I have an idea that Bascomb's reply was intended to be ironical, but it certainly summed up the tableau that met my eyes as I came down the staircase.
Lolling back in an easy chair, with his legs crossed and looking supremely at home, was the neatly dressed figure of Dr. Manning. Satan was standing on the hearthrug a few feet away. Every muscle in his great body was tense and rigid, and his whole soul seemed to be concentrated in the stare of watchful suspicion with which he was surveying the intruder.
At the sound of my footsteps both of them looked up.
"Sorry I wasn't here to welcome you," I said, coming forward across the hall. "I hope Satan has been doing the honours for me."
Manning rose lightly to his feet, and took the hand which I somewhat reluctantly offered him.
"I expect I'm a bit early," he answered, in that pleasant, imperturbable voice of his. "The fact is, I wasn't quite sure what time you said you had dinner."
"Well, it's a movable feast," I returned, "but seven-thirty is the usual hour." I took hold of his bag, which was lying on the floor beside him. "Come along up and see your quarters," I added. "Then we shall just have time for a cigarette and a cocktail. I hate rushing at food without any preparation."
"It's an uncivilised practice," he admitted, "though I'm afraid I'm often guilty of it myself. One gets into bad habits living on a barge."
I was quite prepared to believe his last statement, but thinking it wiser to keep my opinion to myself. I led the way upstairs to his bedroom, which was two doors down the passage from mine.
Having seen that he was provided with hot water and soap, I left him to his ablutions, telling him to rejoin me in the hall as soon as he was ready.
He sauntered down again about ten minutes later, by which time I had concocted a couple of alluring stimulants that even a Buenos Aires bar-tender would have been proud to father.
"By Jove, it's a treat to taste a real drink again!" he said, smacking his lips over my effort. "The English are a fine people, but they don't know much about mixing liquors."
He put down his glass, and, lighting a couple of cigarettes, we strolled towards one of the French widows, which was partly open.
"Still, there are compensations," I said, looking out into the garden. "An evening like this makes up for a lot of indifferent cocktails."
He leaned back against the lintel and gazed deliberately round the sky—a roof of cloudless blue, tinged towards the west with the saffron after-glow of a perfect sunset.
"Yes," he admitted, "it has been wonderful weather the last few days, but you can take my word we shall have to pay for it. Unless the wind gets up we shall have a sea fog that will probably hang around for a week. It's always the way here, when you get this sort of thing in April."
I was about to make some reply when an unexpected voice behind suddenly broke into our conversation.
"Dinner's ready," it announced.
We both turned round abruptly, to find the sombre figure of Bascomb silhouetted in the doorway.
"Come on in," I said, addressing myself to Manning. "However black the future is, we can at least eat and drink."
I conducted him across the hall to the dining-room, which looked very snug and comfortable in the pleasant light of two or three softly shaded candles.
We took our places at the table, and, having served us with soup, Bascomb noiselessly withdrew, closing the door behind him.
"How are you getting on with that fellow of yours?" enquired Manning, after a moment's silence.
"Oh, well enough," I said, pushing him across the sherry. "He's a queer, surly sort of beggar, but he looks after me all right, and so far I haven't caught him pawning any of the family silver."
My companion laughed easily and helped himself to the wine.
"I daresay I'm prejudiced against him," he observed. "The fact is, he didn't exactly go out of his way to make himself civil when I was here looking after your uncle. I expect it's my profession that's responsible. Like most ignorant people, he is probably convinced that all doctors are secret poisoners."
"I think he objects to strangers on principle," I replied. "My uncle evidently suffered from the same disease, and as likely as not they infected each other."
"Agoraphobia," said Manning, smiling. "Well, I shouldn't wonder if you're right. It's a fairly common complaint, and Mr. Jannaway certainly seems to have been a typical case." He paused. "By the way," he added carelessly, "have you managed to find out anything more about him?"
I shook my head. "Not a thing," I said, "except the fact that he had a very sound taste in drink."
It may have been my imagination, but I thought I could detect the faintest possible expression of relief flicker across my companion's face.
"Greensea Island's a curious place for a man of his age to come and settle down in," he continued. "I have often wondered what brought him to this part of the world."
"So have I," I replied truthfully. "In fact, the more I think it over, the more it puzzles me. I can only imagine he must have been inspired by some happy instinct that it would suit the tastes of his successor."
At this point there was a pause in our mutual confidences, owing to the re-entrance of Bascomb with the next course. He took several minutes clearing away and providing us with fresh plates, and by the time we were again alone the conversation had wandered off into a different channel.
Whatever one's personal feelings towards Manning might be, there was no getting over the fact that he was an excellent talker. He chatted away easily and pleasantly on a variety of topics, and if he had any other purpose in view beyond that of being entertaining, he certainly managed to conceal it with remarkable success. In spite of my prejudice against him, I could fully believe what Bobby had told me about his popularity in the neighbourhood. He seemed to possess an almost hypnotic power of making himself agreeable, though in my own case his choicest efforts were so much waste of labour. I had only to remind myself of a certain incident outside "The Laurels" to feel all my old inclination to punch his head welling up with renewed vigour.
When the time for coffee arrived I made a suggestion that we should move into the hall. Manning had declined a cigar, saying that he preferred to stick to his Egyptian cigarettes, so, taking the whisky and liqueurs with us, we established ourselves in a couple of easy chairs in front of the big open hearth. I put a match to the fire—more for the sake of hearing it crackle than for anything else—and with every outward appearance of complete harmony we settled down to spend the evening.
"You've got an ideal place in its way," said my guest, looking round with a sort of lazy approval. "The old chap must have spent a lot of money in fixing it up as comfortably as this."
"I don't think he did very much," I replied. "He had some workmen here, and tidied things up generally, but I fancy the house was in pretty good condition before he took it over. This fireplace was about the only new thing he put in."
Manning's gaze wandered critically over the improvement in question.
"Those are Dutch tiles, aren't they?" he said, bending forward to make a closer inspection.
"It's quite likely," I returned. "Bascomb tells me the work was done by a Dutch firm."
I brought this out purposely in the hope of encouraging further questions, but my companion's interest in the matter did not seem to be very acute. He remained silent for several moments, staring in front of him with a curiously absent expression, as though his thoughts had suddenly taken an entirely different direction.
At last, with something that was very like a start, he seemed to come back to his surroundings.
"It's a nice piece of work," he said, "and just the thing you want here in winter. I like the old barge well enough, but there are some advantages in living on dry land after all."
I poured him out a glass of my uncle's brandy which I knew from experience to be of a remarkably mellowing nature.
"I should think a barge was great fun," I said, "What put the idea into your head?"
He took an appreciative sip at the brandy, and lit another of his eternal cigarettes.
"It was more chance than anything else," he replied. "I heard she was up for sale, and I wanted some sort of a headquarters down here, so I just stepped in and bought her straight away. The chap she belonged to was only asking four hundred, and she was dirt cheap at the price."
"I wonder what our friend Drayton's opinion would be on that point," I said. "He nearly had a fit when I told him I was coming to live on Greensea."
Manning laughed. "Oh, he thinks I'm as mad as a hatter. He can't understand anyone being able to exist unless they're within a taxi-drive of Bedford Row," He paused. "All the same, I believe it's people like ourselves who really get the best out of life. I would give the whole of what London and New York have to offer for one good evening after duck, or a stiff beat to windward round the Bridwell buoy."
The ring of genuine enthusiasm in his voice was quite unmistakable, and I looked across at him with a sudden curiosity that I did my best to hide. I have run up against a fairly representative crowd of blackguards in my life, but there was something about Manning that certainly placed him in a reserved compartment. Leaving aside his charm of manner, it seemed almost incredible that a man whose tastes lay along such simple, healthy lines as duck-shooting and yacht-racing could really be the complete scoundrel that my imagination had gradually constructed. Still, facts were facts, and this very incongruity only helped to make the situation still more stimulating.
"You must get a boat and take up racing," he continued, finishing off his liqueur. "There's no sport in the world to touch it, and the little six metre class we go in for here aren't very expensive."
He launched out into an interesting description of the craft in question, bringing in several stories about local regattas, all of which he related with point and humour. As far as I was concerned he could hardly have pitched upon a more congenial topic. Although I have never been able to indulge in it to any great extent, small boat sailing has always been a particular hobby of mine, and a very few minutes were enough to convince me that I was listening to a man who was an expert at the game. Lying back lazily in his chair, and smoking cigarette after cigarette, he continued to hold forth in such an entertaining fashion that I paid little or no attention to the time. Indeed, it was quite a surprise to me when I suddenly heard Bascomb shutting and bolting the back door, and, glancing at my watch, found that it was nearly half-past ten.
Manning, who had copied my action, sat up and stretched his arms.
"If it's all the same to you, Dryden," he said, "I think I'll turn in. The fact is I've had rather a strenuous day. I have been painting and overhauling gear ever since six o'clock this morning."
"Well, you deserve a good night's rest," I said, getting up from my chair. "Stop in bed as long as you feel like it; we have breakfast here any time it's convenient."
"You won't be too early for me," he returned. "I was never much of a hand at sleeping, and as a rule the more tired I am the sooner I wake up."
I poured out a generous tot of whisky, into which I splashed about the same amount of soda.
"That's my prescription," I said "Take it to your room and drink it off as soon as you get into bed. If you don't sleep then there must be something seriously wrong with you."
He accepted the tumbler with a laugh, and, having lit two candles, which Bascomb had placed upon a side table, I accompanied him up the staircase.
"What happens to our friend Satan?" he asked, as we paused for a moment at his door. "Do you still turn him out in that hard-hearted way your uncle used to?"
"Just the same," I answered. "He has got so accustomed to prowling about at night, I don't suppose he would be happy in the house. Besides," I added, "he's a useful guard against poachers and chicken thieves."
Manning put down his candle on the corner of the chest of drawers. "Yes," he remarked drily, "I shouldn't think that strolling round the island in the dark was a very healthy form of amusement. At least I should be precious sorry to try anything of the sort myself." He held out his hand, which I again accepted with the same inward reluctance.
"Good night," I said. "Don't forget to take my prescription. I will give you a look up in the morning and see how it's worked."
I retraced my steps to the hall, where I latched the windows and fastened the front door. I was just taking a final look round when Bascomb came in from the back regions.
"What have you done with Satan?" I asked him.
"Let 'im out," was the answer, "same as ye told me to. I can fetch 'im in again easy enough if you'd rather 'ave 'im in the 'ouse."
I shook my head. "No," I said, "I think we'll stick to the usual arrangement." Then, pointing to the table, I continued: "You can clear away those drinks and lock up the dining-room. Doctor Manning has gone to bed, and I'm turning in myself too. I will let you know in the morning what time we want breakfast."
With a significant glance in the direction of the staircase he came close up to where I was standing.
"I dunno if I ever mentioned it before, guv'nor, but that there bell alongside your bed rings in my room. Mr. Jannaway 'ad it put up special. If you should 'appen to want me any time, all you got to do is just to give it a pull."
"Right you are, Bascomb," I said, and, feeling rather surprised and more than a trifle grateful at his evident concern for my safety, I once more made my way up to my own quarters.
Reviewing the events of the evening while I undressed, I could not find much cause for self-congratulation. As far as I could tell I had managed to avoid giving Manning any hint of my true feelings towards him, but with this exception the honours appeared to be all on the other side. He had acted the part of the friendly neighbour in such an easy and natural fashion that it was precious difficult to pick any holes in his performance. His enquiry as to whether I had found out anything more about my uncle, and the two questions he had asked with reference to Bascomb and Satan, were the only incidents I could recall which appeared to be in the least suggestive. Even these were quite in keeping with the character he had assumed, and neither of them threw a very penetrating light on what was really passing at the back of his mind.
That he was meditating some mischief, however, seemed to me highly probable. Not that I had much belief in the tragic forebodings of Christine and Bascomb, for I rated our friend's intelligence too highly to imagine him to be capable of any such blunder as that of trying to cut my throat while he was a guest under my roof. I was inclined to think that it was a thirst for information rather than a thirst for blood which had prompted his suggestion of an early retirement. My opinion was chiefly based upon what Bascomb had told me about his two previous attempts to get back into the house after my uncle's death. This persistence could only be explained by the theory that he wanted to make some further investigations, and now that he was actually on the spot he was not likely to neglect such a favourable opportunity.
Anyhow, whichever view of the situation was correct, I was faced with the cheerful prospect of spending a sleepless night. It was very annoying, especially as I had to go to town the next day; but my painful experiences at sea have given me a certain amount of philosophy in these matters, and I settled down grimly to make the best of it.
Anyone who has enjoyed a similar ordeal knows with what wearisome slowness the hours can occasionally pass. In my case, I had not even the consolation of a book, for I was afraid of treating myself to a candle in case the light should be visible under the door. I just tumbled into bed and lay there in complete darkness, keeping my eyes wide open and listening intently for the slightest noise.
Through the open window, at amazingly long intervals, I could hear the church clock at Pen Mill chiming out the quarters. Nothing else broke the silence except an occasional rustle in the shrubbery, which told me that Satan was patrolling the garden with his usual trustworthy thoroughness.
Midnight struck, and after a respectable foretaste of eternity between each, one, two, and three eventually followed suit. Very gradually the blackness of night began to slip into the gray twilight of early dawn, and bit by bit the various pieces of furniture in my room emerged into shape out of the surrounding gloom.
Outside, a bird started twittering in the creeper, but everything in the house still remained as quiet as the grave. Try as I would, I found it harder and harder to fight off the drowsiness that was constantly stealing over me, and more than once I only just roused myself in time as I was on the very point of falling asleep.
Whether I eventually dropped off into a doze I can't say. If I did, some important part of me must have remained awake, for I suddenly found myself sitting up in bed, perfectly cool and collected, but with every nerve in my body strained to the utmost attention.
For a moment nothing happened. Then, once again, came the sound that I was waiting for—the faint creak of a board in the passage outside my door.
Turning back the clothes, I slipped noiselessly out of bed. A glance at my watch on the table beside me showed me that it was close on half-past four—a time at which no respectable passage board has any right to indulge in such antics. My long vigil had not been useless, and, standing there in bare feet and pyjamas, I felt that pleasant glow of rewarded virtue which comes occasionally to the least deserving of us.
I made no attempt to rush things, however. Looking round the room, my eyes fell on the poker, which was leaning up invitingly alongside the fireplace. It struck me as being a nice, companionable sort of object, and, having tiptoed across the room and taken possession of it, I returned in the same stealthy fashion to the door.
With my hand on the knob I again paused to listen. My ears are pretty sharp, and, although extreme care was evidently being taken over the performance, I felt absolutely certain that somebody was descending the staircase.
Very gently I turned back the handle. It yielded to my pressure without making the slightest noise; and then, opening the door inch by inch until the gap was just wide enough, I stepped out warily into the passage.
A quick glance up and down showed me nothing more exciting than Manning's boots. They were standing neatly on the mat outside his room, where he had evidently deposited them before getting into bed. Somehow or other this tidiness of his filled me with an increased respect for him, and, taking a still firmer grip on the poker, I set off noiselessly for the head of the stairs.
As I crept along I debated with myself what was the best thing to do. Should I try and get down without being seen, or should I make a reckless charge and leave the rest to providence? The latter course was much more to my taste, but there are times in life when personal pleasure has to take a back seat, and I reluctantly decided that I must play the game. This was the one chance I was likely to get, and it would be madness not to take the fullest advantage of it.
Still exercising the utmost care, I stole across the landing and peered over the banisters. From where I stood only the further side of the hall was visible. Everything looked exactly as I had left it the night before, and, except for the steady ticking of the grandfather clock, the whole place was wrapped in profound silence.
Unless Manning had gone through into the back part of the house it stood to reason that he must be down below more or less under my feet. The sooner I found out what he was playing at the better, so, edging my way to the head of the stairs, I very cautiously began the descent.
I knew that from the next small landing half-way down one could overlook the entire hall. There were only about a dozen steps to negotiate, and for six of them I got along very nicely indeed. The seventh, however, proved to be my undoing. As I put my weight on it the damned thing let off a terrific creak, and almost simultaneously I heard a quick movement below. It did not take me long to realise that any more efforts in the Sherlock Holmes line would be singularly futile. With one jump I cleared the intervening stairs, and the next moment I was leaning over the banisters looking straight down into Manning's face.
He was standing on the hearthrug in front of the fireplace. Except for a pair of bedroom slippers he was dressed in the same scanty costume as myself, the only other difference being the poker which I still clutched affectionately in my right hand. He had evidently turned round directly he heard the noise, and, although taken by surprise, he looked perfectly cool and self-possessed.
"Hullo, Manning!" I said cheerfully. "What the devil are you doing here?"
For just an instant he remained motionless; then with a sudden laugh he seated himself deliberately on the rail of the fireguard.
"Caught in the act," he observed. "And I took such a lot of trouble not to wake you up."
"That's all right," I said. "I have been awake for the last half-hour." I came down the remaining steps as I spoke, and walked across the carpet towards him. "What's the matter?" I enquired.
He extended his hand, and I noticed for the first time that he was holding his cigarette case.
"This is the real culprit," he answered. "I put the blessed thing on the mantelpiece last night and forgot all about it. Of course at three o'clock this morning I felt I wanted a smoke more than anything on earth. I hung on as long as I could because I was afraid of waking you up, but at last it got to a point when I simply couldn't stick it. I crawled down like a mouse, and I was just thinking I had done the trick all right when you suddenly popped up over the banisters and gave me the start of my life." He paused, and, helping himself to a cigarette, held out the case. "I am frightfully sorry," he added. "It's a rotten trick to drag one's host out of bed merely because one happens to be the slave of a bad habit."
He made his explanation with such delightful ease that if I had not known he was lying it would certainly have convinced me.
"There is no need to apologise," I said. "You gave me a really enjoyable five minutes. I had quite decided you were a burglar, and I was looking forward to breaking your head."
He eyed me and the poker with a kind of cool appreciation.
"I am glad you found out your mistake in time," he said. "There's something unpleasantly primitive about you, Dryden, especially when you're in pyjamas."
All the while he was speaking I had been taking careful stock of our immediate surroundings. As far as I could see nothing had been disturbed—indeed, I had come down so quickly on his heels that he had had practically no chance of getting up to mischief. I realised now that what I ought to have done was to have given him a few minutes' grace, and a mortifying suspicion that I had made a hash of the whole affair began to rankle in my mind.
For a moment I was badly tempted to take him by the neck and see if I could shake the truth out off him then and there. The feeling that I might be running Christine into danger still kept me in check, however, and with a masterly effort I managed to preserve my politeness.
"We had better have a drink and go back to bed," I observed, "unless you'd like to stroll round the island and admire the beauty of the dawn."
As I spoke I moved towards the French window, and at the same moment a huge black shape loomed up on to the verandah outside.
"Hullo!" I added. "Here's somebody else come to see what the matter is. Quite a family party, isn't it?"
I unbolted and opened the window, and, waving his tail in a kind of dignified acknowledgment, Satan strolled slowly into the room. He pulled up short on seeing Manning; then, apparently satisfied that as long as I was present things must be more or less in order, he proceeded to seat himself very deliberately right in the middle of the hearthrug.
I refastened the bolt and turned back to my guest.
"He always sits there," I said. "I suppose my uncle taught him to originally, and now he thinks it belongs to him. We shall find him in exactly the same place when we come down to breakfast."
Manning, who had been watching the dog's proceedings with a curious intentness, rose slowly to his feet.
"I don't think I'll have a drink," he remarked. "It's a little early and I haven't got your cast-iron constitution. Bed seems to me the best notion. I've a sort of feeling that after I've finished this cigarette I shall be able to put in a couple of hours' sleep."
"Well, as I told you before, take it easy," I replied. "The eggs and bacon will keep till we're ready for them."
We set off up the staircase, and, pausing for a moment in the passage, Manning once more expressed his apologies.
"You're a real sportsman, Dryden," he said. "I should have been horribly peevish myself if anyone had dragged me out of bed at this unholy hour."
"I generally wake up in an amiable mood," I replied. "It's only a matter of good health and having the right kind of whisky."
I watched him go into his room and close the door, and then, feeling uncommonly thankful that I had not got to be civil to him any longer, I proceeded to follow his example.
I had bungled the business beyond any manner of doubt, and I was so angry with my own stupidity that I very nearly hurled the poker into the grate. It was maddening to think that if I had only displayed an ounce of gumption I might by now have got to the bottom of the whole infernal mystery. Instead of doing this, I had allowed Manning to walk clean out of the trap, and no doubt, in the security of his own room, he was laughing to himself over the easy way in which he had outwitted me.
The only consolation that remained was the fact that there was no further reason for keeping awake. I could at least turn into bed and get a few hours' sleep, with the comforting assurance that I was not neglecting my job. Whatever else Manning might have left in the hall, he would certainly manage to do without it as long as Satan was sitting on the mat.