"By Jove!" exclaimed Ross enviously. "You are a lucky ruffian!"
We had halted the car at the top of a gently rising slope, and there, stretched out below us, lay the shining expanse of the Danewell Estuary. For a couple of miles in either direction a winding belt of silver gleamed and sparkled in the bright morning sunshine. On the left it narrowed gradually towards the small tidal haven of Barham Lock, from which point one could just trace the placid course of the river Shell, meandering along idly through the marshes. On the right it opened out by degrees into an ever-broadening channel, until far away in the distance, where a faint haze brooded over everything, it merged itself imperceptibly into the grey waters of the North Sea.
I pointed to a small, irregularly shaped island which lay out in mid-stream, almost exactly ahead of us.
"That," I said, "is Greensea."
Shading his eyes with his hand, Ross gazed down at my new inheritance. One could not see very much of the house, for the straggling cluster of trees that surrounded it practically hid it from the mainland. All that was plainly visible was a neglected-looking landing-stage with a roughly built wooden boat-house alongside.
"Seems nice and private," he observed. "Just the place for a retiring nature like yours." He took another glance, and then turned to me with an air of disappointed enquiry. "I don't see the dog or the prize-fighter though. Why aren't they standing on the quay waiting for us? It is very disrespectful of them."
"Never mind," I said. "Perhaps they're getting lunch ready. That's a heap more important."
We ran down the short incline into the little hamlet of Pen Mill, and pulled up outside the old-fashioned Gunner's Arms. For a moment I sat where I was, and looked round me with contented eyes. It was nearly five years since my last visit, and to my huge satisfaction nothing seemed to have changed during the interval. There was the same village green, which had always reminded me of the cover of Jackanapes. The same geese, or what appeared to be the same geese, waddled happily about in the sunshine, the same clumsy boats were moored up alongside the old stone jetty, and the big bow-windows of the inn still leaned out crazily towards the water. I took in a long, deep breath, and stepped down from the car.
"I don't want to interfere in any way with the programme," remarked Ross, "but what about a drink?" He glanced up at the picturesque front of the Gunner's Arms. "I suppose they sell drink in this interesting ruin?"
"Any amount of it," I replied, brushing off the dust from my coat. "It's where my skipper—Bobby Dean—and I used to come when we were paddling around in the Harwich Patrol."
I led the way up the flight of wooden steps, and entered the low-ceilinged, panelled room, where I had spent many a cheerful half-hour in past days. Here I found the first traces of Time's handiwork. Instead of the apple-cheeked old landlady whom I remembered so well, an enormous, genial-looking man in his shirt-sleeves came forward to take our orders.
"Yes, sir," he said, in answer to my enquiry, "Mrs. Green's been dead and gone a matter o' two years come next July. Went off sudden like as you might say, and the house was put up to auction. I'd had my eye on it for some time, and I bought the whole place, lock, stock, and barrel."
He crossed to the bar, returning in a few moments with the whiskies and sodas that we had asked for.
"You've not been in these parts for some time, sir?" he hazarded.
"Not since the war," I replied; "but you will probably see something of me in future." I took a drink and set down the tumbler. "I am the new owner of Greensea Island," I added.
He looked at me with sudden curiosity. "Well I never! Is that so, sir? Why, only yesterday somebody was saying that a nephew of Mr. Jannaway's had come into the whole property."
"That's right," I said. "Mr. Jannaway was my uncle."
He received the information in silence, but I thought I could detect a faint change of expression in his face.
"Did you know him?" I asked, striking a match to light my pipe.
"No, sir, I can't say that I did. No one didn't know Mr. Jannaway, not in a manner o' speaking. I don't believe he ever come ashore, not the whole time he was on the island."
"Perhaps you have met his man—Bascomb?"
He nodded, but without any apparent enthusiasm. "He's been in here a few times, sir."
Another customer appeared in the doorway, and with a murmured word of apology he moved away to attend to his wants.
Ross sat back and surveyed me with a mischievous grin. "We don't seem to be in luck," he remarked. "Ask him if he's friendly with the dog."
My eyes travelled through the open window towards the low-lying shore and the straggling clump of trees opposite. A more peaceful scene it would have been difficult to imagine, but its outward calm did nothing to allay the ever-growing sense of danger which haunted me like a persistent shadow.
I turned back to Ross, however, with a well-assumed air of indifference.
"I expected to find that Uncle Richard had queered the pitch. I shall have to begin at the bottom and endear myself to the neighborhood gradually."
"Well, you've started the right way by bringing me along," he retorted. "It will at least show 'em that you have got some respectable friends."
I beckoned to the landlord, who was again disengaged.
"Is there a boat of any sort you could let us have?" I asked. "We want to go across to the island."
Whatever may have been the drift of his private thoughts, he was evidently prepared to be civil and obliging.
"Why, certainly, sir," he said. "There's one down alongside the jetty." He walked to the window and thrust his head out. "Jim," he shouted, "just get that boat ready. There's a couple o' gents comin' along in a minute."
I settled up for the drinks, and we made our way out of the room and down the rickety flight of steps.
We found Jim, a shock-headed youth of about eleven, unhitching the painter of a small weather-beaten dinghy.
"Will you want me, sir?" he enquired.
"Not to-day, James," I said. "We are only going over to the island. I think we can manage that between us."
He glanced at us both a little doubtfully. "You'll 'ave to row up stream a bit," he announced. "The tide runs very strong 'bout here."
I thanked him for this well-meant information, and, having given him sixpence, took my place at the sculls. With another grin Ross settled himself comfortably in the stern.
"Even the children mistrust us," he observed, as I tugged the boat out into the tideway.
It was not more than a couple of hundred yards across but so rapid was the current that it took us some little while to make the passage. I pulled well up until I was almost opposite the furthest point of the island, and then, getting into comparatively slack water, rowed down under the shelter of the shore. At last we came alongside the landing-stage, where Ross leaned over and grabbed hold of a rusty chain.
"There doesn't seem to be anyone about," he said. "I wonder if the blighter got your wire."
The words had hardly left his lips when there was a sudden rustle amongst the trees, and a huge black shape bounded out into the open. It was a dog, but the biggest dog I have ever seen—an enormous brute that looked like a cross between a great Dane and an old English mastiff.
For a second it stood there, swishing its tail and staring at us out of its bloodshot eyes, then in a menacing fashion it began to advance rapidly up the path.
With undignified haste Ross let go the chain and scrambled back into his seat. Freed from this check, the head of the boat promptly swung round, and the next moment we were drifting broadside on, with several feet of water between us and the shore.
"Don't be frightened," I said soothingly. "It's only his fun. He doesn't bite."
Before Ross could answer there was the sound of a step on the gravel, and the figure of a man came hurriedly round the bend leading from the house.
"Come 'ere," he shouted. "Come 'ere at once."
The dog pulled up as if he had been shot, and, casting a disappointed glance at us, stalked away solemnly from the bank. With a couple of strokes I managed to regain our former position.
"Good morning," I said. "Are you Bascomb?"
The newcomer, a dark, heavily built, clean-shaven man of about thirty-five, advanced quickly across the open space.
"That's me, sir," he replied. "You're Mr. Dryden, I suppose?"
I shipped my sculls and stepped up on to the landing-stage, followed by Ross.
"Yes," I said, "I'm Mr. Dryden. Did you get my wire?"
"It come along yesterday afternoon, sir. I got some lunch ready for you." He tied up the painter to an iron ring, and then glanced round at the dog, who was sitting on his haunches a few yards away, surveying us with sombre interest. "I'm sorry 'e run at you like that. 'Taint 'is fault exac'ly. He's bin trained not to allow no strangers on the island."
"He seems to have picked up the trick very nicely," I replied. "What's his name?"
"Satan, sir."
I turned to Ross. "No wonder he wanted to get hold of you," I said, laughing.
Ross stooped down and snapped his fingers. "Come on, Lucifer," he called out coaxingly. "We're all pals here."
The huge animal rose slowly to his feet, and in a very deliberate fashion strolled across to where we were standing.
"'E won't 'urt you now," observed Bascomb. "'E only wants to take stock of yer like."
As if to confirm his statement, Satan came up to each of us in turn, and sniffed enquiringly at the legs of our trousers. His inspection was evidently a success, for with a prodigious yawn he sat down between us, and stared out indifferently at the landscape.
"We've passed all right," said Ross, "but I don't think we've taken honours."
"Well, we shan't be chawed up, anyhow," I returned. "That's something to be grateful for."
"You won't 'ave no more trouble with 'im," put in Bascomb. "'E'll be as friendly as a kitten now 'e understands you belong 'ere." Then, as if anxious to change the conversation, he added quickly: "Will ye come inside straight away, sir, or would you like to take a walk round the island first?"
"Oh, we may as well see the house," I said. "There will be plenty of time for exploring after lunch."
Without any further remark my new retainer led the way up the path—a narrow walk hedged in on each side by an unkempt shrubbery of laurels. We passed through an iron gate, which brought us out into the open, and suddenly, with a little thrill of curiosity, I found myself face to face with my future home.
It was a low, rambling house of two storeys, built of red brick, and covered with a thick growth of creeper. On one side of the porch were two long windows, opening out on to a verandah. A strip of lawn with flower-beds in it ran the whole length of the front, and, except for the general air of neglect which seemed to pervade everything, it looked as charming and comfortable a place as the most exacting owner could desire.
Ross gave vent to a long whistle of approval.
"It's great!" he exclaimed admiringly. "A real dyed-in-the-wool happy little English country home! I can just picture you paddling around with the mowing machine, and sneaking out at night to murder the slugs."
Bascomb glanced at him queerly out of the corner of his eye, as if wondering whether he were quite sane; then, marching ahead of us across the grass, he pushed back the front door, which was already partly open.
We found ourselves in a large, rambling hall, fitted up as a sitting-room. One glance round showed me that it was a sort of place where I should fed absolutely at home. Like the parlour at the Gunner's Arms, it was panelled from floor to ceiling in black oak. There was a huge fireplace, with steel dogs on the hearth; a couple of big leather armchairs were ranged invitingly on each side of it; while tucked away in one corner stood a broad low couch, plentifully heaped with cushions. An old Jacobean desk, apparently locked, and a fine corner cupboard of the same period, practically completed the furniture.
Ross stood there gazing about him with the same approving smile.
"By Gad!" he remarked. "The old boy knew how to make himself comfortable."
I turned to Bascomb. "Did my uncle furnish this room himself?" I asked.
The latter shook his head. "No, sir. 'E bought these things along with the 'ouse. 'E 'ad that fireplace put in, otherwise it's just the same as when 'e come 'ere."
"I'm glad he had the good taste to leave it alone," I said. "It's more than I should have given him credit for."
Except for a rather sour glance, Bascomb made no reply. He crossed the hall to a door at the back, and, turning the handle, pushed it open.
"This is the dining-room," he announced curtly.
Ross and I walked over and followed him in. It was a pleasant apartment, with a diamond-paned bow-window looking out on to another strip of grass, where several chickens were strutting about in the sunshine. In the centre was a table laid for lunch.
"I've got a bit o' cold lamb ready when you'd like it," continued Bascomb, in the same surly tone. "But p'raps you'd rather see the rest of the 'ouse while yer about it?"
I nodded my assent, and, turning back into the hall, he conducted us up the staircase to the landing above. He stopped at one of the rooms, the door of which was already ajar.
"Mr. Jannaway used to sleep in 'ere," he said, "but there's two others if you don't fancy it."
I glanced round at the big four-poster bed and the solid, old-fashioned furniture, all of which I found distinctly pleasing. Then I moved over to the window and looked out. The room faced directly towards Pen Mill, and through a gap in the trees I could just see the rough stone jetty, and the picturesque front of the Gunner's Arms.
"This will suit me," I said. "It would take a very bad conscience to keep one awake here."
I made the remark quite carelessly, but from the expression on Bascomb's face he evidently took it to be another reflection upon his late lamented master. In dead silence, and with a scarcely concealed air of resentment, he led us through the remainder of the house; then, having brought us back to the dining-room, departed to fetch the lunch.
"Well, what do you think of it all?" I asked Ross as soon as were left alone.
He sat down on the broad cushioned seat in the window.
"It reminds me more of the hymn than anything else," he said, "'Where every prospect pleases, and only man is vile.' The place is top-hole, but of all surly brutes I've ever met, that prize-fighter of yours about takes the biscuit."
I pulled one of the chairs to the table. "He's not exactly a sunbeam," I admitted. "All the same, I think it was chiefly my fault. I ought to have been more careful what I said about Uncle Richard. From what Drayton told me this chap was devoted to him in his way, and I suppose I've managed to upset his feelings."
Ross grunted unsympathetically. "He'd go tracking jolly quick if it was my place," he observed. "I should get the blue hump if I were shut up alone in the house with a fellow like that."
Any further discussion was cut short by the sound of steps in the hall, and a moment later Bascomb himself came back into the room carrying a well-loaded tray. Without saying a word, he proceeded to set out its contents on the table, moving around with a quick noiseless tread rather surprising in a man of his size and weight. When he had finished he stood for a moment with the empty tray in his hand.
"There's a bell alongside the fireplace," he announced, "and there's some coffee comin' after. I'll be in the kitchen if you want me before then."
With this information he again took himself off, shutting the door behind him as he went out.
Ross drew up his chair opposite to mine. "It looks all right," he said, with a satisfied glance round the table. "I suppose he hasn't put poison in the salad!"
"I shall risk it, anyhow," I returned. "I'm too hungry to worry about trifles."
In spite of his suggestion, Ross seemed to share my feelings, for he certainly did full justice to the excellent meal in front of us. Besides the lamb there was cold gooseberry tart and cream, with a large slab of Cheddar cheese to fill up any remaining corners. For drink we had a bottle of good hock, a wine to which I have always had a peculiar and affectionate attachment.
By the time we had finished and rung for the coffee all Ross's usual amiability had returned.
"I like your island, my lad," he said, lighting himself a cigar. "I could even put up with the prize-fighter if he always turns out meals like this. When we come back in August you shall ask me to stay."
"Why not stay now?" I suggested.
He shook his head. "Can't be done," he said regretfully. "I have promised to take my sister to Bath. I take her there every year in May when I'm home, and I wouldn't have the heart to disappoint her. For some extraordinary reason she appears to enjoy it."
I was more than a little disappointed, for to tell the truth I had been counting a good deal on Ross's society during the next two weeks. Half the fun of settling into a new place is to have some pal to talk things over with, and he was just the sort of cheerful, easy-going chap who would have exactly filled the role.
Apart from that, Christine's warning about not being alone on the island still echoed clearly in my memory. I was not afraid, but after what had happened to me in the docks I could hardly doubt the soundness of her advice, and for a moment I could think of nobody else whom I could invite to share my solitude. It is true that Mr. Drayton's friend, Inspector Campbell, had expressed his willingness to come down for a week-end whenever I asked him, but until I had got a little firmer grip on the situation I was not particularly anxious for the presence of a detective.
As I have said before, however, I am not given to worrying over what cannot be helped, and I was on the point of making some suitable rejoinder when the door opened and Bascomb arrived with the coffee. As he set it down in front of me I took the opportunity to congratulate him upon the excellence of our lunch.
"We'll have a stroll round the island as soon as we've finished," I added. "You might come with us and show us anything there is to be seen."
"Very good, sir," he returned, in a slightly mollified voice. "I'll be outside—along by the front door."
True to his word, we found him standing on the path when we came out, with Satan in due attendance.
"If yer don't like the dog," he said, "I can tie 'im up in the yard."
"But I do like him very much," I replied. "We are going to be the best of friends, aren't we, Satan?"
I bent over and patted the huge black head, an attention which its owner accepted with a complacent grunt that was distinctly encouraging.
It seemed to me that a momentary flicker of relief passed across Bascomb's naturally wooden features, but without any further observation he led the way round to the back, where another rusty iron gate opened out on to the marshes.
From this point the whole expanse of Greensea Island was visible to our eyes. It consisted of a long stretch of saltings and swamps, only broken by occasional creeks and pools, which sparkled here and there in the bright May sunshine. To some people, I suppose, the outlook would have appeared dismal in the extreme, but for me this kind of scenery has always possessed an extraordinary charm. I love it even in the winter time, when it lies bare and desolate under a cold sky. Now, with the thrift mantling the marshes everywhere with a garment of shot satin, its strange and lonely beauty seemed to stir the very chords of my heart.
These delicate emotions were rudely interrupted by Ross, who had been watching my face with his usual amused smile.
"You look like the stage hero coming back to his long-lost village. If there was only a golden-haired damsel in white muslin picking roses, it would make a lovely fifth act for a melodrama."
"I can get along very nicely without her," I returned. "I've had quite enough melodrama to last me for the present."
I had spoken again without thinking, but once more my words appeared to have a curious effect upon Bascomb. Anyhow, I caught him staring at me suddenly, with a peculiar expression of doubt and suspicion. He turned away, however, directly he met my eyes, and, pushing open the gate, stepped back to allow us to pass.
We set out over the uneven ground, and, striking right across to the water's edge, started to make a complete circuit of the island. It was not easy walking, for the whole place was infested with puddles and patches of bog, and we were constantly making small detours or else jumping from tuft to tuft in order to avoid one or another of these obstacles.
Innumerable red-shanks and sea birds kept on popping up in front of us with shrill cries of alarm, while more than once a large heron rose slowly to his wings and flopped away with a kind of majestic indignation. I could see that in winter it must be a splendid shooting-ground, and I reflected with some satisfaction on the new gun which was one of the first things I had promised myself to buy.
We had covered about half the distance, and were skirting along the inner shore in the direction of the landing-stage, when Ross suddenly came to a standstill and pointed away up the estuary.
"Look there!" he said. "Somebody's coming to pay you a visit already."
About a couple of hundred yards distant a small petrol dinghy containing a single passenger was rapidly churning its way towards the island.
I turned to Bascomb. "Who is it?" I asked. "Anyone you know?"
Shading his eyes, he stared out at the approaching boat.
"Yes," he said. "It's Dr. Manning."
If he had said it was the devil his tone could scarcely have been more appropriate, and both Ross and I looked up in amazement at the renewed churlishness of his manner.
"Dr. Manning!" I repeated. "I thought he was in London."
Bascomb whistled to the dog, who trotted up obediently to his side.
"'E may 'ave bin there for all I know. 'E come back last night anyway. I seen 'im goin' across to the barge."
There was a short pause.
"Well, I suppose we'd better get along and meet him," I said dryly. "I know he wants to have a talk with me, and I can't very well say I'm not at home."
To this Bascomb returned no answer. He fell in behind Ross and me, with Satan at his heels, and in this order we advanced across the strip of salting which still separated us from the landing-stage.
We reached our destination at almost the same moment as the boat. Its owner brought it up alongside with a skill which showed him to be a practised hand, and, switching off his engine, leaned over and caught hold of the ring.
I don't know exactly what I had expected, but my first impression of him was a distinctly surprising one. He was a man who would have attracted attention anywhere, if only for his unusual good looks. Except on one of the early Greek coins, I don't think I have ever seen features so extraordinarily well cut. His face was burned to the colour of old mahogany, and against this dark background a pair of china blue eyes looked out with a curious and almost disconcerting brilliance. He was wearing flannels and the usual white yachting cap, and as far as age went he might have been anything between forty and forty-five.
"How do you do?" he said pleasantly. "I suppose I'm right in taking you for Mr. Dryden? I'm Dr. Manning."
"You're quite right," I answered, "and I'm very glad to see you. Won't you come ashore?"
He stepped up lightly out of the boat, and shook my hand with a grip that certainly lacked nothing in heartiness.
"I spotted you from my barge," he went on, "so I thought I would come over and introduce myself. I have been looking forward to meeting you for some little while."
"I was half-expecting to hear from you in London," I said. "Mr. Drayton told me that he had given you my address." I paused. "Let me introduce you to a brother professional," I added. "Dr. Ross, of the Neptune."
I saw his glance travel swiftly and keenly over my companion.
"Delighted to meet you," he said. "I was a ship's surgeon myself at one time." He turned back to me. "I should have run down to look you up at the docks, only I couldn't quite fit things in. Besides, I thought we were certain to come across each other here before long."
"Suppose we go up to the house and have a drink," I suggested.
"That's not a bad idea," he returned cheerfully. "I must just fasten up the boat first, though."
He bent down, and with a couple of quick turns hitched the painter to the ring. I was on the verge of speaking rather sharply to Bascomb, who, still standing sullenly in the background, had made no effort to come forward and assist him. For the moment, however, I thought it best to let the matter pass, and side by side we all three started up the path towards the front door.
"There's no need for ceremony," I said, as I led the way into the hall. "You probably know the house better than I do."
"Well, I was here for several days," he answered, "but most of the time I was up in your uncle's bedroom."
I mixed him a whisky and soda and passed it across.
"I know," I said, "and I haven't thanked you yet. It was uncommonly good of you to come over and look after him as you did."
"Oh, you mustn't say that," he protested. "I was very pleased to be of any use. I have given up practice for some years, but I am always ready to do anything I can in an emergency." He paused. "I only wish I had been more successful," he added. "It was one of those cases, though, in which medical skill is practically helpless. Heart failure, you know, on the top of double pneumonia."
I nodded "I never met my uncle," I said, "but I imagine that he had led a pretty hard life. I suppose that's bound to tell when it comes to the point."
His blue eyes rested curiously on mine. "You never actually met him?" he repeated. "I suppose you knew a good deal about him though?"
"Precious little," I said frankly. "He went off to South America when I was about five years old, and the next thing I heard of him was Mr. Drayton's cable telling me that he was dead."
"Why, it's quite a romance," he exclaimed in his easy, almost drawling manner. "You were evidently born under a lucky star. There are not many people who drop into a fortune from relations that they've never spoken to." His glance wandered round the room, as though noting its various features. "Not that it's everyone's property," he went on with a smile. "Jolly enough in the summer, of course, but it's a bleak and desolate place in the winter, I give you my word. I have often wondered what induced your uncle to shut himself up here."
"I suppose it appealed to him," I said. "There's no accounting for tastes."
Dr. Manning took a sip of his whisky and soda and set down the glass.
"I believe Mr. Drayton spoke to you about my proposal," he said. "I mean the idea some of us had of starting a yachting club here."
"He did mention it," I replied, "and I'm very sorry to disappoint you. The fact is that I haven't any wish to let the place. I mean to live here myself."
He took my refusal with the most perfect good humour.
"I'm delighted to hear it," he answered. "Of course, if you are particularly set on the island itself there's no more to be said. I thought, however, that you might prefer to be on the mainland. It's much more convenient and cheerful in some ways. There are one or two very jolly little places in the market that could be picked up for a mere song, and we should be prepared to give you a good rent for Greensea. You see, it's just exactly suited for what we want."
"It isn't a question of money," I said. "As far as that goes, the terms you offered through Mr. Drayton were exceedingly handsome. The point is that I am quite contented where I am. I have always wanted to have an island of my own, and now I have got one I mean to stick to it."
"Well, if that's the situation," he returned with a laugh, "we mustn't bother you about it any further." He finished his whisky and soda, and, putting his hand in his pocket, pulled out a small cigarette case.
"Won't you have a cigar?" I suggested.
He shook his head. "No, thanks. I never smoke anything but Egyptian cigarettes. A friend of mine sends them to me over from Cairo. Will you try one?"
He held out the case, and both Ross and I helped ourselves.
"I suppose you will be importing servants if you are going to settle down here?" he said. "Your uncle, you know, wouldn't have anyone else on the island except that one man of his."
"What do you think of Bascomb?" I asked.
He blew out a long wreath of smoke. "Well, it's hardly my place to criticise him," he answered, smiling, "but to be quite candid, I should get rid of him as soon as possible if I were in your shoes. I don't want to do the fellow an injustice, but from what I saw of him while I was here I mistrust him profoundly."
Ross glanced at me with rather a triumphant expression.
"I daresay you're right," I said. "He certainly doesn't err on the side of cheerfulness."
As a matter of fact, his warning, though doubtless a well-intended one, only increased my determination not to act hastily in the matter. There is a regrettable streak of obstinacy in my character which always gets up against other people's advice, and, in addition to that, I had an unaccountable feeling inside me that Bascomb was not really as black as he was painted. In spite of his surliness, he gave me the impression of being an honest fellow, and when it comes to judging character I am prepared to back my instincts against a good deal of circumst