroud over the whole length of the estuary. There was something singularly sinister and desolate about the whole scene, and for a moment I felt a pang of regret for the comfortable billiard-room which I had so recently quitted.
We came to a halt on the quay in front of the inn, deserted for once by its usual sprinkling of boatmen and barge hands. Our arrival had been observed, however, for scarcely had we pulled up when I saw the small figure of Jimmy emerge from the stable door and come hurrying down the yard towards us. He touched his damp curls with a cheerful grin of welcome.
"I reckoned it was you, guv'nor," he remarked "You ain't bin away long, an' that's a fact."
"Quite long enough, Jimmy," I returned. "At all events, you've had time to mess up the weather."
He took the bag which I handed out, and at the same time cast a rather disgusted glance into the surrounding gloom.
"It's a treat, ain't it!" he observed. "Come on like this yes'day afternoon." Then, drawing a little nearer, he added in a lowered voice: "There's a letter for you at the 'ouse, guv'nor. The young laidy give it me laite las' night, an' I took it across at once—saime as you told me."
I tried to cover my unseemly elation by lighting a cigarette. "Where did you meet her?" I enquired.
"She come down to the quay. I see 'er standin' there in the dark, an' I says to me self, As like as not she's wantin' me. So I just slips over alongside of 'er, an' without sayin' nothin' she shoves the letter in my 'and and orf she goes."
I looked at him gratefully. "You're a stout fellow, James," I said "I knew I could depend on you directly I saw you."
He waited until I had paid the cabman, and then, shouldering my bag, accompanied me to the boat.
"I seen 'er again since then," he continued confidentially. "I was comin' along Duke's Laine about 'alf an hour ago, an' she was waitin' to go aboard the doctor's barge."
I stopped short with a very distinct shock.
"Are you sure about that?" I demanded
He nodded a little scornfully. "Dead certain, guv'nor. There ain't no one else you'd mistake for 'er—not round these parts."
"But how do you know she was waiting to go on the barge?" I persisted.
"Why, I 'eard 'er call out, and I seed the doctor comin' orf to fetch 'er. I reckon she's there now—that's to say, if 'e ain't put 'er ashore again."
I said nothing further, but walked on to the boat in anything but a happy state of mind. The thought of Christine boxed up alone in the fog with those two scoundrels filled me with a horrible sense of uneasiness. Knowing her mistrust for Manning, and having seen something of the relations between them, I felt that only the strongest reasons would have induced her to take such a step.
It was possible, of course, that she had explained her action in the letter which she had given to Jimmy. If that were the case, the quicker I got back to the house the sooner my anxiety would be relieved, so without wasting any time I unshipped the oars and started off on my journey down the creek.
The tide was slack when we reached the mouth; and trusting to luck, for one could see only a few feet ahead, I cut straight across the estuary, and came out triumphantly almost exactly alongside the landing-stage.
Before stepping ashore I handed Jimmy a well-earned ten bob in return for his services. Then, with my bag in my hand, I strode forward through the mist and entered the narrow path which ran up through the shrubbery to the garden.
As I crossed the lawn and approached the house I noticed with some surprise that the front door was standing open. I was just thinking that it was rather unlike Bascomb to be so casual when I suddenly heard the sound of footsteps coming round the corner of the drive. I pulled up where I was, and the next moment the square, burly figure of my retainer loomed into view.
I was about to make some remark, but, whatever it was, the words remained unspoken. One glance at Bascomb's face was quite sufficient to drive everything else clean out of my head.
"Good God!" I exclaimed. "What's the matter?"
He stood there, glaring at me with sullen, blood-shot eyes—a silent and menacing figure in the mist. Then, taking a step forward, he laid his hand on my arm.
"You come along o' me," he said hoarsely. "I got something to show you."
Turning on his heel, he led the way round the corner of the house. Without saying anything further I followed him along the path until we reached the back garden, where with equal abruptness he came to a sudden standstill. Then, raising his hand, he pointed towards a dim, motionless heap, which was just visible in the centre of the lawn.
"There you are," he muttered. "You go an' look at that."
Two strides brought me to the spot, and a wicked oath broke from my lips as I stared down at the sight in front of me. It was the huge body of Satan, stretched out stiff and dead on the wet grass.
For several seconds I remained still, without speaking. The wave of grief and anger that swept through me left me sick and shaken; I could only stand there with clenched hands waiting until I could control my voice.
"Who did it, Bascomb?" I said at last.
He came up to me, and, bad as I felt myself, I was almost shocked by the sight of his face. It was like a horrible grey mask, twisted and distorted with passion.
"Who d'yer think?" he demanded hoarsely. "There's only one devil in the world who'd go fur to do a thing like that." He sank down on his knees beside the body, and, sliding his hand under the big head, lifted it tenderly from the grass.
"You mean Manning?" The words came out mechanically. I knew the answer before I uttered them.
"Aye!" he muttered savagely; "that's who I mean. It was Mannin' right enough—the blarsted, poisonin' 'ound." Very slowly he laid down his burden and got up again on to his feet. "I'll be even with 'im for this," he added in a choking voice. "You mark my words. I'll be even with 'im for this or my name ain't John Bascomb."
"When did it happen?" I asked.
He stared at me, as if only half understanding the question.
"When did it 'appen?" he repeated. "Why, las' night 'about eleven o'clock. 'E were alive an' well at the 'alf hour—that I can swear to. I was in the kitchen, an' I seen 'im pass the window—seen 'im with me own eyes. I can't say exac'ly 'ow long arter it was when I went to the back door; mebbe a matter o' five an' twenty minutes. Any'ow, there 'e was, stretched out on the path, too bad even to make a sound. Crawled back 'ome to die, 'e 'ad, pore beggar, an' me inside not knowin' nothin' about it."
His voice trembled, and, raising the back of his hand, he brushed it roughly across his eyes.
I wetted my lips, which were dry as leather.
"If Manning did this—" I began.
Bascomb turned on me with glowing eyes.
"You'll leave 'im to me," he said. "This is my job, this is; an' no one ain't comin' in between us—not till I've finished with 'im."
I saw that the man was half off his head with rage, and I felt that for the present the best thing was to leave him to himself. In the mood we were both in any further discussion would probably only end in an explosion.
"We must bury the body at all events," I said shortly. "If you want any help in digging the grave you will find me in the house."
I walked towards the back door, my mind still in a turmoil of emotion, and, crossing the kitchen, made my way through into the hall. The place was dark and cheerless, and in a mechanical fashion I struck a match and set a light to the fire. Then, pulling up an easy chair, I flung myself down, and stared at the crackling sticks.
I suppose it ought to have been obvious from the first that an attempt might be made to poison Satan, but somehow or other the possibility had never entered my mind. The dastardly act had come on me as a complete surprise, and in the first rush of anger and indignation I found it difficult to collect my thoughts. That Bascomb was right in his suspicions, however, I felt convinced, though I had no more evidence than he had in support of my belief. There was a cold-blooded ruthlessness about the whole thing which pointed clearly to Manning, and such a passion of hatred for him swept through me that for a moment I felt almost stifled.
What new threat, I asked myself, lurked behind this apparently wanton piece of spite? It was utterly unlike Manning to show his hand so clearly, unless driven to it by the most urgent reasons. He must have realised that, however easily deceived I might be, Bascomb would at once pitch on him as the author of the crime, I might or might not accept the latter's opinion, but it was at least probable that my suspicions would be aroused and that I should take prompt steps to try and find out the truth.
That he would run such a risk through sheer malice was a thing that I declined to believe. It was much more likely that he was fixing up some new and devilish plan, in which the removal of Satan was the first and perhaps the most essential step. Now that this was accomplished he was not likely to waste time, for every hour that he delayed would only add to the danger of discovery. I felt that I must act, and act quickly, but what the deuce I ought to do was another and more baffling question.
In my perplexity I suddenly remembered Bobby. A letter to Harwich would reach him first post in the morning, and unless he was up to his neck in work he would probably be with me by mid-day. I didn't want to bother him unnecessarily, but things seemed to be approaching a crisis, and if that were the case his advice and help would b& simply invaluable.
I jumped up from my chair with the intention of writing him a note at once. As I turned towards the desk, my eyes fell upon a letter which was lying on the further side of the centre table. Even at that distance I recognised Christine's hand, and at the same instant the recollection of my talk with Jimmy rushed back into my mind.
In a second I had crossed the room and picked up the envelope. Carrying it to the window, I tore open the flap, and with feverish haste pulled out its contents. There was a single sheet of notepaper, closely covered on both sides with small but very legible writing.
"I know that you have gone to London, but I am not sure how long you intend to stay, or when you will get this letter. Anyhow, it will be waiting for you as soon as you reach the house.
"I had to write to you or see you. I feel certain that something has happened—something that fills me with terrible fear for your safety. If I knew what it was I would tell you; I believe it must be connected with Dr. Manning's visit to the island, but that is only what I think, and I may be wrong.
"I amabsolutely sure, however, that at any moment you may be in the greatest possible danger. Please don't think that I am silly or fanciful in writing to you like this. You must know by now the kind of people you have to deal with, and surely you will understand that I shouldn't have sent you this second warning without some very real and serious reason for it.
"Whatever happens, don't under any circumstances allow yourself to be alone on the island. I believe that your man Bascomb is honest, but it would be better if you were to have your naval friend with you as well.Above all, be careful of Dr. Manning. Pay no attention to any suggestion he makes, and mistrust everything he says or does.
"If there is any further way in which I can help you I will do so. Should you want to send me a message, give it to the boy at the inn. My uncle has gone away for two days, so I shall have no difficulty in getting down to the quay in the evening.
"You are not to worry about me. I am in no danger myself, and I implore you to think only of your own safety.
"CHRISTINE DE RODA."
I read it hurriedly to the end, and then with a strange pleasure I turned back and went through it a second time. It was just such a letter as I should have expected her to write. Mysterious and reticent as it was, there shone through every line an honesty and personal courage which confirmed all I had felt about her ever since our adventure at Leixoes.
Of one thing there could be no doubt. Whatever had prompted her to send me this note, she had evidently been ignorant of the brutal plan to poison Satan. Had she known she would certainly have given me some warning, even if de Roda himself had been a party to the scheme.
On that point, however, I had already and perhaps quite unreasonably made up my mind. Nothing but the clearest evidence would shake my belief that it was Manning's work, and that in all probability he had arranged and carried out the whole thing for some purpose of his own. More than ever I felt convinced that he was playing a double part; that de Roda, though no doubt originally the moving spirit, was now merely a tool in the hands of a much cleverer man than himself.
Once more I glanced at Christine's letter. Her urgent pleading that I would take the matter seriously was not really needed; I should have done that even if the dead body of Satan had not been lying on the grass outside. I knew well that it was no vague or imaginary peril which had led a girl of her sense to send me this additional warning—a step, which, for anything she might say to the contrary, must have been fraught with considerable personal danger.
The last consideration, indeed, was much the most disturbing factor as far as I was concerned. I was in no mood to worry about my own safety when it was more than possible that, owing to her efforts to help me, Christine might be exposing herself to all sorts of horrible risks. People who don't hesitate to attempt murder are apt to take a particularly unpleasant view of anything which they regard as treachery. Of course de Roda was her uncle, but he looked the kind of fanatic who would attach precious little importance to family affection if it began to interfere with the success of his schemes. Besides, according to the letter, de Roda was away. In his absence Manning was presumably in charge of operations, and the mere thought of Christine finding herself in the power of that gentleman was sufficient to send a chill down the small of my back.
Suppose he had discovered that she was in communication with me! It was unlikely, but unlikely things do happen in this world, and, in spite of all our precautions, the secret might have leaked out. In view of what I had seen outside "The Laurels" my feelings can be easily understood, for he was just the sort of devil to make use of a chance like this without compunction and without mercy.
I crumpled the letter in my hand, and thrust it into my pocket. Whatever had induced Christine to visit the barge, the idea of her shut up in that lonely cabin with no one else but Manning on board was utterly unbearable. A frantic longing to do something rose up inside me, and, walking to the window, I stared out into the drifting mist.
I had stood there for perhaps thirty seconds when a really inspired notion suddenly dawned on me. In a fog like this nothing would be visible on the water more than a few yards away. If I were careful about it there was no earthly reason why I should not get into my boat and row up as far as the barge in perfect security. No matter how sharp a look-out was kept, I should be practically alongside before anyone could give the alarm.
Almost as soon as the idea came into my head I had made up my mind. So strongly, indeed, did it attract me that I did not even stop to consider what I should do when I reached my destination. I could think about that while I was in the boat. The main thing was to get started without wasting any more valuable time.
In spite of my eagerness to be off, I first of all sat down at my desk and scribbled a note to Bobby. It had to be posted at Pen Mill before six o'clock or else it would not be delivered in Harwich until mid-day, and in that case he would very probably be out of the office. I made no attempt to explain things, however; I merely told him that I was in need of his help, and that if he could manage to get down to Greensea the next day I should be uncommonly glad to see him.
I was just fastening up the envelope when I saw Bascomb go past the window. I called out to him from where I was sitting, and he stepped in through the open doorway. He was carrying a heavy garden spade.
"Where are you going to dig the grave?" I asked him.
He jerked his head toward the back of the house. "'Longside o' the shed," he answered. "I can see it there from the kitchen window."
He spoke as though the prospect of being continually reminded of the crime afforded him a kind of sullen satisfaction.
"I am going ashore to post a letter," I said. "I mean to get to the bottom of this infernal business, and I've asked Commander Dean to come here to-morrow. I think he may be able to help us."
Bascomb looked at me more strangely than ever.
"It's likely enough," he remarked. "That's to say, if there's any 'elp wanted."
He shouldered the spade as he spoke, and, stepping out on to the path, walked off silently round the corner of the house. His manner was so peculiar that for a moment I felt an uncomfortable doubt as to whether he were in his right senses. I was too anxious about Christine to worry over anything else, however, and, following him to the door, I hastily secured the bolts and made sure that the windows were properly fastened. Then, snatching up a cap from my travelling bag, I left the house by the back door.
The mist seemed thicker than ever when I came out into the garden. I climbed the wet rail which led into the shrubbery, and, having groped my way through the bushes, I struck off down the path in the direction of the water.
A few minutes' walk brought me to the boathouse, where, by gently coaxing the rusty lock, I managed to open the door without making any unnecessary noise.
The next job was to find something with which to muffle the oars. A glance round showed me exactly what I needed—a large piece of cotton waste that was hanging from a nail just inside the threshold. I tore this in two, and with the aid of some string soon accomplished my purpose. Then, pushing off quietly, I drifted out into the mist.
It was just low water, and the young tide was already running up the estuary. I knew its strength from bitter experience, so, keeping the nose of my boat well into the current, I set off hopefully on what I imagined to be the right course.
I was not far out in my reckoning, for, after about ten minutes' steady rowing, I found myself approaching a mud flat, which I recognised at once as being slightly to the east of the creek. I allowed the current to carry me down as far as the entrance, and a few moments later the rough wall of the jetty loomed into view on my left-hand side.
There was no sign of anyone about, a circumstance that was hardly surprising in view of the close proximity of the Gunner's Arms. I ferried along till I reached the nearest post, where I shipped my oars and made the boat fast. Then, climbing ashore, I started off carefully down the slippery causeway.
I got to the pillar-box, which was just alongside the inn, without meeting a soul. The knowledge that my letter was safely posted gave me a distinct feeling of relief, and, retracing my steps as quickly as possible, I was soon back in the dinghy and pulling off again down the creek.
So far all was well, but as I drifted round the point into the open water, I began to realize what a difficult job I had in front of me. In the first place, it was quite conceivable that I was on a fool's errand. Notwithstanding my fears, Christine might be in no need of my assistance, and if that were the case my sudden appearance on the scene would be about the most embarrassing ordeal I could possible inflict on her. This was an unfortunate fact that had to be faced, however; the only question was how to make certain that she was safe without giving away the whole affair.
My strongest card was the one which had been thoughtfully provided by Manning himself. His last words had been a pressing invitation that I would come and see him on the barge as soon as I got back from London, and he could hardly blame me if I happened to select a particularly awkward moment for calling. Much as he might object to my visit, he would find it uncommonly difficult to invent any reasonable excuse for not asking me on board.
What I chiefly dreaded was the possibility that Christine might betray herself before she could recover from her surprise. In that event any further pretence on my part would be useless; Manning would at once guess the truth, or something very near it, and what the consequences might be God alone knew. Was I asking too much in making such a demand upon a girl's courage and coolness? It was a trial from which very few people would emerge successfully, but then I had had ample proof in Leixoes harbour that Christine's nerve was of no ordinary quality. Her self-possession on that occasion had been truly delightful, and though she would now be up against a much more severe test I had a kind of inward conviction that I could still depend upon her. Anyhow, there was no way of avoiding the risk unless I abandoned my purpose, an alternative on which I declined to waste even a moment's consideration.
All this time the tide was carrying me steadily up the estuary, my own efforts being confined to keeping the boat as near the shore as possible without losing the drift of the current. I made no attempt at rowing, for, anxious as I was to reach the barge, I was afraid that if Craill happened to be on deck the muffled creak of my rowlocks would probably attract his attention. I wanted my arrival to be absolutely unexpected, so that I could seize the chance of getting on board before anyone was prepared to dispute my purpose.
Now that the critical moment was approaching I felt as cool as a cucumber. Nothing steadies me like the prospect of immediate action, and, although my hatred of Manning was as bitter as ever, it no longer clouded or distorted my mind. It had, indeed, precisely the opposite effect, bracing all my faculties to their clearest and sharpest pitch.
I drifted along, listening intently, and keeping a constant look-out over my shoulder. I knew by the curve of the shore that I must be getting pretty near my goal, for just below where the barge lay the estuary made a slight turn to the north.
Suddenly, a few feet ahead of me, I caught sight of a shadowy anchor chain, rising from the water and stretching away into the gloom. I was so close that in another second I should have been on top of it, but a timely dig with my left-hand scull just saved me from this calamity. Almost simultaneously the black outline of the barge towered up above my head, and, gliding round the big blunt bow, I came quietly alongside an empty dinghy which was bobbing about on its painter at the foot of the accommodation ladder.
For a couple of seconds I remained perfectly still, gripping tight hold of the dinghy's gunwale, and staring up at the railing above me. I half expected to see Craill's ugly face come peering over the top, for if he were on deck he must have heard the splash which I had made in trying to avoid the chain. No such apparition materialised, however, and with a slight pull at the painter I drew into the side and rapidly hitched up my boat. The next moment I had mounted the ladder and was safely on board.
As far as I could see, I appeared to have the whole place to myself. It was very unlike an ordinary barge, for both fore and aft a high "coach-house" roof had been built up above the deck, so as to provide the cabins below with further light and head room. Between the two, and right in front of where I was standing, a broad companion-way led down to the interior.
I advanced on tiptoe, keeping a watchful eye on the fo'c'sle, from which quarter I still feared that at any moment Craill might make an inconvenient appearance. I had taken about three steps when a sudden and unexpected noise brought me to a dead stop. It was a queer sound, as though a small but heavily laden table had been violently overturned. I stood quite still, listening intently; then, faint but clear enough to send the blood racing through my heart, came the half-stifled cry of a woman's voice.
One stride forward brought me to the edge of the companion-way, and, clearing the short flight of steps with a single leap, I found myself facing a closed door which apparently led through into the cabins. It swung open as I turned the handle, revealing a narrow passage, with another door at the end. On the farther side of this a scuffle of some sort seemed to be taking place, and a voice which I recognised as Manning's rose plainly above the confused jumble of sounds.
If there were a championship for sprinting up corridors, I think I should have some claim to be the holder. Anyhow, I covered the distance in considerably less time than it takes to write the words, and, wrenching round the brass knob with a savage jerk, applied the full force of my shoulder to the panel. Instead of being locked, as I expected, the door flew back suddenly on its hinges. How I saved myself from falling I don't know; I can only imagine that the sight which met my eyes momentarily stiffened every muscle and sinew in my body.
Amid a debris of broken cups and plates Christine and Manning were struggling together in the centre of the cabin. He had gripped her in his arms, and, in spite of the efforts she was making to free herself, he was pressing fierce kisses upon her face and neck. Beside them on the carpet sprawled an overturned tea-table, with one leg sticking up grotesquely in the air.
I had only the briefest glimpse of what was happening, for at the noise of my entrance the tableau broke up abruptly. Manning raised his head with a swift, astonished glance; and then, releasing his hold, took a step backwards. Freed in this unexpected fashion, Christine for an instant seemed to be on the point of collapsing. By a great effort of will she was just able to reach the arm of the sofa, where she stood panting and exhausted, her eyes fixed on me in a kind of half-incredulous fear.
"You must forgive me if I am intruding, Manning," I said. "You asked me to look you up, and I have taken you at your word."
Even at that moment the man's extraordinary coolness never deserted him. Whatever thoughts and emotions were passing through his mind, he seemed, after that first glance of surprise, to accept the situation with perfect composure.
"I am afraid you have chosen rather an unfortunate time," he replied. "If you would care to come back in half an hour I should be charmed. At present I have another visitor."
"So I see," was my answer. "And, if you want to know, that is precisely the reason why I intend to stop."
Manning's curious blue eyes narrowed dangerously.
"I don't quite understand," he observed in his silkiest voice.
"It's very simple," I assured him. "This lady, whoever she is, seems to have mistaken you for a gentleman." I turned to Christine. "I hope I am not being officious," I added, "but if there is any way in which I can be of use, please consider me entirely at your service."
She rose to the occasion with all the quickness and courage that I had expected.
"If it's not troubling you too much," she said quietly, "I should certainly be obliged if you would row me to the shore."
Manning stepped forward, addressing himself directly to her. His manner was politeness itself, but there was no misunderstanding the veiled threat behind his words.
"For various reasons," he said, "I think you had better allowmethat privilege."
I saw that Christine was hesitating, so I gave her no chance to reply.
"I expect you know your way up on to the deck," I remarked. "If you will excuse me I will be with you almost immediately."
For a second she still wavered. Then with the slightest possible bow she crossed the cabin, and passed out silently into the passage. I closed the door behind her.
Only once before in my life, when Bobby and I sighted our first German submarine, have I felt the same peculiar sensation with which I turned round and faced Manning. He stood where he was, an amused and half-mocking smile playing round the corners of his mouth.
"You mustn't let me detain you, Mr. Dryden," he said. "I am sure you are full of the noblest sentiments, but it would be a pity to keep the lady waiting."
If his intention was to make me lose my temper it went woefully astray.
"I shan't be long," I replied. "I am only going to give you a damned good hiding."
I was looking straight at him as I spoke, and I saw the lightning glance with which he measured his distance from a small oak sideboard that was clamped against the wall.
"That's the worst of you primitive people," he drawled slowly, "you always—" Then suddenly his eyes travelled past me to the door, and a harsh, exulting cry broke from his lips.
"Go on, Craill," he shouted; "let him have it."
With most men the trick would probably have succeeded, but I was too old a hand to be caught in that time-honoured fashion. As he sprang for the sideboard I hurled myself after him, and at the very second that he wrenched open the drawer my fist crashed home full in his face. He lurched wildly backwards, and, stumbling over the corner of the mat, fetched up against the wall with a thud that shook the cabin.
Of the next two minutes I have a glorious but slightly confused recollection. All the rage which I had been bottling up inside me seemed to break loose at that first blow, and with a red mist in front of my eyes I leaped in to finish the business.
Whatever else Manning might be, he was game to the last inch. Hopelessly cornered, with blood streaming down his face, he yet fought back at me like a trapped and maddened wolf. He fought, too, with all the skill of a trained boxer, but science and courage were little use against the mad fury which had suddenly taken possession of me.
Keeping him pinned against the wall, I smashed home punch after punch without even troubling to guard myself. No one could stand up long under such a hail of punishment, and although he managed to land one or two blows there was not sufficient force in them to have any effect on me. At last, with a terrific right-hand jolt just below the heart, I sent him staggering sideways. He made a desperate attempt to recover, but, seizing the chance, I let him have my left bang on the point of the jaw, and down he went on to the carpet—a sprawling bundle of arms and legs.
For a moment I stood there breathing heavily, my whole being aflame with savage satisfaction. Stretched out motionless on his back, Manning presented a pretty ghastly spectacle, but there was not a spark of pity for him in my heart as I stared down into his battered and bleeding face. Christine's cry for help, and the thought of poor Satan creeping back alone to die in the darkness, were still vividly in my mind, and, turning away, I strode across towards the open drawer in the oak sideboard.
As I expected, the first thing I saw on looking inside was a revolver. It was a Smith and Wesson of the heaviest service pattern, and on taking it out I found that every chamber was loaded. I wondered grimly what my fate would have been if Manning had succeeded in reaching the drawer a second earlier. Possibly he had only meant to protect himself, but in any case the weapon would certainly be safer in my possession than in his, so, slipping it into my pocket, I strolled back to where I had left him.
Just as I came up he gave a deep groan and opened his eyes.
"Oh," I said, "you're recovering, are you?"
He gazed at me vaguely, as if only half understanding my words; then in a sudden rush the full memory of what had happened seemed to return to him, and with a painful effort he raised himself up on one elbow.
"Next time you want to insult a girl," I suggested, "you had better see that the cabin door is properly locked."
Lifting his sleeve, he tried to wipe away some of the blood which was trickling down his face.
"I always thought you were a fool, Dryden," he said in a faint voice. "Now I am sure of it." With great difficulty he struggled up a little farther, and sank back against the wall.
"I know a damned cad when I see one, anyhow," I replied. "Not that it needed much intelligence in the present case." I walked to the door, and, pausing on the threshold, took out the revolver. "You will forgive my borrowing this," I added. "I don't want to be shot in the back as I leave the barge."
His blue eyes fixed themselves on mine with a cat-like malevolence.
"You might have a worse ending," he said softly. "I am not a very safe person to quarrel with."
There was a venom in his tone which spoke volumes as to his sincerity, but unless it was intended to frighten me the warning was a little superfluous.
"I shan't grumble at the bill," I replied. "I am always ready to pay well, especially when I have really enjoyed myself."
Then, turning the handle, I stepped out into the passage, and closed the door behind me.
I found Christine standing on the deck at the head of the companion-way.
She looked terribly pale, and as I approached she started towards me with a little sob of relief.
"Oh, thank God!" she whispered. "Thank God you're safe!"
She took my hands, and a low cry escaped her at the sight of their scarred and bleeding knuckles.
"It's nothing, darling," I said reassuringly. "That's only a little blood from Manning's nose. He's got plenty left to go on with."
With something between a laugh and another sob she let her head sink forward against my shoulder. "Don't think me a coward. I—I'm not one really. It was just having to wait here and——"
"A coward!" I interrupted. "Why, I think you're the bravest girl that ever stepped this earth."
I put my arms round her, and for one dear moment she lay there passive and still, like a tired, contented child.
Then, suddenly releasing herself, she gazed round in a kind of startled panic.
"But we mustn't stay here," she exclaimed hurriedly. "We must go at once."
"I suppose you're right," I admitted with some reluctance. "What's happened to that ruffian Craill?"
"He went off in the other boat just after I arrived. He might come back at any moment."
"Well, I want to see him," I said; "but I don't think I'll wait now. It's a pity to cram all one's pleasures into one afternoon."
She laid her hands pleadingly on my sleeve. "Do what I ask," she begged. "Promise me you will go straight back to the island as soon as you have taken me ashore?"
"I am not going to take you ashore," I said. "You are coming home with me."
She made a quick gesture of protest, but I went on without giving her time to answer.
"There's no other way out of it," I said, speaking with the utmost seriousness. "After what's happened this afternoon you have simply got to tell me the truth. Don't you see, dear, you and I are in this together, and unless I know——"
"Yes, yes," she interrupted breathlessly, "I must tell you; I had already made up my mind to do it." She paused in piteous hesitation. "I daren't come to the island, though," she added; "if anyone saw us——"
"No one can possibly see us," I objected. "It's a hundred times safer than any other place. We can talk comfortably there, and I can row you ashore afterwards and land you wherever you like. This fog's not going to lift for another twenty-four hours."
I don't think I really convinced her; she seemed to give in to my will through utter weariness.
"Perhaps you're right," she faltered. "I can't argue with you anyhow. I—I'm too tired."
With a sudden remorse for my lack of consideration, I helped her tenderly down the ladder. Everything in the dinghy was soaking, and, in spite of her remonstrances, I insisted on removing my coat and spreading it on the wet seat.
"I won't try and talk to you while I'm rowing," I said. "There's a pretty stiff stream running, and I shall want all my energy to get back to the island. Besides, the quieter we keep the better."
She nodded her head to show that she understood, and, having cast off the painter, I took my place at the oars.
The first few strokes were a bit painful on account of my damaged knuckles, which started bleeding afresh the moment I closed my hands. They soon ceased to smart, however; and, keeping the same course as before, I plugged steadily along, until the mouth of the creek opened up dimly on my left-hand side. A short but strenuous battle with the current brought me safely across to the landing-stage, where I grabbed hold of the chain and waved a triumphant greeting to Christine.
"Welcome!" I said "Welcome to Greensea Island!"
She smiled back at me, such a wan, pathetic little smile that I impulsively leaned over and pressed her hand.
"My own dear," I whispered, "you have just got to be happy. Remember, you are coming home for the first time."
I felt her fingers squeeze mine gently in return; then with a sudden trace of shyness she pushed them away and got up quickly from her seat.
"You must be wet through," she said, "and as for your poor coat—" She held it up with an expression of penitent dismay. "You will have to go and change everything directly we get to the house."
"Oh, it won't hurt me," I protested. "I've been drenched so often that I can't catch a cold even if I try."
I steadied the boat while she stepped out, and then, jumping ashore myself, led the way forward in the direction of the shrubbery.
As we entered the path, and the gloom of the trees closed in about us, she slipped her arm through mine.
"It's not a very cheerful place, is it?" she said with a slight shiver.
"Don't judge us too quickly," I returned. "Wait till we reach the house. Things will seem quite different as soon as you've had a cup of tea."
She smiled again, this time a little more happily, and without any further attempt at talking I piloted her through the rest of the shrubbery and opened the iron gate which led on to the lawn. The vague outline of the roof and chimneys were just visible opposite.
"That's my ancestral home," I said. "Unfortunately it's not looking its best to-day."
Christine made no reply; she had let go my arm and stood quite still beside me, gazing ahead into the mist with a strange and eager interest.
"One mustn't grumble though," I added philosophically. "After all, if it wasn't for the fog you wouldn't be here."
We set out across the grass, and, just as we were approaching the verandah, I suddenly remembered that I had bolted the front door on the inside. I did not want to take Christine to the back entrance, for fear that she might catch sight of Bascomb digging the grave. It would be a gruesome discovery to run up against unexpectedly, especially for anyone whose nerves were already strained almost beyond the point of endurance.
"If you don't mind waiting here a couple of seconds," I said, "I'll slip round and let you in. The place is locked up, and my man will probably be out in the garden."
"I shall be all right," she said. "It was only the trees that made me fed a little creepy."
Leaving her where she was, I hurried along the verandah, and turned off down the side walk which led past the kitchen window. Directly I got round the corner I heard the sound of Bascomb's spade, but it was not until I was within a few feet of him that his figure suddenly emerged from the mist. He was standing beside a large hole, peering forward in the direction of the path.
"How are you getting on?" I asked, pulling up short.
"It's pretty nigh finished," he answered slowly. "I've put 'im down deep, so as 'e can lie quiet without bein' shifted."
I looked over into the grave, which was already partly filled in.
"Well, there's no need to hurry," I said. "I've brought someone back with me, but we shan't want anything except a cup of tea, and I can get that myself."
If he felt any curiosity about my guest he certainly did not show it.
"Aye," he remarked indifferently. "You won't 'ave no trouble about that. The kettle's on the fire, an' there's a jug o' milk in the larder."
He turned to his work again, and, resuming my way to the back of the house, I passed in through the kitchen.
I took a strange delight in opening the front door and seeing Christine step in over the threshold. At that moment everything about her seemed to become real to me in a way that it had never been before. I had a sort of feeling that we had suddenly escaped from some fantastic melodrama, and were alone together in the actual world for the first time.
She looked round, an almost childish pleasure in her brown eyes.
"It's charming," she exclaimed. "It's the kind of room one would never want to go out of."
"That's how it strikes me just at present," I said. "Come and sit down in front of the fire. You'll have time to get nice and dry while I make the tea."
She crossed the room, and, sinking down with a little sigh of contentment in one of the easy chairs, stretched out her hands towards the hearth.
For a second or two I stood watching her, too happy to move; then, wrenching my mind back to practical affairs, I started off unwillingly towards the kitchen.
It did not take me long to collect what I wanted. The kettle was already full of hot water, as Bascomb had told me, and while it was boiling I wandered into the larder, and ran to earth an appetising looking cake and a new tin of dessert biscuits. Returning with my spoils, I filled up the teapot, and then, having set everything out on a tray, I carried it carefully into the hall.
Christine examined the result of my labours with evident approval.
"I'm so glad you've got a good tea," she said. "I've had nothing to eat since breakfast."
"In that case," I answered, "we'll feed first and talk afterwards. One can't be empty and eloquent at the same time."
I sat down beside her and took control of the proceedings, sternly insisting upon her carrying out my orders. It was not until she had finished her third cup and successfully demolished two large slices of cake that I would listen to the faintest protest, by which time the colour had come back into her cheeks, and she was looking an altogether different being.
"That's splendid," I remarked approvingly. "Now you shall have a cigarette, and I'll tell you how it was that I happened to come butting in just at the right moment. You had better let me explain first; then we shall know exactly where we are."
She nodded her agreement, and, accepting a cigarette from the case which I offered her, sank back again in the chair with her head against the cushions.
I was much too impatient for her side of the story to waste any unnecessary words over my own. At the same time I felt it was vital to omit nothing which might be of real importance, so I began with a rapid description of Manning's visit to the island.
I told her all about our midnight adventures in the hall, and of how he had made a special point of my coming to see him on the barge; then, after explaining the reason for my sudden trip to London, I gave her a short but faithful account of everything that had happened since.
It was easy to see from the look of indignant horror in her eyes that she had known nothing about the death of Satan. She listened to me, however, in absolute silence, her face alone betraying the intense interest with which she was following every syllable. Even when I had finished she still sat there for a moment without speaking, as though trying to puzzle out the full significance of all she had just heard. At last she straightened herself in the chair, and threw away the half-smoked cigarette which she had been holding between her fingers.
"I have treated you very unfairly," she said in a low voice. "I ought to have told you the truth that day at Shalston. If anything had happened to you it would have been entirely my fault."
"Oh, that's nonsense," I declared. "You're not responsible for your relations any more than I am. Providence just dumped them on us, and we've got to make the best of it."
There was a moment's pause.
"I wonder how much you have guessed," she said. "I wonder if you have any idea of my uncle's real reasons for coming to England."
"I've got some notions on the subject," I admitted. "They're a little muddled, because I can't quite fit in our friend Dr. Manning. For a comparative stranger he appears to have rather an important part in the show."
With the shadow of a smile on her lips she leaned forward.
"If you tell me what you know," she said, "the rest will be easier for me to explain."
"Well, from what I've gathered one way and another," I began, "I should say that it was the late lamented Mr. Richard Jannaway who was responsible for the whole trouble. He was always a bad hat; in fact, the only decent thing he ever did in his life was to die without making a will. I know he was in South America for years, and it looks to me as if he'd managed to run up pretty badly against your uncle. He probably played the old boy some dog's trick, and Señor de Roda, being a gentleman of spirit, naturally determined to get level with him. Unless I'm much mistaken, that's how it is that you come to be sitting here at the present moment."