It cannot be said that Bascomb received the news of my expected guest with anything resembling enthusiasm. I broached the subject while he was clearing away the dinner things, and for a moment he stood at the table without replying—a study in sullen disapproval.
"Well, you knows your own business best, sir," he observed at last. "If you wants to 'ave 'im 'ere you must 'ave 'im 'ere, an' that's all there is to it."
"I am not asking him for the charm of his society, Bascomb," I said. "The fact is, I have been thinking over what you told me the other night, and I have come to the conclusion that Dr. Manning wants watching."
"You're right there, sir," was the grim answer. "'Im an' that beauty Craill, too. You couldn't find a better pair, not if you was to scratch 'ell with a pocket-comb."
"Who's Craill?" I demanded.
"Craill's the bloke wot lives with 'im, an' looks after the barge. 'E come along 'ere one day when the guv'nor was ill, and it was as much as I could do to stop Satan from tearin' 'im in 'alf."
"What was the trouble?" I asked. "Didn't he like his looks?"
Bascomb shook his head. "Seemingly not. An' wot's more, I reckon 'e felt much the same way about the doctor."
"I'm with him there, anyhow," I said. "There's some dirty, underhand work going on in connection with Greensea Island, and as far as I can see Dr. Manning is at the bottom of it." I paused deliberately. "I mean to get to the bottom of it too, Bascomb," I added. "That's the reason I've fixed up this visit."
There was a brief silence.
"Well, I don't go so far as to say you're wrong," replied my retainer grudgingly. "All the same, I wouldn't rest too easy, not with 'im sleepin' in the 'ouse. If you take my advice, sir, you'll lock 'im in 'is room, an' leave Satan loose outside the door."
"I don't want to make him suspicious," I objected. "We shan't get anything out of him by frightening him. Our only chance is to let him feel perfectly at home, and then it's just possible he'll give himself away."
"Mebbe that's so," admitted Bascomb, after a moment's reflection. "There's many a bloke trips 'isself up through bein' a bit too clever." He turned to the table again and resumed his task of clearing away the things. "I'll do wot I can anyway, sir," he added. "It shan't be my fault, not if 'e thinks 'e ain't welcome."
I was much relieved at getting this promise, for without Bascomb's co-operation the scheme would have been hopeless. It was absolutely essential to my plan that Manning should have no idea he was being watched or suspected. The first sign of anything of that sort would shut him up like a clasp-knife; whereas, if we treated him in an apparently open and friendly fashion, he might be led into taking a false step out of sheer over-confidence. I felt it would be rather a strain having to be civil to him for a whole evening, but, after all, the object in view was well worth a little discomfort, and I am always ready to suffer in a good cause.
Having regard to the important day's work ahead of me I decided that it would be a wise precaution to turn in early. A generous allowance of sleep is necessary to my constitution if I wish to be at my best and brightest, a fact which the various skippers I have served under have persistently failed to notice. Being now my own master, however, there seemed to be no point in running any unnecessary risks, so at ten o'clock precisely I let Satan out for his nightly sentry-go, and, having locked up the house, returned peacefully to bed.
As a reward for this act of virtue I woke up feeling remarkably fit and cheerful. It was another beautiful day, and as I dressed leisurely at the open window in a blaze of sunshine I kept a watchful gaze on the estuary in the hope that I might discover Christine's head bobbing about somewhere in the distance. Though vaguely disappointed by my lack of success, I managed to complete my toilet in fairly good spirits. I should be seeing her again, anyhow, in a very little while, and it does not do to be too greedy in one's demands upon providence.
A conscientious spell with the lawn-mower enabled me to get through what would otherwise have been a rather tiresome morning. Even so, I was not sorry when half-past two arrived, and I found myself once more entering the muddy creek which runs up to the Pen Mill landing-stage. As usual, Jimmy had noticed my approach, and was standing on the jetty ready to receive me. I handed my boat over into his charge, and, telling him I should probably be back about five o'clock, I strode off across the green in the direction of the Shalston road.
The distance I had to walk was about two miles and a half. I had just left myself time to do it comfortably, and to get to our meeting-place a few minutes before Christine was due. This seemed to me the most sensible arrangement, for I did not want to be seen hanging about the town, and there was no object in spending a lengthy vigil in the pastrycook's shop.
About a quarter of a mile beyond the village I passed the head of a narrow lane leading towards the water. I could not stop to investigate, but I felt pretty certain that this must be the road by which Manning was accustomed to reach his barge. I only hoped that he was safe on board, for, much as I was looking forward to seeing him in the evening, I should have found him horribly in the way if he had happened to turn up at that particular moment.
Fortunately no such contretemps occurred. I tramped on, keeping a sharp look-out ahead of me, and at twenty past three by the church clock I entered the straggling outskirts of Shalston. A few minutes' walk along the main street brought me to my destination—a quaint little old-fashioned shop, with a large supply of buns, tarts, and other delicacies piled up in the bow-window.
As I pushed open the door, a bell above my head jangled fiercely. In answer to its summons a pleasant-faced middle-aged woman glided out from behind a rampart of freshly baked loaves, and gazed at me benignly across the counter.
"Good afternoon," I said. "I believe you have a room upstairs where you serve tea?"
"That's right, sir," she replied encouragingly. "There's a nice room on the first floor. Will you step this way, sir?"
She conducted me through a door at the back into a linoleum-lined passage, whence a flight of stairs led up to the landing above.
"I am expecting a friend to tea with me—a lady," I added. "When she arrives, would you be kind enough to tell her I'm here?"
"To be sure I will, sir," was the affable answer. "And mebbe you'd rather wait till she comes before you give your order?"
"Perhaps it would be safest," I admitted. "She might have a weakness for some particular kind of jam tart."
Proceeding upstairs, I entered the room facing me, where a table in the centre was already set out for tea. It was a fair-sized apartment, furnished in that engaging style which is generally associated with the name of the late Queen Victoria. There was a piano, a large horse-hair sofa with an antimacassar over its back, and two chairs of the same material, stiffly arranged on each side of the fireplace. The grate was filled with coloured paper, and from the mantelpiece above a stuffed canary in a glass case looked coldly across at Mr. Frith's attractive reproduction of a busy morning at Paddington Station. Two or three texts, a framed certificate from "The Ancient Order of Buffaloes," and several photographs of popular watering-places mounted on red plush, lent a finishing touch to the general harmony.
Laying my hat down on the sofa, I took up a defensive position in front of the hearth. I had not very long to wait, for five minutes could hardly have elapsed when I heard the passage door open, and a sound of voices became audible in the hall below. In spite of the fact that it ought to have benefited by previous experience, I could feel my heart beginning to beat in the most curious and uncontrollable fashion. Then, beautiful as ever, Christine appeared suddenly in the open doorway, and the next moment I was holding her hands in mine.
"I can't tell you how badly I've wanted you," I said. "It seems a hundred years since yesterday."
She looked up at me in a kind of half-humorous, half-protesting fashion.
"Mr. Dryden—please!" she murmured. "They can hear everything you're saying downstairs."
I let go her hands, and took an obedient step backwards.
"I suppose they can," I said. "I quite forgot that there was anyone else in the world."
She came forward into the room.
"Besides," she added with a smile, "tea will be up in one moment. They told me that you were waiting till I arrived, so I ordered it while I was in the shop."
"You're not going to run away again at once, are you?" I demanded anxiously. "There are a whole heap of things I want to talk to you about."
The troubled expression that I had seen before came back suddenly into her face.
"I mustn't stay very long—not more than half an hour at the most."
"Half an hour!" I repeated in dismay. "You can't possibly have tea in half an hour! Why, it's frightfully dangerous to try and drink hot things in a hurry."
Before I could make any further protests I was interrupted by the creak of footsteps laboriously ascending the stairs. There was a chink and rattle of cups and then, panting slightly from her exertions, the lady of the shop emerged into view, heavily burdened with an immense tray.
She set this down on the table, and surveyed us with a motherly smile.
"If there's anything else you fancy, p'raps you'll give me a call over the banisters," she said. "My sister's gone to a funeral to-day, and I'm all alone in the shop."
I gazed at the staggering collection of pastries which we were apparently expected to consume, and hazarded an opinion that they would probably see us through.
"Well, don't be frightened of 'em, my dear," she said, addressing Christine. "They're all home made. You can eat as many as you like without takin' no harm."
She left the room again, closing the door behind her, and, having inspected the various chairs at our disposal, I brought forward the one which looked the least uncomfortable.
"You pour out tea," I said, placing it in position. "I'm so tired of doing it for myself."
Without saying anything, Christine seated herself in front of the tray. She paused for a moment to take off her gloves, while I dragged up a second chair, and, sitting down alongside, contemplated her with unspeakable contentment.
"I hope you're not very angry with me about yesterday," I said. "Spying behind hedges isn't really a habit of mine; in fact it's the first time I have ever tried anything of the sort."
She finished pouring out the tea and handed me across my cup.
"No," she answered, "I am not angry with you; why should I be? You have every reason for feeling suspicious about us, and every right to do exactly what you think best."
She spoke almost wearily, and there was a touch of bitterness in her voice that gave me an uncomfortable sense of guilt.
"Christine," I said, "I want to settle this business once and for all. As far as you and I are concerned, there must be no chance of a misunderstanding." I paused. "I don't know in the least what the trouble is in connection with Greensea Island, or what your uncle has got to do with it. It's quite clear that there's some infernal mystery, however, and, judging by what happened in the docks, I seem to be playing rather an important part in it."
Her brown eyes, full of distress, were looking straight back into mine.
"Yes," she said in a low voice. "You are in great danger. I told you so the other day."
"I know you did," I replied cheerfully, "and you can be quite sure I haven't forgotten your warning. I like this planet, and I mean to stop on it as long as I can, but there's just one thing I want you to realise. I would allow myself to be murdered twenty times over rather than do anything in the world which was the least likely to injure you."
The distress in her face became deeper than ever.
"No, no," she said wretchedly. "You mustn't speak like that. If anything happened to you I should feel that—" Her hand gripped the arm of the chair until the skin stood out white over her knuckles. "Oh," she ended, almost with a sob, "I don't know what to do. It's all so hopelessly complicated and difficult."
I fought down a sudden fierce longing to take her in my arms.
"Don't look so unhappy, Christine," I said. "I can stand a good deal, but that finishes me completely."
With a gallant if rather wistful attempt to smile she sat back in her chair.
"There's only one thing I want to know," I went on, following up my advantage, "and you needn't tell me that if you would rather not."
She made a slight movement of her head, as if wishing me to continue.
"How long have you been friends with Dr. Manning?"
I put the question quite bluntly, and I saw the faintest possible flush come into her face.
"I am not a friend of Dr. Manning's," she answered. "I dislike him intensely. If the choice rested with me, I should never see him again."
"We appear to have one taste in common at all events," I remarked with approval.
"What do you know about him?"
She brought out the words almost reluctantly, as though half afraid of making some unwelcome discovery.
"I know very little at present," I admitted, "but I hope that by to-morrow we shall be much better acquainted. I have asked him to dinner with me this evening, and he will probably spend the night on the island."
If anything, my answer seemed to increase her misgivings.
"He is staying with you? He is going to sleep in the house?"
"Why, yes," I said. "There's nowhere else he can sleep, unless I put him in the kennel. That would certainly be the best place, but, unfortunately, my dog has taken rather a dislike to him."
In spite of her apparent anxiety the corners of her lips quivered into a smile.
"If you mistrust him so much, what made you invite him to the island?"
"I thought it would be a kind action," I explained. "I suppose you know that he has a special reason for being interested in my affairs?"
She looked at me curiously.
"What do you mean? What reason?"
"Well, to be quite exact, there are two of them," I said. "In the first place, he's the family physician. He came over and stayed in the house when my uncle was taken ill, and looked after him until he died."
"But you never told me that."
Christine was leaning forward again, with a queer excitement that she made no attempt to conceal.
"We've had so little time for exchanging confidences," I objected. "Anyhow, he did come, and, what's more, he seems to have fallen in love with the place. At least, ever since then he has been making me the most sporting and generous offers, which Mr. Drayton says I'm a fool not to accept."
"He is trying to buy the island?"
"That's the notion," I said, nodding. "According to his own account, he wants to start a new yachting club." I paused. "Of course, it may be so," I added, "but do you know, Christine, at the back of my mind I've a nasty, uncharitable feeling that he isn't telling me the truth."
For a moment we sat silent. There was a strange expression upon Christine's face, as though she were beginning to understand something which up till then had baffled and perplexed her.
"Mr. Dryden," she said slowly, "for your own sake I am going to be quite honest with you. Until we came down here I had no idea that such a person as Dr. Manning existed."
I was not altogether surprised at her confession, but in spite of that it gave me a very pleasant feeling of relief.
"Perhaps he is an old friend of your uncle's?" I suggested.
She shook her head. "He was an utter stranger to both of us. My uncle was taken ill with one of his heart attacks the day after we arrived, and somebody from the hotel suggested my sending for Dr. Manning. I am quite certain that they had never met before in their lives."
"If that's the case," I observed, "he needs kicking even more than I imagined."
Once again a faint shade of colour crept into her face, and then died away again almost at once.
"Listen, Mr. Dryden," she continued, "what I want to say to you has nothing to do with anything that you may have seen yesterday. That doesn't matter in the least. You have got to think entirely of your own safety. I believe that by asking Dr. Manning to the island you are putting yourself in the greatest possible danger."
"It seems to be the general opinion," I admitted. "At least, both Bascomb and Bobby Dean—" I paused. "By the way, I haven't told you about Bobby Dean yet, have I?"
She shook her head.
"I have been carrying out your instructions," I explained. "You ordered me to dig up a friend, and I have found the one man in the world who exactly fits the part."
"Who is he?" she demanded eagerly.
"Well, to give him his full title," I said, "he's Commander Robert Dean, V.C., of His Majesty's Navy. To save time I generally call him Bobby. We were serving together during the war, and, as luck would have it, he has just been shifted back here in charge of the Coast Patrol at Harwich."
"Oh, but that's splendid," she exclaimed thankfully. "Is he going to live with you on the island??
"I should like him to," I said, "but I am afraid the Admiralty might object. They are a conservative lot, and they always expect their employees to sleep over the shop. I shall be seeing a good deal of him though," I added, quickly, as a sudden shadow of disappointment again clouded her eyes. "He is constantly round here in his boat, and if I want him in a hurry any time I have only got to send him a wire."
There was a pause.
"Does he—does he know that—" She stopped, as if not quite certain how to finish the question.
"I didn't think it necessary to tell him everything," I said. "He knows about my being chucked into the dock, and he knows what I think of Dr. Manning. As I look at it, the rest of the story only concerns ourselves."
I saw that she was on the point of interrupting me, so I went straight on, without giving her the chance of speaking.
"Anyhow, I am not going to talk about myself all the time. There are several much more important things I want to discuss, and one's the fact that you appear to be risking your life every morning before breakfast in a way that I strongly disapprove of."
She looked at me for a moment in evident bewilderment.
"Do you mean my swimming?"
I nodded. "It would be most inconsiderate of you to get drowned," I said, "just when you've become absolutely necessary to me."
I saw the corners of her mouth begin to quiver into a smile.
"I am afraid I hadn't thought about it from that point of view," she replied. "In any case, you can make your mind quite easy, Mr. Dryden. I have swum over twenty miles in the sea before now, so I don't suppose I am likely to get into trouble bathing off a beach." She glanced at the slim gold watch which she was wearing on her wrist. "Why, it's past four o'clock," she exclaimed, with sudden consternation. "I had no idea it was as late as that."
She rose quickly to her feet, and I at once followed her example.
"Christine," I said, "you're not going like this? Last time you rushed away before we could make any arrangements, and I can't leave things in the same impossible state again."
She stood hesitating, the very picture of troubled indecision.
"I don't know what to say," she answered. "I have done wrong in seeing you to-day. I only came because—well, because you didn't give me much choice in the matter, did you?"
Once more I took her two hands in mine.
"I hadn't any choice myself," I said. "It's all very well for me to make promises, but how can you expect me to keep them? I love you so much that——"
"Oh, don't, don't," she broke in pitifully. "You mustn't say that sort of thing. I am trying to help you; I want to be your friend if I can; but——"
"Forgive me, Christine," I pleaded. "It just slipped out before I could stop it." I paused for a moment to gaze hungrily into her wide-open, tear-stained eyes. "Only for God's sake let me see you again before long. I don't know what I shall do unless I can look forward to that."
"Very well," she said, almost inaudibly. "If it's possible I will write to you or send you a message."
"Do you know a boy called Jimmy who is always hanging round the quay?" I asked her. "A little curly-haired kid of about eleven, with blue eyes and a dirty face?"
She nodded.
"Well, he's by way of being rather a particular friend of mine. If you just scribble a line and give it to him, he'll bring it over to the island immediately."
She nodded again, and made a movement as if to release her hands.
"You must say good-bye—please, Mr. Dryden. I oughtn't to have stayed as long as this."
I had intended to play the game to the end, but there are times when all the good resolutions in the world are perfectly useless. A sudden feeling that I was about to lose her swept over me with overwhelming force, and then, almost before I knew what was happening, I had drawn her close into my arms, and was pressing a passionate kiss upon her soft and slightly parted lips.
"Christine, Christine," I whispered hoarsely. "I've loved you from the first moment that you came on board the Neptune."
I felt her body tremble all over as I kissed her again, fiercely and recklessly. Then with a choking sob she pushed me away from her, and, freeing herself from my arms, turned blindly towards the door.
I remained motionless where I was, a mingled sensation of remorse and triumph rioting wildly through my heart. I was sorry and ashamed for what I had done, but even my self-reproaches could not alter the glowing conviction of Christine's love which had come to me as our lips met. It was a revelation so intoxicating that for several seconds I stood there like a man in a trance, the faint fragrance of her hair still lingering deliciously in my memory.
At last, with a big effort, I managed to shake off the spell, and, walking back to the mantelpiece, lighted myself a cigarette. The question uppermost in my mind was what I should do next. From every point of view it seemed advisable to allow a few minutes to elapse before attempting to leave the shop. It was quite on the cards that someone who knew Christine might have seen her come out, and to emerge myself a moment later would be simply to invite trouble. Besides, there was the old lady downstairs to be considered. She was probably under the impression that we had had a quarrel, in which case she would doubtless relate the circumstances to any of her friends and neighbours who happened to drop in for an afternoon gossip. I had to find some way of lulling her suspicions, and I felt that I could hardly begin better than by making my own exit in as leisurely and cheerful a fashion as possible.
So I finished my cigarette without any attempt at hurrying, and then, leaving the canary to brood over his ghastly splendour, I descended the staircase and pushed open the side door which led into the shop. The proprietress was engaged in serving out some sweets to a youthful customer, but by the time I had passed through into the outer department this piece of business was successfully transacted.
"I should like to square up accounts," I said; and, taking out two half-crowns, I laid them down on the counter.
The good woman pushed one of them back towards me.
"It won't be as much as that, sir," she replied. "One shilling's our charge, unless the party has eggs."
"And very cheap too," I said, pocketing the rejected coin. "I am only sorry my friend had to run away so soon, but unfortunately she had an appointment at four o'clock."
I was rewarded by a glance of sympathy. "Dear me, that was a pity, sir. I hope you both enjoyed your tea?"
"I did for one," I said truthfully. "In fact, it was quite the best shilling's worth I have ever had in my life."
With a gratified smile she handed me my sixpence change, and, feeling that I had left exactly the impression I desired, I walked to the door, and stepped out into the street.
I was in no immediate hurry to get home, and, apart from that, there was the chance that if I started at once I might overtake Christine on her way back to Pen Mill. Attractive as this prospect was, I had a regrettable conviction that it would be altogether against her wishes, so, strolling across the road, I entered the open door of the White Hart Hotel, where in bygone days Bobby and I had been accustomed to refresh our war-worn energies with occasional bouts of snooker.
I found a marker in attendance, a little rabbity-faced man with an unpleasant habit of potting the black from every conceivable angle. He beat me handsomely in both the games we played, and, having paid tribute to his skill in the shape of a large tankard of beer, I set out in a chastened mood on my return journey.
It must have been close on six o'clock by the time I reached the harbour. For once in a way there was no sign of Jimmy, so, going up to where my boat was moored, I began to unfasten the painter. I was engaged on this task when he suddenly appeared from the back door of the inn, and came hurrying up the jetty wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
"Sorry I weren't 'ere, guv'nor," he began. "I'd just gorn inside to 'ave me tea."
As though in proof of this assertion, he gulped down what seemed to be a large portion of the interrupted banquet.
"Quite right," I said. "One can't do really good work without plenty of nourishment." I handed him his usual retaining fee, and stepped down into the boat. "I have got a little job for you, Jimmy," I added. "I suppose you're the sort of boy who can keep his mouth shut?"
A reassuring nod was the prompt answer.
"Do you know Miss de Roda by sight?" I asked him. "The young lady who has come to live at 'The Laurels'?"
There was a brief pause.
"Wot, 'er with the pretty faice?" he enquired.
"That's the one," I said. "Well, some day she may give you a note for me. If she does, will you bring it over to the island at once?"
He nodded again. "You'll get it all right, guv'nor; you can trust me for that."
"And don't talk about it to anybody, will you, Jimmy?" I added. "Not even to your own pals?"
"Not me," he said stoutly. "There ain't no one who can keep a secret better'n wot I can."
There was a ring of pride in his voice which inspired confidence, and, under the comforting impression that I had established a reliable line of communication, I pulled off down the creek.
When I got back to the house I found a letter for me lying on the hall table. As I picked it up the green baize door which led down to the pantry opened quietly, and Bascomb came in with a plate basket on his arm.
"The postman brought that letter this afternoon, sir. 'E 'ad to call about some registration papers 'e wanted filled in."
I turned the envelope over, and saw the name of Wilmot and Drayton stamped on the flap.
"How about this evening?" I asked him. "Have you managed to get us a decent meal?"
He nodded ungraciously. "I reckon it's good enough—considerin' the party wot's expected. I'm just settin' about laying the table now."
"Well, let me know when the doctor arrives," I said. "I am going upstairs to change, and I don't want him wandering round the house by himself."
"I'll see to that, sir," was Bascomb's grim answer, and without another word he resumed his interrupted progress towards the dining-room.
On reaching my own apartment, I sat down on the bed and opened Mr. Drayton's letter. It was not typed, but written in his own handwriting, and bore the previous day's date.
"MY DEAR DRYDEN,—If you can tear yourself away from the numerous attractions of Greensea Island, I should be glad to see your cheery countenance in town one day this week. There are several fresh papers I want you to sign, and one or two details in connection with the estate which it would be more convenient to talk over than to write about.
"I hope that you have found things fairly comfortable, and that Bascomb and the dog have proved themselves to be entertaining companions.
"I saw our mutual friend, Inspector Campbell, yesterday. He enquired affectionately after you, and was particularly anxious to know how you were getting on. I fancy he is still a little piqued—professionally—over his failure to discover anything with reference to your late uncle. At all events he seems to be under the impression that there is something remarkably mysterious with regard to the whole affair, and that sooner or later fresh developments are bound to crop up. Let us hope that they will take the pleasant shape of a bundle of missing securities.
"Ring me up as soon as you get to town, and we will fix something in the way of lunch or dinner.
"Yours sincerely,
"GEORGE DRAYTON.”
Laying this genial missive down on the dressing-table, I began slowly to change my clothes.
I had no objection to a run up to town the next day; indeed, on the whole, the prospect distinctly appealed to me. I should be glad to see Mr. Drayton again and find out how my affairs were progressing, while, after a week on the island, I was quite ready for a little mild dissipation in the shape of a good dinner or a theatre.
I promised myself, too, that I would take the opportunity of looking up Inspector Campbell, who had given me his address the day we lunched at the Holborn. From the moment of my first introduction to him I had felt a curious confidence in this big, shrewd, slow-speaking Scotsman, and I derived no little comfort from the knowledge that he was still taking a friendly interest in my welfare.
There was one special matter in which his help might prove to be invaluable. He was just the sort of man who would probably be able to