"Just gorn 'aff-past eight, sir."
I opened my eyes with some resentment, and found Bascomb standing beside me, a cup of tea in his hand. I blinked at him for a moment and then sat up in bed.
"Might it be you as got up in the night and let Satan in?" he enquired surlily.
For a second I hesitated, wondering how much he knew.
"Were you awake?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No, I didn't 'ear nothin', but when I come through this mornin', danged if 'e wasn't sitting there on the mat."
He placed the cup on a small table beside me, and, crossing the room, drew up the blind.
"I changed my mind after I had gone to bed," I explained. "I felt I should sleep better if I knew that Satan was downstairs." I took a sip of the tea, and reaching out for my case, helped myself to a cigarette. "You can call the doctor in about ten minutes," I added. "I'll have my bath first and get out of his way."
Bascomb nodded and left the room without any further remark, though from the expression on his face I think he had a dim suspicion that I was keeping something back. Perhaps I should have been wiser to take him completely into my confidence, but to tell the truth I was half ashamed to confess the bungling way in which I had handled the business. Besides, faithful as I believed him to be, there was such a queer, sullen twist in his temper that I never felt quite certain how far it would be safe to trust him.
Washing and shaving are occupations which lend themselves to reflection, and I certainly found plenty to think about during the quarter of an hour that I spent in the bathroom. On the whole, as a result of my musings, I was inclined to take a slightly less pessimistic view of the situation. Although I had not exactly covered myself with glory as a private detective, I had at least established the truth of my theory that Manning possessed some strong and urgent reason for wishing to explore the house. Indeed, judging by the risks he had run, it looked as if the success of his schemes depended largely upon this particular point, and if that were the case I had apparently shoved a pretty effective spoke in his wheel.
All the same, I didn't quite like the way in which he had accepted his defeat. Even allowing for his cleverness and self-control, it was difficult to imagine that anyone who had been balked at the last moment in some vital enterprise could have betrayed so little sign of feeling. Disappointed he had certainly appeared, but it had been the disappointment of a man who has merely lost a trick which he hoped to gain, and who still cherishes a fond belief that he is going to win the rubber.
I wondered very much what he thought about my part in the performance. There had been, to put it mildly, a timeliness about my appearance on the scene which could hardly have failed to awake his suspicions. These were not likely to have been lessened by the deliberate way in which I had let Satan into the house, though in either case my action might very well have borne the innocent interpretation that I had attempted to give it. He was probably in a state of considerable uncertainty on the subject, and it was pleasant to feel that I was paying him back a small instalment of all the worry he had caused me.
What I would have given anything for was a good long chat with Bobby. I am all right in a straight-forward scrap, but I knew that at this sort of business his head was worth a dozen of mine, and that he would most likely pounce upon some important point which I had completely overlooked. Indeed, if it had not been for my appointment with Mr. Drayton I should have run up to Harwich to see him; as it was, I should have to put off our talk until my return from London.
On my way back to my room I tapped at Manning's door and informed him that the bath was ready.
He called out: "Come in," and, accepting his invitation, I discovered him in the act of sharpening his razor, which he had apparently just finished using. He greeted me with a friendly wave of the strop.
"How goes it?" he enquired cheerily. "I hope you managed to get off to sleep. I put in a couple of hours, and I feel as fit as a fiddle this morning."
"That's good," I replied. "You'll be able to do justice to Bascomb's bacon. It's one of the few things he's really sensitive about."
He smiled, and crossing to the washstand began to collect his sponge and towels.
"Did you tell him about our adventures?" he asked. "He must have guessed that somebody got up in the night when he found Satan in the hall this morning."
"I explained that I let him in," I answered. "I was too sleepy to go into details." I paused. "Besides, the whole thing sounds rather ridiculous by daylight, doesn't it?"
"Well, I suppose it might strike anyone else as being a bit comic," he admitted. "Better say nothing about it perhaps; we should be frightfully chipped at the club if the story got round."
His tone was light, almost careless, but it seemed to me that my answer had afforded him considerable relief. I made a mental note of the fact with a view to passing it on to Bobby.
"If I'm not in the dining-room when you come down," I said, "you'll find me just outside the front door. Satan and I generally take a little air before breakfast."
I left him on his way to the bath, and, re-entering my own room, proceeded to dress myself in a new suit of blue serge, which I had bought during my previous visit to London. Thus arrayed, and feeling unusually respectable, I descended into the hall, where, as I expected, I discovered Satan still occupying the same position on the hearthrug.
He got up as I appeared, and, after stretching himself elaborately, followed me to the French window, which was standing partly open. Here, contrary to his custom, he halted, looking round rather doubtfully, as though not quite certain whether it was safe to leave the place unguarded.
"Perhaps you're right, my son," I said. "We can't be too careful. You sit here and let me know when he comes down."
I patted his head and stepped out on to the lawn, where a couple of fat thrushes were hopping lazily about in the sunshine. It was another beautiful morning, hot and still as August, with an almost unnaturally blue sky, unchequered by the smallest cloud. I walked across to the border opposite, and with some care selected myself a small buttonhole. If I was going to play the part of country gentleman visiting his solicitor I might as well do the thing thoroughly.
At the very moment when I had succeeded in fixing it in my coat there came a warning growl from Satan. Strolling back to the window, I found Manning in the act of descending the staircase. He looked very cool and debonair in his grey flannels, and, in spite of Satan's inhospitable greeting, he seemed as usual entirely at his ease.
"You're a good host yourself, Dryden," he remarked, "but I'm hanged if I can say the same for your retainers. That dog resents my being here quite as much as Bascomb does."
"He is just as bad with everyone," I returned. "Uncle Richard evidently infected the entire staff."
I had hardly finished speaking when the dining-room door opened, and Bascomb himself appeared on the threshold. I don't know if he had overheard our remarks, for his face was as impassive as ever.
"Breakfast's ready," he announced curtly.
We took our places at the table, where a dish of eggs and bacon, a fresh tongue, and various other attractive items awaited our arrival. I poured Manning out a cup of coffee and told him to help himself to what he fancied.
"You look devilish smart to-day, Dryden," he remarked smilingly. "I believe I have a sort of reputation here for being the local dandy, but now you've come I'm afraid I shall have to take a back seat."
"I have to go up to town to see Drayton," I explained. "I always put on my best clothes when I visit a lawyer."
I thought it would be the safest plan to tell him the truth, for it was more than possible he might find it out for himself.
"That's rather a pity," he observed. "I was going to suggest that you should come over and have a look at the barge." He paused. "How long are you likely to be away?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "Goodness knows," I said carelessly. "I daresay I shall be back to-morrow. I believe he only wants me to sign a few papers."
There was a brief pause while Manning sipped his coffee.
"Well, as the Arabs say, 'To-morrow is also a day,'" he returned, putting down his cup. "Just get in your boat and come across any afternoon you feel like it. I'll show you the barge, and then we might go along and dine at the club afterwards."
I thanked him with every appearance of sincerity, though the sinister humour of the whole situation nearly made me laugh out loud. I felt sure, too, that under that imperturbable mask of his Manning must be appreciating it quite as much as I did.
If such were the case, however, he kept his feelings well under control, and we finished our meal without the least suggestion on either side of anything but the most perfect friendliness. After a cigar in the garden my companion went upstairs to pack his bag, and then, followed by Satan, we sauntered down to the landing-stage, where he proceeded to get out his boat.
"Thanks for a charming evening," he said, shaking my hand. "Remember me to Drayton, and mind you come and look me up as soon as you get back."
I made some suitable answer, and, settling down in his seat, he pulled off with the smooth, easy stroke of a practised oarsman. I stood and watched him till he reached the mouth of the creek, where he waved his hand to me before disappearing round the bend. Then I walked across to Satan, who was sitting by himself on the edge of the jetty staring resentfully after the vanished boat.
"It's no good looking like that," I said. "If you had been a little more civil you would probably have been included in the invitation."
I think he understood what I meant, for, rising to his feet with a disdainful expression, he strolled off ahead of me in the direction of the house. There were evidently some subjects on which he regarded humour as being completely out of place.
When I arrived back I found Bascomb clearing away the breakfast things.
"I am going up to town by the twelve-forty," I said. "I suppose I can get a trap at the inn to take me to Torrington?"
He nodded his head.
"They'll run you over right enough," he replied. "Mebbe I'd better slip across an' tell 'em though; they might be fixin' up with another party otherwise." He paused. "Are you comin' back to-night?" he enquired.
"No," I said, "I have got some business with Mr. Drayton. I shall probably be down to-morrow, but if not I'll let you know."
He finished clearing up and collected the debris on to a tray.
"'Ow about visitors?" he enquired. "I s'pose you don't want no one on the island, not while you're away?"
"There's one person I don't want," I said, "and that's Dr. Manning." I stopped, and then, feeling that I must at least make some appearance of taking him into my confidence, I added: "You were perfectly right about him, Bascomb. He's a rascal, only he's a damned clever one. I couldn't get anything out of him last night, try as I would. All the same, I'm more certain than ever that he's up to some dirty business."
A gleam of approval flickered across my companion's face.
"You can trust me safe enough, guv'nor," he returned. "'E won't set foot again in this 'ouse while I'm 'ere—not 'im nor that broken-nosed blighter Craill neither."
He brought out the epithet so unexpectedly that it was all I could do to keep back a sudden exclamation.
"Craill!" I repeated. "Isn't that the fellow who looks after his barge?"
Once again Bascomb nodded sourly. "That's 'im—an' you can take it from me that 'e's the right bloke for the job."
A vision of that furtive, sinister figure hanging about outside Mr. Drayton's office rose vividly in my mind.
"Yes," I said, with intentional carelessness, "I should think they were a very nicely matched pair. How did Craill manage to break his nose?"
"Someone done it for 'im, I reckon. Pity they didn't break his neck too while they was about it."
Lifting the tray, Bascomb marched off through the side door, and after a moment's hesitation Satan got up and followed him.
I crossed the room to the window and sat down on the sill. I felt like a man who by pure accident has suddenly picked up the very piece of a jig-saw puzzle for which he has long been vainly hunting. Ever since my first meeting with Manning I had had a suspicion that in some way or other he was chiefly responsible for that impromptu swimming exhibition of mine in the East India Dock. Bascomb's description of Craill placed the matter beyond doubt. Unless there was an epidemic of broken noses, the latter was certainly the man I had seen loafing about Bedford Row, and the odds were a hundred to one that it was his hand which had so nearly put an end to my troubles.
As to what possible motive or motives could have possessed this precious pair, I was as much in the dark as ever. They could not have been acting on behalf of de Roda, for I had Christine's assurance that until she and her uncle had arrived in England neither of them had had the least notion that such a person as Dr. Manning existed. My attempted murder must, therefore, have been a strictly private enterprise, and the only reason I could see for it was the fact that I had refused to sell the island.
Now, annoying as it is to be thwarted in a scheme of land purchase, people generally stop short of assassination as a method of expressing their disappointment. There must have been some very powerful inducement to lead Manning to such a desperate step, for, utterly unscrupulous as I believed him to be, he was too intelligent to run his neck into danger unless the stake at issue was well worth the risk.
Could it be possible that while he was on the island he had stumbled independently upon my uncle's secret? It was a new idea, but the more I thought it over the more feasible it seemed. It at least gave some explanation for his extraordinary anxiety to get hold of Greensea, and it might account for the curious dread with which Christine seemed to regard him.
If this were really the truth, the whole question of his relations with the de Rodas became one of the utmost importance. Did he know the reason which had brought them all the way from South America, and, if so, had he purposely made friends with them in order to achieve his own ends? From what I had seen of the two men I could well imagine that de Roda, broken in health and in the grip of some half-insane purpose, might clutch eagerly at the unexpected assistance that was suddenly offered him. That Manning's motives for entering into any such partnership must have been purely selfish I had no manner of doubt. Possibly he was in ignorance about some essential point on which de Roda was the only person able to enlighten him, or perhaps—and at the mere notion I felt the blood surge hotly through my heart—it was Christine's beauty which had been the lure that had attracted him. Once more the recollection of that scene outside "The Laurels" came back to me with extraordinary clearness. I could see the expression on Manning's face as distinctly as if I were still crouching behind the hedge, and with a half-suppressed oath I flung open the lattice window and got up from the sill. It was certainly fortunate for one or other of us that he was no longer on the island.
Looking back indeed, I have often wondered since how I managed to get through that morning without doing something idiotic. The temptation to jump into my boat, row over to the barge, and settle up matters with Manning once and for all, was at times so strong that it became almost irresistible. By packing my bag and otherwise occupying myself, however, I succeeded in holding out until Bascomb returned from the inn, bringing the news that a trap was in readiness to take me to the station.
"You'd better let me run yer across," he added. "Then the boat'll be 'ere in case I wants it."
"I can easily send it back by Jimmy," I objected. "Isn't it a bit risky for both of us to be away at the same time?"
"I reckon there won't be no risk," he replied grimly. "If anyone comes messin' about 'ere the next 'alf hour it's a —— certainty wot'll 'appen to them."
A glance at Satan's expression convinced me that there was some truth in what he said, so without making any further difficulties I consented to his proposal.
He carried my bag down to the landing-stage and rowed me across to the jetty opposite, where I stepped out discreetly, so as to avoid soiling my new suit.
"Good-bye, Bascomb," I said. "I shall tell Mr. Drayton how well you've looked after me."
For a moment he seemed almost embarrassed. "That's all right, guv'nor," he returned gruffly. "I ain't the bloke to go back on anyone wot's treated me fair."
He settled down again to his oars, and, picking up my bag, I started off in the direction of the shore. Outside the inn a smart-looking horse and trap were waiting my arrival. The driver, a shock-headed youth who might have been an elder brother of Jimmy, touched his cap to me as I clambered in, and the next minute we were bowling off up the hill on our way to Torrington.
During the journey to town I divided my time between pondering fitfully over my own affairs and listening to the improving conversation of my fellow travellers—a Baptist minister and his wife, who were going up to London to attend their aunt's funeral. They were a very staid and respectable couple, and, sitting back in my corner, I could not help wondering what they would say if I were suddenly to put my difficulties before them and ask them for their advice.
Such an interesting experiment being unfortunately out of the question, we reached Liverpool Street with the problem still unsolved. A porter from the Great Eastern Hotel came forward as I stepped out of the carriage, and, since I had made no arrangements to stay anywhere else, I allowed him to take possession of my bag. He conducted me up some stairs to the office, where, after a brief parley with the reception clerk, I was duly accepted as a desirable guest.
My first step, after going to my room and having a wash, was to telephone to Mr. Drayton. I was informed that he was still out at lunch, but had left a message, in case I rang up, that he would be able to see me any time between three and four. It was then getting on for half-past two, so, having treated myself to a glass of sherry and a sandwich, I started off straight away for Bedford Row.
I kept a pretty sharp look-out as I turned the corner into that respectable thoroughfare, but this time no one seemed to be taking the least interest in my movements. The street indeed was practically deserted, and it was almost with a feeling of neglect that I pushed open the front door and sought out my aged friend in his little rabbit hutch on the right. He informed me that the head of the firm had just returned, and conducted me upstairs with impressive formality. In his eyes I had evidently attained the rank of a distinguished and valuable client.
There was nothing of this about the bearing of Mr. Drayton, however, who greeted me with a cheerful lack of ceremony that was much more to my taste. As before, he insisted on my accepting one of his excellent cigars, and then, having asked me several questions as to how I was getting on, he proceeded to explain his reasons for bringing me up to town.
"I've something to tell you, Dryden," he said, "that I think you'll probably approve of. The fact is, we have been getting on with your affairs a good deal faster than I expected. For once in a way I have actually persuaded the British law to hustle itself, and, to cut a long story short, you can dip your fingers into Uncle Richard's money-box just as soon as ever you like." He leaned back in his chair and regarded me with a friendly twinkle. "I know you're tired of travelling, but I thought that this particular bit of news was worth a journey to town."
"I should rather think it was," I replied, with considerable enthusiasm. Then, jumping from my seat, I gripped his hand heartily in mine. "I'm blessed if I know how to thank you," I added. "I am no good at making pretty speeches, so you must take the will for the deed."
Mr. Drayton extricated his fingers, and examined them with a rather rueful smile.
"There's no need to apologise," he said. "Your gratitude's quite pressing enough for me." He rose to his feet and, turning towards the table, pulled forward a bundle of papers. "There are one or two things here that want signing, and then I think I had better take you round to the bank, before they shut, and introduce you to the manager. It's only just across the road in Holborn."
I sat down at the table, and scribbled my name in the spaces he pointed out. I suppose I ought really to have read the documents through, but so complete was my confidence in his good faith that I made no attempt at this elementary precaution.
"You have got a delightfully trustful nature, Dryden," he said with a sigh. "I wish I inspired the same sort of feeling in all my clients."
He rang the bell for his clerk, and, having informed the latter that he would be out for the next quarter of an hour, he picked up his hat and led the way downstairs.
"Are you staying in town to-night?" he enquired as we emerged into Bedford Row. "If so, and you have nothing better to do, come and dine with me at my club. It's very dull, but you're not likely to notice that after a fortnight at Greensea Island."
Had I chosen I think I might have been able to disillusion him on the subject of Greensea's dullness, but for the present at all events I still thought it wiser to keep my own counsel. So with a perfectly truthful remark that I was never bored in good company, I laughingly accepted his invitation, and without further discussion we turned down a narrow passage into the roar and bustle of Holborn.
Our interview with the bank was not a very formidable affair. We were shown into a private room, where a brisk, bald-headed little man with gold-rimmed eye-glasses was seated at a table several sizes too large for him.
Mr. Drayton introduced me as the heir to the Jannaway fortunes, and the manager—for such the bald-headed gentleman proved to be—congratulated me cordially on what he termed my "romantic inheritance." He announced that a sum of eleven thousand and forty-five pounds seven shillings and six-pence was lying in the office awaiting my attention—a statement which I tried to receive with becoming nonchalance. At his request I wrote out a specimen of my signature, receiving in return a useful-looking cheque-book. He then informed me that if at any time I needed expert financial advice he would be delighted to place himself at my disposal; after which he again shook hands with us both, and escorted us in state to the door of the bank.
"I like being a capitalist," I observed, as we stood for a moment on the step. "It's a much more restful life than the sea, and everybody one meets is so extraordinarily obliging."
Mr. Drayton chuckled appreciatively. "Wait till I've sent you in my bill," he retorted. "You'll have some excuse for feeling cynical then." He dived into his pocket and produced a card-case. "Here's the address of my club," he added, "in case you forget it. I must be off now, but I'll expect you at seven-thirty. Don't dress up and make yourself beautiful—come along just as you are."
With a friendly wave he disappeared amongst the traffic, while almost at the same moment a prowling taxi pulled up in the gutter. I moved forward and accosted the driver.
"Have you ever heard of a place called Angel Court, somewhere off Fleet Street?" I asked him.
He eyed me critically.
"Are you wantin' Inspector Campbell's office?" he enquired.
"Yes," I said. "Do you know him?"
He leaned across and opened the door. "Know 'im," he repeated rather scornfully. "Why, 'e pinched a bloke outer this very cab last March twelve-months. There ain't a taxi driver in London as don't know 'Foxy' Campbell."
Considerably impressed with this unexpected tribute to the Inspector's reputation, I climbed inside the vehicle. We sped away rapidly through a number of side turnings, coming out at last within a few yards of the bottom of Fleet Street. A moment later the taxi pulled up, and as I stepped out the driver jerked his thumb in the direction of a narrow archway.
"That's Hangel Court," he said. "You'll find the party you're looking for the second door on the right."
I thanked him, and, passing through the opening, entered a kind of paved yard, on three sides of which were quaint narrow little houses with old-fashioned window-panes. The second doorway bore a carefully polished brass plate, with the inscription "James Campbell. Private Enquiry Agent."
I was just hunting around for a bell when suddenly the door swung back, and, looking up, I found myself face to face with the Inspector himself. He was evidently on the point of going out, for he was wearing a bowler hat and carrying a walking-stick.
Directly he saw me his big square-jawed face lit up in a smile of welcome.
"Why, it's Mr. Dryden," he exclaimed, holding out his hand. "Well, this is a bit of luck. If you had been a moment later you'd just have missed me."
"It's my lucky day," I said "But, all the same, I mustn't keep you if you've got an appointment."
"It's nothing very important," he replied. "Come along inside. I can spare a minute or two anyhow."
He led the way into a comfortably furnished office on the right, and, pulling forward a chair, seated himself exactly opposite me. His large and very wide-awake blue eyes scanned me with friendly interest.
"I'd better start by apologising," he began. "You mustn't think I've forgotten your invitation to come down and have a bit of shooting, but the fact is I've been so busy I've had no time to write. People have been misbehaving themselves the last three weeks in a way you wouldn't believe; I suppose it's the hot weather."
"I shouldn't wonder," I said. "I've felt a little vicious myself once or twice." I tossed away the stump of the cigar I was holding and helped myself to another from the case which he offered me. "As far as the invitation goes," I added, "it's open permanently. I am not the sort of a person who wants a lot of notice. Just send along a wire as soon as the crime wave subsides."
"The very minute," he said with a twinkle. Then, putting his thumbs in his waistcoat, he leaned back comfortably in his chair. "And how are you getting on down there?" he asked. "You know, I take a special interest in your affairs, Mr. Dryden. There's something about Greensea Island that I didn't quite get to the bottom of, and no one likes to be hit in his professional pride."
He spoke in such a frank and good-humoured fashion that once again I was sorely tempted to make a clean breast of my difficulties. I stuck to my resolve, however, for the thought of Christine as the central figure in some public scandal was too utterly repugnant to be considered. At the same time I felt that in the case of Inspector Campbell a certain measure of honesty would undoubtedly be the best policy.
"As a matter of fact," I said, looking him straight in the face, "I've come here to ask you for your help."
He nodded his head.
"I thought you might," he said. "That was one reason why I gave you my address."
"The trouble is this," I went on bluntly. "I want you to do something for me, but for certain reasons which I can't explain it's quite impossible for me to answer any questions. I know it sounds pretty rotten, so I shan't be the least surprised or offended if you tell me to go to the devil."
He smiled genially. "That's the last thing I should do, Mr. Dryden. There's no sense in encouraging a rival firm." He paused. "You know your own business best, of course, but if there's any particular way in which I can be of assistance you can count on me from this minute."
"Well, there is," I confessed. "You remember a chap called Dr. Manning—the fellow who looked after my uncle when he was dying?"
Once again the Inspector nodded. "Yes," he answered. "I remember him very distinctly. He lived on a barge about three hundred yards above the island."
"That's the gentleman," I said. "He's living there still; in fact, to all intents and purposes he's my next-door neighbour. What I want you to do, if you can possibly spare the time, is to get me a little accurate information about his past life."
If my companion felt any surprise or curiosity he certainly didn't show it.
"That oughtn't to be very difficult," was his reply. "Doctors are fairly easy to trace as a rule." He reached across to the table and picked up a half sheet of notepaper. "Has he ever mentioned a particular town, or given you any idea of what hospital he was at?"
"He once told me he had been a ship's surgeon," I said. "It was probably a lie, so I shouldn't attach much importance to it."
The Inspector made a brief note. "One never knows," he observed hopefully. "People sometimes tell the truth by accident. They generally regret it afterwards."
A telephone bell tinkled sharply in the corner of the room, and with a word of excuse he rose from his seat and walked across to the instrument.
"Yes," he said. "I'm Campbell—speaking." There was a pause. "What's that?" Another and longer pause followed. "Oh, very well Don't let him go. I'll be round almost immediately."
He hung up the receiver and turned back to me.
"I'm sorry," he said, "but I'm afraid I shall have to run away after all. I have got to meet a man who wants to leave for Scotland this afternoon." He folded up the paper he was holding, and put it away carefully in his pocket "I'll get on to this little job at once. You shall hear from me directly there's any news."
"Thanks," I said gratefully; "and, meanwhile, if the wicked should happen to cease from troubling——"
"You'll not only hear from me, but see me."
He gave me a friendly grip, and, collecting his hat and stick, led the way out into the yard. We walked together under the archway and emerged on to the crowded pavement of Fleet Street.
"There's one thing I should like to add, Mr. Dryden," he said, just befor