It was in circumstances such as these that the late Mr. Sherlock Holmes always aroused my keenest admiration. No matter how puzzling the situation might be, he invariably knew what was the right line to take and exactly how to set about it. I suppose he must have been blessed with some inner sense which is denied to lesser mortals, for I know that in my own case no sudden inspiration came to help me. I just stood there gazing at the inscription with a kind of vague satisfaction, and wondering what the devil I ought to do next.
All my instincts prompted me to action, but the question was, What sort of action was the most advisable? I could not very well march up to the front door and hand in my card, much as I should have enjoyed making the experiment. There was Christine to be considered as well as myself; indeed, the feeling that whatever I did I must bring no suspicion upon her was the one predominant thought at the back of my mind.
From where I was standing I could see nothing of the house. The drive curved away sharply round a huge dump of laurels, and the whole place looked even more untidy and overgrown than my own property. If I chose I had only to push open the gate and walk in, and yet, with my hand actually on the latch, I still hesitated. Somehow or other it seemed altogether too easy. The vision of a mouse strolling unconcernedly into an open trap rose up before me with unpleasant distinctness, and, abandoning the idea, I stepped back again on to the grass.
It struck me that another and less public mode of entrance would be more in keeping with my part. The paling was only about five feet high, and offered little or no obstacle to anyone as active as myself. I could slip over quietly, just where the trees were thickest, and, unless the whole thing collapsed beneath me, the odds were that my ungentlemanly intrusion would probably pass unnoticed.
I was in the very act of turning away to put this notion into practice when a sudden sound from inside brought me up as stiff as a ramrod. It was the unmistakable noise of an opening door, followed almost immediately by the voice of a man speaking and the crunch of footsteps coming down the drive.
Thanks chiefly to my sea training, I managed to keep my head. One glance round showed me that the only available hiding-place was the thick hedge on the opposite side of the road. I made for it like a rabbit, and the next moment I had forced my way through, and was crouching down, scratched and panting, behind a welcome barrier of blackberry bushes.
As luck would have it, I could not have pitched upon a better spot. I was quite invisible myself, and through a small gap in the hedge it was just possible to command a glimpse of the gate. I found that by pushing aside some leaves I was able to enlarge the view still further, and with my eyes glued to this peep-hole I waited breathlessly for the next development.
It was not long in coming. A couple of seconds could hardly have passed when the gate swung open and two figures stepped out into the roadway. For a moment I stared at them both, hardly able to believe my eyes. One was Christine, and the other—of all people in the world—was Dr. Manning.
To say that I was knocked all of a heap would be as near as I can get to describing my sensations. I had thought of a good many things, but the possibility of Christine and the doctor being acquainted had never so much as crossed my mind. I could only gaze at them in a sort of incredulous amazement, while all the theories that I had previously built up seemed to be tumbling about like a pack of cards.
It was Manning's voice which collected my scattered wits for me.
"I will come round to-morrow about half-past ten," he said "You needn't be the least worried though. Everything's going as well as it possibly can."
Christine held out her hand. "I am not anxious now," she said simply. "Good-bye, and thank you very much."
He looked down at her in a way that filled me with a sudden and peculiar resentment.
"Don't go in for a minute," he said. "Come as far as the end of the road with me. I want to show you how to get to the barge in case you ever honour me with a visit."
I saw Christine hesitate; then, as if anxious not to appear unfriendly, she made a little gesture of assent.
"Oh, very well," she said, smiling. "But I mustn't be long. My uncle will be wondering what has become of me."
Manning glanced at her again with an expression that made me long to kick him, and, moving away from where I could see them, they strolled off together up the road.
For a moment or two I remained quite still. Then with extreme care I got up from my crouching position, and peered over the top of the hedge in the direction which they had taken. There was not much danger of their spotting me, and even if there had been I don't suppose I could have resisted the temptation.
I watched them until they reached the corner, where I saw Christine come to a standstill, as though she had suddenly decided not to go any farther. From his gestures Manning appeared to be making some sort of remonstrance, but if this were the case his arguments evidently had no effect. At all events, he seemed finally to abandon his attempts at persuading her, and they crossed the road together towards a spot just beyond the palings, which overlooked the water.
They stood there for several minutes, Manning pointing away up the estuary and apparently showing her the best method of reaching the barge. It must have been a complicated route, judging from the time he took about it, and the longer I waited the more impatient and resentful I felt.
At last Christine herself seemed to have had enough of the subject, for, stepping back from the bank, she once more offered him her hand. He took it in his, and then, in spite of a quite obvious attempt on her part to prevent him, I saw him bend down and press it to his lips.
My longing to kick him suddenly became so acute that in another second I should have jumped down into the roadway. Luckily, however, providence just saved me from this idiocy. Pulling away her hand, Christine turned round abruptly in the direction of the house, and, obeying a sort of automatic impulse, I bobbed down again behind the hedge.
There I stopped, listening intently. For a few moments nothing happened; then I heard the quick tread of footsteps in the roadway, and in the same stealthy fashion as before, I lifted my head until I could see over the top of the bushes.
There was no one in sight except Christine. She was walking rapidly back towards the gate, and was already quite close to where I was hiding. Manning had disappeared completely, and any lingering tendency to caution I still had vanished into thin air.
I leaned forward as far as I could.
"Christine!" I said softly. "Christine!"
She stopped dead. Every trace of colour had vanished from her face, and for an instant I thought that she was going to faint.
"Don't be frightened," I added quickly. "It's perfectly safe."
She stood there, staring up at me with wick-open, startled eyes.
"Oh, you're hurt," she gasped. "Your face is all bleeding."
I put my hand up to my cheek, and it came away stained with red.
"It's nothing," I said. "I scratched myself a bit getting through the hedge."
"But why are you here?" she whispered. "What made you come? It's madness—absolute madness."
"I wanted to see you," I said simply.
She gave a terrified glance round in the direction of the house.
"I can't talk to you here. Don't you see how impossible it is? You must go away at once."
I shook my head. "Not till we've fixed up something," I said. "Tell me where I can meet you, and I'll clear out immediately."
She answered me with a look of distress that made me feel an absolute brute.
"Christine dear," I whispered passionately, "I must see you and talk to you. It's the only thing in the world that matters the least to me."
For a moment there was no reply. She seemed to be making a desperate attempt to come to some decision.
"I shall be in Shalston to-morrow," she said at last, in the same hurried whisper. "There is a shop next to the station—a confectioner's shop with a small room upstairs. If you will be there at half-past three I will try and meet you."
I was about to say something, but with an almost piteous movement of her hands she interrupted me.
"No, no," she said. "Don't stop here. Go at once—please—for my sake."
There may be stout-hearted people in the world who could resist an appeal like this, but I am certainly not one of them. I let my eyes dwell in a long, refreshing look on her dear up-turned face (it was a look which had to last me for over twenty-four hours), and then, without another word, I slipped back noiselessly out of sight.
As a Yankee mate I once knew used to say, it could "snow pink" for all I cared. When you love somebody as I love Christine, the thought of meeting them becomes so absorbing that it is precious difficult to take anything else seriously. In the light of what had just happened I felt that all my previous ideas required an immediate and thorough spring cleaning, but for the time being such a mental effort was hopelessly beyond me. My brain seemed to be wholly occupied in repeating those two magic phrases, "Half-past three" and "The shop next the station," which kept chasing each other through my head like some beautiful refrain.
The only practical point which I did manage to grasp was the important fact that I must get away without being seen. As far as anyone in the house was concerned this feat appeared to be simplicity itself; the danger was that I might run into Manning. I was still very much in the dark about his relations with Christine, but, whatever they were, it would be fatal to let him suppose that I had been hanging about in the neighbourhood of "The Laurels." Besides, if I met him now I should probably be unable to resist the desire to kick him, which would certainly complicate matters to a most unfortunate extent.
Under the circumstances, it seemed to me that my best plan was to work my way round the hedge, and get out into the main road at the top of the hill. This would allow Manning a comfortable start, and it would also give me the additional advantage of being able to see whether the coast was dear.
Bending well forward, and making as little noise as possible, I set out on my journey. At the first corner I came across one of those small ponds which are a usual feature in most Essex fields. I pulled up for a moment, and, stooping down over the edge, had a good look at myself in the water. It was no wonder Christine had been startled when she saw my face. The whole of my right cheek was covered with blood, and, though the cause was nothing worse than a superficial scratch, I must have been a pretty ghastly object to bob up suddenly from behind a hedge.
Fortunately my collar was still undamaged, and with the aid of a wet handkerchief I soon managed to remove most of the gore. Even then I looked rather as if I had been fighting with a cat, but, after all, I intended to go straight back to the island, and there would only be Bascomb to criticise my appearance.
Keeping the handkerchief pressed to my cheek, I continued my journey up the hill. I had had quite enough of scrambling through blackberry bushes, and it was therefore with some satisfaction that, as I drew near the top, I noticed a gate leading out of the fields. I approached it with some care, and, after making certain that there was no one in sight, I climbed over and dropped down into the main road.
I recognised the place instantly. I was within a few yards of the very identical spot where Ross and I had so nearly run into de Roda, and I could not help regarding the fact as a favorable omen. Anyhow, it gave me a sort of renewed faith in my good luck, and, pushing forward as far as the end of the road, I peered cautiously round the corner.
It was all I could do to stop shouting out "Tally Ho!" A couple of hundred yards below me a solitary figure was crossing the village green, and even at that distance I could see plainly enough that it was Manning. He was walking rapidly in the opposite direction, evidently making for the Shalston road, which turned out of the village just above Mrs. Summers' shop.
I could feel my heart beginning to beat a shade quicker as I stared down at him. There was already an account between us which I had every intention of settling up in full, but it was not entirely the prospect of punching his head that was responsible for my sensations. I had a steadily growing conviction that for some sinister reason of his own Dr. Manning was playing a very active part in the mystery that surrounded me. Everything I knew about the man filled me with suspicion. Why had he been so anxious to get hold of the island, why had he tried to put a doubt in my mind with regard to Bascomb's honesty, and how in the name of goodness did he come to be on intimate terms with the de Rodas? In spite of his apparent friendliness I had mistrusted him from the first, and now, as I stood there gazing after his retreating figure, I felt more certain than ever that my original instinct had been absolutely sound.
I watched him until he reached the opposite side of the green, where he crossed over and disappeared down the Shalston turning. I waited for a moment, so as to make quite sure that he had really gone; and then, with a rather bleak feeling of reaction, I stepped forward from my hiding-place. It seemed to me that my adventures for the day were over. There was a painfully unenterprising air about Pen Mill, as it lay stretched out below me in the warm spring sunshine. Down in the estuary a small motor-boat was making its way rapidly towards the jetty, but otherwise the whole place was lapped in the same atmosphere of restful tranquillity as when I had landed earlier in the morning.
It was at this opportune moment that I suddenly remembered the roast duck. All my interest in life came back with a rush, and, pulling out my watch, I discovered that it was nearly a quarter to one. A brief calculation showed me that by the time I had got out my dinghy and rowed over to the island, Bascomb's masterpiece ought to be just about ready. To keep it waiting would be a very ungracious return for the trouble that he had taken, and, stimulated by this thought, I started off briskly down the hill.
As I reached the bottom I saw the motor-boat which I had previously noticed run in alongside the jetty. A short, sturdy figure in naval uniform rose up in the bows, and, tossing the painter to Jimmy and two of his companions who were waiting to receive it, stepped out on to the causeway. One glimpse of those broad shoulders was all that I needed. I had crouched down behind them too often in a smother of North Sea spray to be in any doubt about whom they belonged to. In a flash the roast duck and Manning and everything else went clean out of my head, and with a half suppressed whoop of joy I hastened forward along the roadway.
Jimmy was the only member of the group who noticed my approach. He looked round just as I set foot on the jetty, but before he could give the alarm I had marched straight up to Bobby and banged him heartily on the back.
"Hullo, Robert!" I said. "Fancy meeting you!"
It takes a good deal to surprise Bobby, but for once in a way I certainly caught him bending. He spun round as if he had been struck by lightning, and the expression on his face was about the funniest thing I have ever seen in my life.
"Dryden!" he gasped. "Jack Dryden!"
"That's right," I said. "What a memory you've got for faces."
He seized my hand and crushed it with a vigour that nearly broke my fingers.
"Good Lord!" he cried. "Where on earth did you spring from? I thought you were chasing about the Atlantic in a million-ton liner."
"You are quite out of date, Bobby," I said. "I am not a common sailor any longer. I have given up the sea and become a gentleman."
Grinning all over his face, he took a fresh look, and surveyed me affectionately from head to foot.
"I don't see any difference," he announced. "You look just as big and disreputable as ever." Then with a happy chuckle he stepped forward again and gripped me by the arm. "Did you know I was here?" he demanded. "I've never written to tell you; I've been so devilish busy."
"It wasn't altogether a surprise," I admitted. "I've been having a talk with Mrs. Summers, and she gave me all the latest society gossip."
"Ah!" he said, nodding his head; "that accounts for it. I thought you weren't half as pleased and excited as you ought to have been."
"Pleased!" I echoed. "Why, I'm so pleased to see you, Bobby, that I simply daren't give way to my feelings. I should burst into tears if I did."
"Well, don't do it here," he retorted. "Come along up to the pub and we'll sob comfortably on each other's necks."
"I can't sob comfortably in a pub," I said. "I am going to take you back to Greensea, and fill you up on roast duck."
"What do you mean?" he asked, letting go my arm.
"That's right, Capting," put in Jimmy, who had been listening to our conversation with the utmost interest. "The gen'leman lives on Greensea Island, don't, 'e, boys?"
There was a shrill chorus of assent from the two others.
"You live on Greensea Island?" repeated Bobby, staring at me. Then as a sort of after-thought he added blankly: "Well I'm damned!"
"Never mind," I said. "You'll have lots of nice people to keep you company."
He took the painter from Jimmy, and jerked his head in the direction of the boat.
"Jump in," he commanded sternly. "I've got an appointment with a fellow ashore, but he'll jolly well have to wait. I'm going to get to the bottom of this, if it costs me my commission."
There was a masterly ring in his voice which woke up all my latent sense of discipline. I drew myself up in a mock salute, and stepped down obediently into the stern sheets.
"Look after the dinghy for me, Jimmy," I called out. "I'll come back for it this afternoon."
Tossing the painter ahead of him, Bobby followed me on board. He started the engine with a quick jerk of the handle, and then, coming aft, took possession of the wheel. The next moment we were backing slowly out from the jetty, and heading round towards the mouth of the creek.
"Now, my son," he remarked, "this is your picnic. You give the orders, and I'll carry 'em out."
"Take her straight across to the island," I said. "You'll find my private landing-stage exactly opposite."
He paused for a moment with his hand on the throttle. "You haven't gone mad by any chance, I suppose, Jack?" he enquired casually.
I shook my head. "It's quite all right," I said. "I'll explain everything when we've had some lunch."
With a turn of his hand Bobby set us going, and, gliding rapidly down the creek, he ran out into the estuary. He made no further remark until we were three-quarters of the way over, when he glanced sideways at me from under his cap.
"What have you done to your face?" he asked. "You look as if you'd been trying to kiss somebody and it hadn't quite come off."
I patted my cheek tenderly to see if it were still bleeding.
"It was nothing as exciting as that," I said. "Only a slight affair with a blackberry bush."
He grunted disbelievingly, and, altering our course a shade more down-stream, swung the head of the boat round so that we came up nearly alongside the landing-stage. I leaned forward and caught hold of the chain.
"We get out here," I said. "This is where I live."
He switched off the engine, and with the painter in his hand stepped up on the planking. I followed, and held the boat steady while he made her fast to one of the posts.
"We seem to be doing very well so far," he observed cheerfully. "What happens next?"
"We go up to the house and have some lunch," I replied. "Then you shall hear the true and remarkable story of how Mr. John Dryden came into his inheritance."
He thrust his arm through mine. "Come along," he said with a laugh. "That'll suit me all right. I feel hungry enough to swallow anything to-day."
We set off up the path, and, rounding the corner, passed through the iron gate which led into the garden. I was waiting eagerly to see what effect the first sight of my residence would have upon Bobby, and it must be admitted that he rose to the occasion. He pulled up, just as Ross had done, and stood for a moment in silent admiration.
"By Gad! what a clipping place!" he exclaimed at last. "Is this really yours, Jack?"
"Every stick and stone of it," I said with some pride.
As I spoke there was a sudden scuffle in the doorway, and the huge figure of Satan bounded out on to the gravel. He had evidently recognised my voice, for with a joyful boom of welcome he came cantering across the lawn to meet us.
Bobby received the apparition with commendable coolness.
"You must introduce me to Fido," he said. "I'm very found of pet dogs."
I performed the ceremony with due state, and in a friendly group we all three advanced towards the house. As we approached the doorway Bascomb appeared on the threshold.
"I've brought a friend of mine, Commander Dean, back to lunch with me," I said. "I suppose there'll be enough duck for two?"
He ran his eye over Bobby, as if speculating on the latter's appetite.
"It ain't a very big 'un," he remarked doubtfully. "If 'e's 'ungry you'd better 'ave the cold beef as well."
"Bring up everything you've got," I said. "We'll be down as soon as it's ready."
I piloted Bobby through the hall, and upstairs to my bedroom, where, with a contented sigh, he tossed his cap on the chest of drawers.
"This is great," he announced. "Who's the sunny-looking sportsman who let us in?"
"That's my butler," I explained, pouring out some water. "You mustn't mind his manners. He's a retired prize-fighter and I took him on with the rest of the fixings."
Bobby broke into a sudden guffaw of laughter that could have been heard at Pen Mill.
"Well," he observed, "of all the giddy mystery stunts I've ever butted into this about takes the biscuit."
I nodded sympathetically. "Yes," I said, "I felt like that at first myself. It's surprising how soon one gets used to it, though."
We washed our hands and proceeded downstairs to the dining-room, where Bascomb was just bringing in lunch. It was three years since we had had our last meal together—a riotous dinner in a Harwich hotel on the night that peace was declared. I was dying to know what had happened to all the good fellows who had shared that unforgettable banquet, and while we attacked the duck I kept asking innumerable questions that Bobby answered to the best of his ability. In return I told him of one or two little adventures which had helped to brighten my own monotonous life, but it was not until we had finished our coffee and lighted up our cigars that we really approached the true business of the day.
"Make yourself quite comfortable," I said, pushing him across the port. "You have got to listen to a long yarn, and I don't want any interruptions while I'm telling it."
He filled his glass, and, getting up from his seat, settled himself in a restful attitude on the sofa.
"I'm in no hurry," he observed contentedly. "I could stop here for a month if it wasn't for that blessed appointment."
Had it been possible, nothing would have pleased me more than to let him hear the whole story, for I knew well that when it came to a tight corner no one could have a more loyal and trustworthy friend. For the present, however, until things began to shape themselves a little more clearly, I was still determined that anything which concerned Christine and her uncle should remain my own secret. By letting out the truth, even to Bobby, I might be running her into all sorts of danger, and no thought of my own safety would have induced me to take the risk.
Under the circumstances, the best plan seemed to be to repeat the same version of my adventures that I had given to Ross. So, starting with the arrival of Mr. Drayton's cable at Leixoes, I plunged straight into the story of my interview in Bedford Row, and of my eventful journey back to the docks. I went on to explain how Ross and I had come down to the island, and made the acquaintance of Bascomb and Dr. Manning. I described my first impressions of both, and finished up by giving him a full report of my conversation with the former and the various details which I had been able to gather with regard to my late uncle's peculiar habits.
Lying back, with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, he listened to me in absolute silence. Even when I had finished he remained for a moment in the same attitude, then, swinging himself up into a sitting position, he reached out for his glass and drained off the contents.
"I congratulate you, Jack," he said. "It's a damned good yarn, and you told it very nicely."
"Well, what do you make of it?" I enquired. "That's the important point."
He puffed thoughtfully at his cigar.
"I don't want to say anything rude about your relations," he observed, "but you certainly seem to have struck a peach in the way of uncles."
"It looks as if somebody had disliked him," I agreed. "All the same, I don't see why they should work off their spite on me."
Bobby brooded over the problem with a meditative frown.
"I don't imagine it's spite," he began. "People generally have a pretty good reason when they start committing murder. It's much more likely that your uncle was in with some swindling crowd who managed to bring off a big coup. He probably did the rest out of their share of the boodle, and now he's dead they're trying to collect it."
"They won't get anything by slaughtering me," I objected.
"How do you know?" he demanded. "From what this lawyer Johnny told you there's a whole heap of stuff still unaccounted for. It must be somewhere. Why shouldn't it be here?"
"Here!" I echoed.
"Yes, here on the island, stowed away—buried. A man doesn't go and invest a lot of stolen money—not unless he's a damned fool."
I drew in a long breath. "By Jove, that's a notion!" I said. "It never occurred to me."
"No, it wouldn't," he returned kindly. "You were always a bit slow in the up-take. It's just as well you've got an intelligent friend to look after you."
There was a short pause while I did some rapid thinking.
"Bobby," I said, "do you know anything about this fellow Manning?"
He tossed away the stump of his cigar and helped himself to another.
"I thought that was coming," he said drily. "Yes, I know several things about him, and one is that according to your own account he's mighty anxious to get hold of Greensea Island."
"I told you his yarn," I interrupted. "He says he wants to start a yachting club."
"Funny he hasn't mentioned it to anyone down here. I suppose he was afraid somebody would pinch the idea."
"Who is he?" I asked. "Where does he come from?"
Bobby struck a match, and with some care lighted his cigar.
"He is one of those mysterious gents that nobody seems to know anything about. According to what I've heard, he rolled up here last summer and bought The Penguin, an old barge that used to belong to a fellow called Collinson. He gave out that he wanted to go in for wild fowling, and, to do the blighter justice, he certainly is a first-class hand with a gun."
"It sounds to me as if you didn't like him," I said.
"I can't stick him at any price. All the same, he's very well in with the people down here. Quite a leading light among the sporting crowd. He belongs to the club at Shalston, and he's always ready to take a hand in anything that's going on."
"What's your objection to him?" I asked.
"Nothing much. I just think he's a wrong 'un."
"But why?" I persisted. "You must have some reason."
Bobby shook his head. "Not the least necessary. I can tell a scoundrel directly I see him."
"Well, I've got the same sort of feeling about him," I admitted. "Still, that's hardly a proof that he had anything to do with shoving me into the dock."
"You must try to look at it in a broad light," said Bobby encouragingly. "If he isn't up to some dirty business why did he make you that offer for the island? You can take it from me that his yarn about starting a yachting club is all bunkum. We've got two here already. Then there's another thing I don't like, and that's his suggestion that you should get rid of Bascomb. It's quite likely he's got some blackguard up his sleeve that he hopes to land you with." He reached out for the decanter and filled up his empty glass. "Besides," he added, "there don't seem to be any other competitors. Who the devil else has taken the faintest interest in your affairs?"
Not being able to answer this question, I rose from my chair and took a pace or two up and down the room. I found a curious comfort in the fact that Bobby shared my views about Manning. In dealing with de Roda I felt like a man who has one hand tied behind his back, but when it came to tackling the doctor there were no such unfortunate restrictions. The more suspicious his conduct appeared, the better pleased I should be. A way had to be found by which I could get to the bottom of the mystery without injuring Christine, and, so far, this was the only opening which suggested the least prospect of success.
"I believe you've hit it," I said, coming back to my seat. "I must take steps to improve my acquaintance with Dr. Manning. He seems to be worth cultivating."
"Well, go easy," returned Bobby. "If we're really on the right lay he's not the sort of chap to play the fool with."
"All the more reason for making the first move," I said. "'When in doubt, lead trumps.' That was Nelson's motto, and it's good enough for me."
"It's a sound plan," admitted Bobby. "The only thing is whether you're fit to be trusted by yourself. I think you had better lie low until I can come around and lend you a hand."
"I don't want to drag you in, Robert," I said. "You did your bit in the Great