GREENSEA ISLAND (continued 2)

"I shouldn't think there was much fear of that," returned the lawyer reassuringly. "He seems to be a most amiable person, judging from what I saw of him." He held out his hand. "Thanks for an A1 lunch," he added, "and I shall expect you back at the office some time between four and five."

I paid my bill, and we parted from each other on the pavement outside, but not before I had extracted from the Inspector (who had confessed to being "partial to a day's shooting") a promise that he would come down and spend a week-end with me at Greensea as soon as I was comfortably settled in. There was something about his stolid but shrewd personality which distinctly appealed to me, and, in addition to that I felt that, in view of the curious atmosphere which appeared to brood over my new inheritance I might find him an uncommonly useful friend.

My two companions started off together across Holborn, and, turning down Chancery Lane, I set out for Cockspur Street, where the head offices of the Planet Line are situated. It was not without certain misgivings that I mounted the big flight of stone steps and sent in my card by one of the clerks with a request for an interview with the secretary. In spite of what I had said to Mr. Drayton, I was in reality none too certain in my own mind that the management would be sufficiently obliging to relieve me from the remainder of my contract. The prospect of another long, monotonous voyage to Manaos and back was anything but an attractive one, and I waited for my summons in the outer office with considerable anxiety.

Luck, however, proved to be on my side. One of the principal directors, whom I knew quite well to speak to, happened to be engaged with the secretary at the very time when I was shown into the latter's room. Like myself, both these big-wigs had evidently lunched well, and when I told them my story and put forward my request they received it in the friendliest fashion possible.

"You may set your mind quite at rest, Mr. Dryden," said the director, with a sort of pompous affability. "I will lay your application before the Board myself, and you can take it from me that there is not likely to be any opposition. We shall be sorry to lose you, of course, but I am sure that none of my fellow directors would wish to stand in your way. Your record since you have been with us is one which entitles you to every consideration."

Stifling a modest blush, I expressed my thanks as well as I could manage; and after a little more conversation I shook hands with them both and took my leave.

I went down the steps and into the street, feeling rather like a man who has been unexpectedly released from gaol. As if by the wave of a fairy's wand, everything I wanted seemed suddenly to have come tumbling into my lap. I had an absurd desire to throw up my hat into the air and indulge in a triumphant dance round the Nelson Column, but the cold eye of a neighbouring policeman just saved me from this social indiscretion.

A glance at my watch showed me that it was close on half-past three, so, making my way across the square, I started back for Bedford Row. This time I was not kept waiting on the ground floor. Directly I arrived the old clerk conducted me upstairs to Mr. Drayton, whom I found fully prepared for me, with the papers that he wished me to sign laid out on his desk.

"Well," he said, "you're a bit early, but I'm ready for you. How did you get on with your resignation?"

I told him of the gratifying fashion in which I had been received, and he nodded his head, with the half-whimsical expression to which I was becoming accustomed.

"Nobody could help being civil to you, Dryden," he said. "You're so refreshingly straightforward."

I thought of the reserve I had practised on him with regard to my relations with Miss de Roda, and for a moment I felt very much of a humbug.

"What happened about the doctor?" I asked, by way of covering my embarrassment. "Was he very upset when he found that I wouldn't accept his offer?"

"He seemed a bit disgruntled; at least, it sounded like it over the telephone. I rather think he means to have another shot at you himself."

"I suppose you made it quite plain to him that I was in earnest?" I asked.

"Quite," returned the lawyer, "but he's evidently one of those obstinate cusses who won't take no for an answer. Anyhow, he insisted on pressing me for your address. I told him that as far as I knew you were staying on the Neptune for the present, so perhaps he'll turn up and plead his cause in person."

"He'll have a journey for nothing if he does," I said. "Still, that's his pigeon, not mine."

I took a seat at the table, and, after reading through the various documents, which Mr. Drayton explained to me in turn, I signed the lot one after the other.

"Now we can go straight ahead," he observed, "and get the whole business cleared up. I have sent a line to Bascomb telling him that you are his new employer, so you will be able to go and inspect your property without any fear of his setting the dog on you."

"That's comforting," I said with a laugh. "It would be a rotten beginning to be torn in pieces on one's own landing-stage." I rose from my chair and began to collect my hat and umbrella. "I shall run down there to-morrow or the next day," I added. "It just depends how soon I can leave the ship."

"Well, let's hear how you get on," he said, giving me his hand, "and if I can be of the slightest use to you in any way don't hesitate to let me know. That's the only excuse for a lawyer's existence."

I thanked him once more with a gratitude that was entirely genuine, and, feeling how extraordinarily lucky I was to have dropped across such a good friend just when I needed him, I turned up my collar and set out again on my return journey to Charing Cross.

A clammy, drizzling mist still pervaded everything, but, disdaining a cab in my present high spirits, I strode briskly along over the wet pavements. My inward cheerfulness must to some extent have been reflected in my face, for on two occasions I noticed a draggled-looking passer-by glance rather curiously at me, as though he wondered what on earth I could find to be so happy about on such a damnable afternoon.

When I reached the station I found that my luck was still in. The train I wanted was standing at the platform, and a minute later I was being whirled eastwards in the comfortably padded seat of a half-empty smoker. It had certainly been a well-arranged and satisfying day.

A short walk from Mark Lane, where I got out, brought me to the Docks entrance. The fog here was thicker than ever, and a general air of murky desolation showed that work for the day had come to a compulsory standstill. I had taken my bearings in the morning, however, and, without much fear of missing my way, I struck out into the uninviting gloom.

On the near side of where the Neptune was lying there was a long stretch of empty dock, with a tall, double lamp-post guarding its extreme point. I made this landmark safely, and, keeping the edge of the basin in view on my right, I advanced carefully along the wet cobblestones.

I had covered perhaps some thirty yards, and was just thinking of the hot whisky and water that I would order as soon as I got on board, when I suddenly became conscious of a quick shuffle of footsteps behind me. Before I could so much as blink an eyelash something dull and heavy came down with a sickening whack on the back of my head. The soft hat that I was wearing was driven down violently over my face, and, half-stunned by the blow, I stumbled forward on to my hands and knees.

What happened after that will always remain a trifle blurred. I have a vague impression of trying to scramble to my feet, and of receiving a violent shove which sent me sprawling sideways, with one arm and leg dangling over the edge of the parapet. I remember making a frantic clutch at the slippery stone in a vain effort to save myself; then the ground seemed to give way beneath me, and I went lurching wildly down through space into the black water below.

CHAPTER FOUR

I am a pretty good swimmer as people go, but when one is fully clothed and three parts dazed, a sudden plunge into a dirty dock is apt to prove a trifle disconcerting. I went under completely, and, although I struck out at once with the blind instinct of self-preservation, it was several moments before I managed to struggle back to the surface.

Fortunately for me my hat had come off in the fall, and, treading water with frantic energy, I was able to take a hasty survey of my position. Everything was more or less hidden by the mist, but a few yards away I could just make out the black face of the dock wall rising up dimly through the gloom.

If I hadn't been hampered by a sopping overcoat I could have covered the distance in two or three strokes. As it was, that cursed garment clung round my legs with a persistency that nearly finished off my career for good and all. Twice I was dragged under again entirely, and it was in a very exhausted state that I at last reached out a hand and grabbed hold of a slimy iron ring that was sticking out of the wall a foot or so above my head.

I was so utterly done that I could not have gone another foot. I just clung to this support, shaking the water out of my eyes, and gulping down mouthfuls of fresh air into my half-choked lungs. For all I knew the gentleman who had shoved me in might still be standing on the parapet above waiting to finish me off with a convenient brickbat, but for the moment I was too occupied in getting my breath to worry about him or anything else.

As that first feeling of suffocation passed off, however, the full extent of my danger suddenly came home to me. I realised with a sort of dull shock that nothing except the ring stood between me and death. If I once let go my hold I knew that I should sink like a stone, and, giddy and exhausted as I was, I could hardly expect my strength to last out for more than a few minutes.

Taking a firmer grip with both hands, I stared up desperately at the face of the wall. There was not much encouragement there, for the six feet of smooth and slippery concrete that met my eyes showed no trace of a crack throughout its entire surface. As far as I could see, I was trapped like a rat in a bucket, and for the first time in my life I felt a numbing chill of despair creeping through my heart.

With a last effort I twisted myself round and faced out into the grey void of the dock.

"Help!" I shouted at the top of my voice. "Help!"

With a staggering unexpectedness that nearly made me let go my grip, an answering hail came back through the mist.

"Wot's the matter? Were are you?'

"Here!" I sung out frantically. "In the water. Up against the wall."

"'Ang on, then," holloaed a gruff, encouraging voice. "'Ang on! mate! I'm a-comin'."

From a little way off I heard the sudden splash and creak of oars, and no music could have rivalled the beauty of that familiar sound. Nearer and nearer it came, while with deadened fingers I clasped the ring and battled fiercely against a growing feeling of faintness. At last, just when I felt that I could not hold on for another second, a vague blur of light broke out before me in the darkness. The ghostly outline of a boat's stern loomed up suddenly into view, and then, almost before I knew what was happening, a strong hand had gripped me by the elbow, and I was being dragged in over the gunwale. Grateful but helpless, I flopped down on to the wet floorboards, where I lay dripping and panting like a newly landed fish.

"Seems to me I come along about the right time, eh, mate?"

The gleam of a lantern flickered close above my head, and a bearded, friendly face, half hidden by a sou'-wester, peered down into mine.

"A drop o' rum's wot you want," continued my rescuer. "'Ere, 'ave a go at this; that'll put some guts into yer."

He produced a small flat bottle from his pocket, and, kneeling down beside me, tilted some of its contents into my mouth. The stuff was raw spirit of the fiercest kind, and as a prescription it certainly carried out his prophecy. With a spluttering gasp I struggled up into a sitting position, while, replacing the cork, the owner of the bottle contemplated his handiwork with an approving smile.

"Nothin' like a drop o' rum," he observed. "There's many a bloke walkin' round now who'd be dead and buried if them blarsted teetotallers 'ad their way."

In a dazed fashion I began to try and express my gratitude, but he cut me short by clapping me on the shoulder.

"That's orl right, mate! You ain't the fust I've pulled out o' this 'ere dock—not by a long way."

He thrust the bottle back into his pocket, and, slipping an arm under my shoulder, hoisted me up on to one of the seats.

"Reg'lar death trap in a fog," he went on, "an' I've told 'em so a score o' times. They ought to 'ave a chain along the edge be rights, but Lor' love yer, they don't care 'ow many's drownded—not they!"

He picked up the lantern and replaced it in the bows.

"Were was you tryin' to get to, mate?" he enquired.

Once more I fought back the stupor which was stealing over my brain.

"Do you know the Neptune?" I asked. "She came in early this morning."

"The Neptune!" he repeated. "W'y, she's lyin' just above us."

"I'm the second officer," I said, "and if you'll see me aboard I'll be devilish grateful to you. I've had a crack on the head that's knocked me a bit silly."

"I'll get yer there orl right, sir," he replied at once, with a sudden tinge of respectfulness in his voice. "Just you sit quiet and leave it to me, sir. I'll 'ave yer back inside of a couple o' minutes."

He seized his sculls, and the next moment we were moving, rapidly along through the mist under the shadow of the dock wall. I sat there in a kind of half-conscious state, watching his figure swaying backwards and forwards, and wondering vaguely how long it would be before I slipped down again into the bottom of the boat.

I have a dim recollection of arriving at the foot of some dark, slimy steps, and of scrambling feebly up with the help of my companion's arm. Then we were stumbling endlessly forward over the cobblestones, till at last the mist changed into a yellow haze, and the huge bulk of the Neptune reared itself up on our right.

By a fierce effort of will I just summoned enough strength to drag my failing legs up the gangway. Beyond that I know nothing, for as my feet touched the deck the world suddenly swayed round beneath me, and I felt myself dropping helplessly into a black and bottomless gulf.

* * * * * * *

"Well, my lad, and what have you got to say for yourself?"

The voice sounded curiously familiar, and, opening my eyes, I blinked up vaguely into the genial face of Ross. For a second or two I lay staring at him in a kind of dull perplexity. Then, as if by magic, all my drowsiness seemed to clear away, and I started up with a jerk that sent a sharp stab of pain shooting through my head.

Ross put out a restraining hand. "Whoa there!" he said. "Take it easy. Take it easy."

I had already made a couple of interesting discoveries. I was in pyjamas, and I was sitting up in my bunk in my own cabin, with a broad shaft of sunlight streaming in on me through the open porthole.

"Hullo!" I said, looking round. "How long have I been here?"

Ross consulted his watch. "It's twelve o'clock now," he replied, "all but a few minutes. You have been wallowing in exactly fifteen hours of sweet and refreshing slumber." He sat down on the edge of my bunk and placed his fingers on my pulse. "How do you feel now?" he asked.

I considered the problem with some care. "I've got a rotten head," I said, "and I feel devilish hungry."

He let go my wrist and rose to his feet.

"Let's have a look at your nut," he remarked.

He bent down over me and very carefully parted the hair at the back of my head.

"You'll do," he announced, after a brief inspection. "You've had a nasty bump of some kind, but there's no real damage done. That's the best of these thick skulls!"

In view of his medical services I allowed the insult to pass.

"Tell me, Ross," I said, "what happened when I got on board? I remember crawling up the gangway, but after that everything's a complete blank."

"The most important thing that happened," he replied, "was the interruption of my tea. I was just sitting down peacefully when someone came bursting in with the news that you were throwing fits on the deck. With my usual unselfishness I at once hurled down my bread and butter and bundled up to render first aid. I found you stretched out like a piece of wet tripe, in charge of a whiskered old fossil, who told me he had found you floating about the next door dock. His own view of the case was that you'd 'basked your napper up agin a bit o' stone,' and from what I could see his diagnosis appeared to be more or less accurate. Anyhow, I gave him five bob for his trouble—I thought you were worth that—and then I got hold of the purser, who was still on board, and between us we carted you down here and conducted a little post-mortem on our own. There didn't seem to be a vast lot the matter. You certainly had a pretty healthy bruise on the back of your head, but knowing that you'd got a skull like an ox I wasn't much worried about that. I thought you would be all right if I let you sleep it off, so we shoved you into pyjamas and tucked you up nice and comfy in your little white cot."

He paused, and, lighting himself a cigarette, contemplated me with a humorous smile.

"There you have been ever since," he finished, "snoring away in the most disgusting fashion. They started shifting cargo at six o'clock, and making the devil's own row about it, but it seemed to act on you as a sort of lullaby. You've simply lain there smiling and grunting like a new-born infant, while I've had to hang around all the morning waiting for you to wake up and make your apologies."

"You won't regret it," I said consolingly. "I've got something in the way of yarns for you that you don't hear every day in the week."

"Well, you had better get some grub inside you before you start it," he interrupted. "No one can be really chatty on an empty stomach." He moved towards the door. "I believe there is still a cook lurking about the premises somewhere," he added. "You lie quiet and I'll go and forage around and see what I can find."

He left the cabin, and, sinking back in a rather gingerly fashion, I took up a comfortable position amongst the pillows. In spite of a racking headache, my mind itself seemed to be in excellent working order. The various events of the previous afternoon stood out clear and distinct in my memory, and, lying there with my eyes shut, I allowed my thoughts to travel slowly and carefully over the whole of my experiences up to the moment when I had fallen unconscious upon the Neptune's deck.

From this retrospective effort one fact emerged with startling clearness. However wild and incredible it might seem, someone had undoubtedly attempted to murder me. There had been a whole-hearted efficiency about the attack which rendered any other conclusion impossible. If I had merely been knocked on the head from behind I might have attributed the kind attention to some prowling dock rat who had suddenly seen the chance of picking up a little money, but the recollection of that extra shove which had sent me sprawling into the water put this explanation altogether out of court. It was murder, not loot, which had been my assailant's object, and nothing but the providential thickness of my skull had robbed him of success.

So far from clearing up the riddle, however, this only made things more unaccountable than ever. Why on earth anyone in the world should be thirsting for my blood was a problem for which I could find no conceivable solution. No doubt I have managed to make some enemies amongst the various crews I have had to handle in my time, but, after all, people don't attempt to split one's skull unless they have a rather more pressing reason than mere personal dislike.

Gradually, and with a kind of half-incredulous hesitation, my thoughts began to turn in another direction. Could it be possible that this adventure was in some way or other connected with my new inheritance? Ever since I had received that unexpected telegram at Leixoes I seemed to have been moving in a vague atmosphere of mystery and danger, which increased rather than lessened with each fresh discovery that I made. My interview with Miss de Roda had been a strange enough opening to the whole business, while the various facts that I had subsequently picked up from Mr. Drayton only served to strengthen the impression left on me by that amazing incident.

There was now little doubt in my mind that my late lamented uncle had been a pretty complete blackguard, and that in attributing his passion for solitude to a guilty conscience the detective had been more or less on the right track. Quite possibly, as I had originally guessed, de Roda himself had been mixed up with some of his shady transactions, in which case it was only natural that the former's niece should have been a trifle upset on hearing my news. This at least was a possible explanation, and, so far as I could see, the only one that fitted in with the facts of the case.

Where it failed to be particularly illuminating, however, was with regard to my attempted assassination. Why my uncle's sins—if they were sins—should be visited upon me in this prompt and drastic fashion was a bewildering question which I was quite unable to answer. After all, I had had nothing to do with his confounded past, and, unless there was another heir lurking in the background, it was difficult to see how my departure from this planet could possibly benefit anybody.

Besides, even if it did, there still remained the problem of my assailant's identity. With the exception of Ross and Mr. Drayton himself no one had known of my appointment in Bedford Row, while even I myself had been quite unaware what time I should be likely to return to the ship. If the attack had been deliberately planned, it seemed almost certain that someone must have been spying on my movements, since no other theory would account for their being on the right spot at the right moment.

Suddenly, as if it were a sort of inspiration, there came back to my memory the one incident of the previous day which so far I had overlooked. Who was the gentleman with the broken nose who had been lounging about so suspiciously in the neighbourhood of Mr. Drayton's office? Had he really been waiting there for me, and could it have been his hand that had stretched me out in that particularly neat fashion upon the dock causeway? Once again I recalled the furtive eagerness with which he had been apparently watching my movements, and the prompt way in which he had slunk off as soon as he had seen that I was looking at him. The more I thought it over the more likely it seemed that he had been in some way or other connected with my adventure, and I could have kicked myself for not having tackled him then and there, in accordance with my first impulse.

Things being as they were, however, it was no good worrying over past mistakes. I had quite enough to occupy my attention with thinking about the immediate future, which from all appearances promised to be a singularly lively one. From a purely commonsense point of view the right thing to do was obviously to lay the whole matter in front of Mr. Drayton. I felt that I had in him a shrewd and friendly ally, who would at once take every possible step to get to the bottom of the mystery. Unfortunately, I was faced with the same difficulty as on the previous afternoon—I could not very well take him into my confidence without telling him the complete story. The same objection held good in the case of Ross, the only other person I could think of to whom I could turn for help. I should have to tell him something, of course, but, no matter what happened, I was still determined not to introduce Miss de Roda's name into the affair so long as it could possibly be avoided.

At this point in my meditations the door was pushed open, and Ross himself came back into the cabin. He was carrying a well-loaded tray, from which an appetising odour of coffee mounted up into the air.

"I didn't know what you wanted," he observed, "but I've managed to rake together something in the way of a meal."

I glanced down at the rack of nicely browned toast, the tempting heap of scrambled egg, and the little white rolls of fresh butter.

"It's not so bad," I remarked, "for a scratch effort."

"Well, you get outside it," he replied, "and then we'll hear what you have got to say for yourself. You don't mind my having a gasper, I suppose?"

He seated himself on my sea-going chest, and, feeling in his waistcoat pocket, produced a battered-looking packet of cigarettes. While he was thus engaged I set to work on the tray in front of me, and in a very little while I had polished off its contents with a thoroughness that would have done credit to a flight of locusts.

"That's better," I said, with a contented sigh. "Now take away the tray and give me one of those poisonous things you're smoking. I must keep you company, if only in self-defence."

He did as I asked him, and, having secured a light, I settled back into my old position amongst the pillows.

"Take it slow," he repeated encouragingly. "We've got all the rest of the day ahead of us."

Beginning at the moment when I left the ship, I started out to tell him the story of my previous day's experiences. I only made one omission, and that was to leave out all reference to the broken-nosed stranger in Bedford Row. My idea that the latter might be in some way or other connected with the de Rodas may have been a far-fetched one, but, as I have said before, I had no intention of taking any risks. I knew that underneath Ross's careless manner there lurked an uncommonly wide awake intelligence, and that the least hint might be sufficient to put him on the right track.

I therefore cut out that particular incident completely, and went straight ahead to a description of my meeting with Mr. Drayton and of the various adventures which had followed our interview. Step by step I related the whole proceedings, until I had brought my story right down to the moment when I had spun round and pitched headlong on the unpleasantly solid planking of the Neptune's deck.

Squatting on the chest and scattering tobacco ash generously all over the floor, Ross listened to me with the closest attention. He made no attempt to interrupt me until I had finished, and even then he remained for a moment peacefully smoking, and contemplating me with a sort of amused interest.

"It's a shamefully unfair world," he observed at last. "Here have I been hunting for adventure all my life, and hardly ever finding it, while, without so much as lifting a finger, you go and plop bang into the middle of the finest shilling shocker I've ever heard of." He tossed away the stump of his cigarette through the open port-hole. "I always said you were born to be the hero of a romance," he added; "and, by Jove, you've struck it this time with both feet."

"I'll take your word for it," I replied ruefully. "At present I feel as if I'd struck it chiefly with my head." I raised myself on my elbow and looked across to where he was sitting. "Tell me, Ross," I said, "what do you make of it all? Do you really think this cracked skull of mine can have anything to do with the rest of the business?"

"Well, it looks a bit like it," he answered drily. "I can't imagine your having any personal enemy sufficiently savage to try and blot you off the face of the earth. You are such an amiable lad—as second officers go."

"But there's no one I can think of who would benefit a farthing by my death," I objected.

"You never know," he returned hopefully. "There may be some bloody-minded next of kin who is simply thirsting to step into your shoes." He paused. "If it isn't that," he went on, "it must be one of those family vendettas, like they have in Corsica. Your uncle probably played a rotten trick on somebody, and they've sworn an oath to exterminate the entire breed."

"Thanks," I said with a laugh. "You're a comforting sort of blighter, Ross."

He hoisted himself up, and came across to where I was lying.

"It's all right," he said. "I'm really devilish interested, and if there's any way in which I can help you can count me in to the limit." He grinned mischievously. "I couldn't help pulling your leg though; the whole thing's so gorgeously fantastic."

"I suppose it is," I admitted. "At the same time there's a good solid chunk of fact about it somewhere—at least, judging by the way my head's aching." I lay back again on the pillow to try and ease the pain. "The question is," I added, "what the deuce am I to do next?"

"The first thing to do is to get well," he answered. "Then it seems to me that your best plan will be to go down to this mysterious island of yours and have a good squint round. If there's any dirty work going on you're more likely to get on the track there than anywhere else."

"That's my notion," I agreed. "In fact, I'd pretty well fixed up to take a trip down there to-morrow. You had better come along too if you really want to make yourself useful. I'll get a car, and we'll do the thing in style."

He shook his head "Can't manage to-morrow. I have promised to go and look up my sister at Croydon. Suppose we say Thursday instead. You will be none the worse for another day's rest."

"Thursday will do just as well," I said. "It doesn't matter which day as long as I send a line to this fellow Bascomb to say we're coming."

"Right you are," he replied. "It's just the sort of thing that will suit me down to the ground. I've always felt I had a bit of a turn in the Sherlock Holmes line." He stooped down and picked up the tray off the floor. "And now," he added more seriously, "that's quite enough talking for the present. What you've got to do is to lie perfectly quiet and not worry yourself about anything. I will look in later and see how you are, and in the meanwhile you try and get to sleep again if you can. You will probably be as right as ninepence in the morning, but one mustn't take too many liberties, even with a skull like yours."

He nodded in an encouraging fashion, and, backing out carefully with the tray, closed the door behind him.

I did my best to follow his advice, though it was not altogether an easy business. When one has fallen in love for the first time, suddenly come into a fortune, and just escaped being murdered, even the best disciplined mind is apt to prove a little restive. However, in spite of my headache I managed at last to sink into a welcome state of drowsiness, which lasted until well on into the afternoon.

About five o'clock a steward brought me another light meal. By this time I was feeling distinctly better, and, after I had done justice to the food and enjoyed a comfortable pipe, I dropped off into a really sound sleep without any further difficulty.

It was broad daylight when I awoke again, to find Ross, fully dressed in shore-going kit, standing beside my bunk.

"Had a good night?" he enquired kindly.

"Not so bad," I said, stretching myself with a yawn. "What time is it?"

"Nearly nine," he answered. "I looked in after tea yesterday, but you were well down to it then, so I didn't disturb you. Headache better?"

"It's more than better," I said thankfully. "It's gone."

"Well, don't presume on it. Take things nice and easy this morning. Just potter around and order the car, and write and tell this prize-fighter gentleman of yours that we're coming down to inspect the island to-morrow. You had better give him instructions to wash the dog and shave himself properly. There's nothing like putting servants in their right place to start with."

"You needn't bother," I said with some dignity. "I know what's due to my position."

He took himself off with a parting chuckle, and, rolling out of my bunk, I made my way to the bathroom, where a refreshingly cold tub put the finishing touch to my complete recovery.

I was returning along the corridor when I ran into the steward, who was coming towards me with a note in his hand.

"I was looking for you, sir," he announced. "A special messenger has just brought this letter aboard. He said there was no answer."

He handed me the envelope, which I glanced at with some curiosity. It was addressed in a hand that was quite unfamiliar to me—a small, clear writing with a good deal of character about it.

"I hope you're better, sir?" the man added politely.

"Yes, thanks," I said. "I am quite all right this morning. You can lay breakfast for me in the saloon; I shall be along in about a quarter of an hour."

I turned into the cabin, and throwing my towel and sponge on to the table, I slit open the envelope and pulled out its contents. One glance at the signature sent a queer, familiar thrill trickling through my heart.

"DEAR MR. DRYDEN,—There is something which I feel I ought to say to you, but I cannot very well tell you in a letter. If you are still on the ship and you get this note in time, will you meet me outside the Dover Street Tube Station at half-past two this afternoon? I shall not keep you more than a few minutes.

"Yours sincerely, "CHRISTINE DE RODA."

Christine! Christine de Roda!

Somehow or other it was exactly right—just the name I should have chosen out of all others if providence had had the happy inspiration to consult me in the matter.

Repeating it aloud to myself with a curious sense of satisfaction, I sat down on the bunk with the letter in my hand. For a moment or so the whole thing seemed almost too good to be true. In spite of the fact that I had told her to write to me if there was any way in which I could be of use, this prompt summons was about the last thing that I had really expected.

Turning to the note, I read it through a second time from start to finish. It was written on half a sheet of paper, and there was no address, and nothing to show from what part of London it had been sent off. Perhaps the messenger could have given me some information, but he had doubtless left the ship by this time, and I could hardly dash after him in my pyjamas in order to question him on the point.

What, I wondered, could the mysterious "something" be which had led her to make this sudden and apparently impulsive appointment? In her own opinion it must be a matter of urgent importance, otherwise I felt pretty certain she would not have taken such a step. Could it possibly have anything to do with my adventure in the next door dock? If that were the case, her good offices were certainly a trifle belated, though it warmed my heart to think that she might be feeling anxious on my account.

Anyhow, above everything else there emerged the one radiant fact that within a few hours I should be seeing her and talking to her again. In view of that, all other matters seemed ridiculously unimportant, and it was in a very cheerful mood that I jumped up from my bunk and set about the job of putting on some clothes.

The morning dragged horribly, as mornings have a way of doing when there is a particularly interesting afternoon ahead of them. I filled out some of the time by writing to Bascomb, telling him that I was coming down with a friend the next day to inspect my new property, and that he had better arrange to have some food ready for us. I felt no little curiosity about my uncle's queer retainer. If he were really straight, as Mr. Drayton believed, he might certainly prove a most useful ally. Up to the present, however, I was inclined to reserve judgment on the point. My recent experiences did not encourage a hasty confidence in anybody.

By half-past twelve I was so tired of hanging about that I decided to go ashore. I could lunch somewhere in town, which would be more amusing than having a solitary meal in the saloon, and there would just be comfortable time afterwards to hunt up a car for the following day's trip.

I took the train to Charing Cross, and getting out there, strolled leisurely along through the busy streets until I came to Piccadilly. I knew nothing about West End restaurants, but with such a magnificent array to choose from I felt that I could not go very far wrong. After inspecting the outside of one or two, I eventually decided on Hatchett's. It was fairly close to Dover Street, and there was a big motor establishment just opposite, which would doubtless be able to supply me with what I wanted.

I lunched handsomely, spending at least three-quarters of an hour over the operation; and then, in that tranquil frame of mind which follows such pleasant extravagance, I sauntered across the road to the garage. I was received languidly by a young man with pink socks and beautifully brushed hair. Having listened to my requirements with a bored air, he led the way to the back of the premises, where he waved his hand towards a smart and powerful-looking Napier.

"Not a bad bus," he observed wearily. "She'll get you there and back all right."

This being the exact service that I needed, I entered at once upon the question of terms. These were soon settled, and after arranging for the car to call for us the next morning, I emerged again into the roar of Piccadilly.

It was now five and twenty minutes past two. With my heart beating a shade quicker than usual, I crossed back to the corner of Dover Street and took up my position outside the Tube Station. There was another man standing there—a fat, pompous person in a bowler hat, who kept on glancing at his watch. He, too, was evidently expecting somebody, and his impatience struck me as being singularly unreasonable. Whomsoever he was waiting for, he could not possibly want to see them as much as I wanted to see Christine.

Through the open window of one of the neighbouring houses a mellow-toned clock chimed out the half-hour. The sound had hardly died away when the big doors of the lift slid noisily back, and Christine herself stepped out into the sunshine. She was dressed in white, and she looked so deliciously beautiful that I had a sudden frantic impulse to seize her in my arms and kiss her before the whole street. It was a close thing, but fortunately I just managed to recover in time. The next moment I was holding her hand and making a gallant effort to appear more or less in my senses.

"You are as punctual as a cuckoo clock," I said. "You came out exactly as the half-hour struck."

She smiled up at me in the old, delightful way, but there was a troubled expression in her brown eyes that it went to my heart to notice.

"I had to be punctual," she answered quietly. "We can only spend a few minutes together, and there are several things that I must speak to you about."

I let go her hand with some reluctance. "Well, a few minutes are better than nothing," I said as cheerfully as possible.

"Where can we go to?" she asked, with a quick glance up and down the street. "Do you know any place close by where there won't be a lot of people?"

"There's a tea-shop at the corner of Bond Street," I said. "It's not likely to be crowded at this time of day."

She nodded her head. "That will do. I can't stand and talk to you here. Somebody might see us."

"Come along then," I remarked, and, turning the corner into Piccadilly, I led the way along the crowded pavement until we reached the establishment in question.

It was a pleasant, quiet place, panelled in brown oak, and except for a solitary couple near the door we appeared to be the only customers. We walked across to the far corner and seated ourselves at one of the empty tables.

"What shall I order?" I asked, as a tall, flaxen-haired lady advanced with dignity from behind the counter.

Christine laid down the menu which I had handed her. "I don't want anything except a cup of black coffee," she said. "I have just had lunch."

"So have I," I rejoined, "and a jolly good one it was too."

I announced our simple needs to the waitress, who returned in a few minutes with the desired refreshment, and set it down in front of my companion. I could not help noticing the gleam of reluctant admiration with which she took in every detail of Christine's appearance.

The latter filled up one of the two little cups and passed it across to me.

"Mr. Dryden," she began in a low voice, "I want you if you will to tell me exactly what has happened with regard to your uncle's property. I know it must sound an extraordinary question, but I am only asking it in what I believe to be your own interests."

"Of course I'll tell you," I said. "It's the one thing I've been longing to do for the last two days."

I took a sip of the coffee and sat back in my chair.

"To put it badly," I continued, "it amounts to this. My uncle died without making a will, and unless he was married—which doesn't seem to be the case—I come into everything that he left behind him. As far as I know at present, the 'everything' consists of about ten thousand pounds in cash and a place called Greensea Island, off the Essex coast."

There was a short pause.

"Greensea Island," she repeated slowly. "Was that where your uncle lived?"

"It was where he lived," I said, "and it was also where he died. He bought the place about six months ago, and shut himself up there with a dog and a retired prize-fighter. Mr. Drayton, the lawyer, has got hold of a notion that he was frightened of somebody or something. It does look rather like it, because from all accounts he never went to the mainland, and never allowed any visitors on the island."

Her brown eyes were fixed curiously on mine.

"Have you any idea what he was frightened about?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Not the faintest; but, from the way my father used to talk of him when I was a boy, I can quite imagine that he had all sorts of unpleasant things on his conscience."

There was another and longer pause.

"What are your plans?" she asked at length "What are you going to do?"

"I propose to carry on the family traditions," I replied. "I've chucked my job with the Planet people, and I am going to settle down on Greensea Island and see how I like it."

The look of troubled distress deepened in her face.

"You mean to live there—alone?"

"It depends how I get along with the dog and the prize-fighter," I said. "If they turn out amiable I shall probably invite them to stay on."

Christine pushed away her untasted cup of coffee and drew her chair a little nearer the table.

"Mr. Dryden," she said again, "you were telling me the truth just now. You do honestly believe that I am trying to act in your own interests?"

"I trust you from the bottom of my heart," I answered simply.

"Then, whatever you do, don't go to Greensea Island by yourself. Take some friend with you—somebody that you can absolutely rely on. I can't explain, but there are reasons which would make it very unsafe for you to be there alone." She hesitated for a moment. "It's even possible you might be in danger of your life."

"Isn't it just a little late to tell me that?" I asked.

Her hand, which was resting on the cloth, suddenly tightened.

"What do you mean?"

"Why," I said, "it's only by the grace of heaven and an exceptionally thick skull that I happen to be here now. When I was on my way back to the ship after seeing Mr. Drayton, somebody banged me on the head from behind and threw me into the dock. It was about the most honest attempt at murder that ever managed to go astray."

The horror and amazement in her eyes were quite obviously genuine.

"But it's impossible," she broke out; "impossible!"

"It's true enough," I returned. "If you don't believe me, I can show you the crack in my skull."

She stared at me with the same expression of frightened bewilderment. "I—I don't understand," she faltered.

"I am sure you don't," I said. "Neither do I. Still, the fact remains that there's someone strolling around with an unsatisfied longing for my blood, and I suppose they are just as likely as not to follow me down to Greensea." I paused. "Would you advise me not to go there at all?" I asked deliberately.

For a moment she made no answer. She seemed to be torn by some inward conflict that was plainly visible in her face.

"No, no," she replied, almost in a whisper. "The place is yours, and——" She broke off with a little helpless gesture of her hands. "Oh, I don't know what to say," she finished wretchedly. "You must go if you want to. I can't tell you any more."

"You have told me quite enough," I said gratefully. "If I don't manage to take care of myself now, I shall deserve everything I get."

The clock on the wall began to strike three. With a slight start she glanced up at it; then, pushing back her chair, she rose suddenly to her feet. I made a movement as if to accompany her.

"No, please," she said hurriedly, putting out her hand. "Don't come with me. We must say good-bye here."

"But I'm not going to say good-bye," I objected. "It's a word that doesn't exist as far as you and I are concerned." I took her hand in both of mine, regardless of the flaxen-haired lady who was surveying us coldly from behind the counter. "Tell me when I shall see you again," I demanded. "I can't let you go until you do."

She shook her head. "I don't know. Perhaps we shall never meet after this." She pulled her hand away and stood looking up into my face with wide-open, unhappy eyes. "In any case," she said, "whatever happens, will you always remember that I tried to help you?"

As she spoke she turned away, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the restaurant. The next moment she had stepped out through the open door, and disappeared into the stream of people that hurried ceaselessly past.

CHAPTER FIVE

"By Jove!" exclaimed Ross enviously. "You are a lucky ruffian!"

We had halted the car at the top of a gently rising slope, and there, stretched out below us, lay the shining expanse of the Danewell Estuary. For a couple of miles in either direction a winding belt of silver gleamed and sparkled in the bright morning sunshine. On the left it narrowed gradually towards the small tidal haven of Barham Lock, from which point one could just trace the placid course of the river Shell, meandering along idly through the marshes. On the right it opened out by degrees into an ever-broadening channel, until far away in the distance, where a faint haze brooded over everything, it merged itself imperceptibly into the grey waters of the North Sea.

I pointed to a small, irregularly shaped island which lay out in mid-stream, almost exactly ahead of us.

"That," I said, "is Greensea."

Shading his eyes with his hand, Ross gazed down at my new inheritance. One could not see very much of the house, for the straggling cluster of trees that surrounded it practically hid it from the mainland. All that was plainly visible was a neglected-looking landing-stage with a roughly built wooden boat-house alongside.

"Seems nice and private," he observed. "Just the place for a retiring nature like yours." He took another glance, and then turned to me with an air of disappointed enquiry. "I don't see the dog or the prize-fighter though. Why aren't they standing on the quay waiting for us? It is very disrespectful of them."

"Never mind," I said. "Perhaps they're getting lunch ready. That's a heap more important."

We ran down the short incline into the little hamlet of Pen Mill, and pulled up outside the old-fashioned Gunner's Arms. For a moment I sat where I was, and looked round me with contented eyes. It was nearly five years since my last visit, and to my huge satisfaction nothing seemed to have changed during the interval. There was the same village green, which had always reminded me of the cover of Jackanapes. The same geese, or what appeared to be the same geese, waddled happily about in the sunshine, the same clumsy boats were moored up alongside the old stone jetty, and the big bow-windows of the inn still leaned out crazily towards the water. I took in a long, deep breath, and stepped down from the car.

"I don't want to interfere in any way with the programme," remarked Ross, "but what about a drink?" He glanced up at the picturesque front of the Gunner's Arms. "I suppose they sell drink in this interesting ruin?"

"Any amount of it," I replied, brushing off the dust from my coat. "It's where my skipper—Bobby Dean—and I used to come when we were paddling around in the Harwich Patrol."

I led the way up the flight of wooden steps, and entered the low-ceilinged, panelled room, where I had spent many a cheerful half-hour in past days. Here I found the first traces of Time's handiwork. Instead of the apple-cheeked old landlady whom I remembered so well, an enormous, genial-looking man in his shirt-sleeves came forward to take our orders.

"Yes, sir," he said, in answer to my enquiry, "Mrs. Green's been dead and gone a matter o' two years come next July. Went off sudden like as you might say, and the house was put up to auction. I'd had my eye on it for some time, and I bought the whole place, lock, stock, and barrel."

He crossed to the bar, returning in a few moments with the whiskies and sodas that we had asked for.

"You've not been in these parts for some time, sir?" he hazarded.

"Not since the war," I replied; "but you will probably see something of me in future." I took a drink and set down the tumbler. "I am the new owner of Greensea Island," I added.

He looked at me with sudden curiosity. "Well I never! Is that so, sir? Why, only yesterday somebody was saying that a nephew of Mr. Jannaway's had come into the whole property."

"That's right," I said. "Mr. Jannaway was my uncle."

He received the information in silence, but I thought I could detect a faint change of expression in his face.

"Did you know him?" I asked, striking a match to light my pipe.

"No, sir, I can't say that I did. No one didn't know Mr. Jannaway, not in a manner o' speaking. I don't believe he ever come ashore, not the whole time he was on the island."

"Perhaps you have met his man—Bascomb?"

He nodded, but without any apparent enthusiasm. "He's been in here a few times, sir."

Another customer appeared in the doorway, and with a murmured word of apology he moved away to attend to his wants.

Ross sat back and surveyed me with a mischievous grin. "We don't seem to be in luck," he remarked. "Ask him if he's friendly with the dog."

My eyes travelled through the open window towards the low-lying shore and the straggling clump of trees opposite. A more peaceful scene it would have been difficult to imagine, but its outward calm did nothing to allay the ever-growing sense of danger which haunted me like a persistent shadow.

I turned back to Ross, however, with a well-assumed air of indifference.

"I expected to find that Uncle Richard had queered the pitch. I shall have to begin at the bottom and endear myself to the neighborhood gradually."

"Well, you've started the right way by bringing me along," he retorted. "It will at least show 'em that you have got some respectable friends."

I beckoned to the landlord, who was again disengaged.

"Is there a boat of any sort you could let us have?" I asked. "We want to go across to the island."

Whatever may have been the drift of his private thoughts, he was evidently prepared to be civil and obliging.

"Why, certainly, sir," he said. "There's one down alongside the jetty." He walked to the window and thrust his head out. "Jim," he shouted, "just get that boat ready. There's a couple o' gents comin' along in a minute."

I settled up for the drinks, and we made our way out of the room and down the rickety flight of steps.

We found Jim, a shock-headed youth of about eleven, unhitching the painter of a small weather-beaten dinghy.

"Will you want me, sir?" he enquired.

"Not to-day, James," I said. "We are only going over to the island. I think we can manage that between us."

He glanced at us both a little doubtfully. "You'll 'ave to row up stream a bit," he announced. "The tide runs very strong 'bout here."

I thanked him for this well-meant information, and, having given him sixpence, took my place at the sculls. With another grin Ross settled himself comfortably in the stern.

"Even the children mistrust us," he observed, as I tugged the boat out into the tideway.

It was not more than a couple of hundred yards across but so rapid was the current that it took us some little while to make the passage. I pulled well up until I was almost opposite the furthest point of the island, and then, getting into comparatively slack water, rowed down under the shelter of the shore. At last we came alongside the landing-stage, where Ross leaned over and grabbed hold of a rusty chain.

"There doesn't seem to be anyone about," he said. "I wonder if the blighter got your wire."

The words had hardly left his lips when there was a sudden rustle amongst the trees, and a huge black shape bounded out into the open. It was a dog, but the biggest dog I have ever seen—an enormous brute that looked like a cross between a great Dane and an old English mastiff.

For a second it stood there, swishing its tail and staring at us out of its bloodshot eyes, then in a menacing fashion it began to advance rapidly up the path.

With undignified haste Ross let go the chain and scrambled back into his seat. Freed from this check, the head of the boat promptly swung round, and the next moment we were drifting broadside on, with several feet of water between us and the shore.

"Don't be frightened," I said soothingly. "It's only his fun. He doesn't bite."

Before Ross could answer there was the sound of a step on the gravel, and the figure of a man came hurriedly round the bend leading from the house.

"Come 'ere," he shouted. "Come 'ere at once."

The dog pulled up as if he had been shot, and, casting a disappointed glance at us, stalked away solemnly from the bank. With a couple of strokes I managed to regain our former position.

"Good morning," I said. "Are you Bascomb?"

The newcomer, a dark, heavily built, clean-shaven man of about thirty-five, advanced quickly across the open space.

"That's me, sir," he replied. "You're Mr. Dryden, I suppose?"

I shipped my sculls and stepped up on to the landing-stage, followed by Ross.

"Yes," I said, "I'm Mr. Dryden. Did you get my wire?"

"It come along yesterday afternoon, sir. I got some lunch ready for you." He tied up the painter to an iron ring, and then glanced round at the dog, who was sitting on his haunches a few yards away, surveying us with sombre interest. "I'm sorry 'e run at you like that. 'Taint 'is fault exac'ly. He's bin trained not to allow no strangers on the island."

"He seems to have picked up the trick very nicely," I replied. "What's his name?"

"Satan, sir."

I turned to Ross. "No wonder he wanted to get hold of you," I said, laughing.

Ross stooped down and snapped his fingers. "Come on, Lucifer," he called out coaxingly. "We're all pals here."

The huge animal rose slowly to his feet, and in a very deliberate fashion strolled across to where we were standing.

"'E won't 'urt you now," observed Bascomb. "'E only wants to take stock of yer like."

As if to confirm his statement, Satan came up to each of us in turn, and sniffed enquiringly at the legs of our trousers. His inspection was evidently a success, for with a prodigious yawn he sat down between us, and stared out indifferently at the landscape.

"We've passed all right," said Ross, "but I don't think we've taken honours."

"Well, we shan't be chawed up, anyhow," I returned. "That's something to be grateful for."

"You won't 'ave no more trouble with 'im," put in Bascomb. "'E'll be as friendly as a kitten now 'e understands you belong 'ere." Then, as if anxious to change the conversation, he added quickly: "Will ye come inside straight away, sir, or would you like to take a walk round the island first?"

"Oh, we may as well see the house," I said. "There will be plenty of time for exploring after lunch."

Without any further remark my new retainer led the way up the path—a narrow walk hedged in on each side by an unkempt shrubbery of laurels. We passed through an iron gate, which brought us out into the open, and suddenly, with a little thrill of curiosity, I found myself face to face with my future home.

It was a low, rambling house of two storeys, built of red brick, and covered with a thick growth of creeper. On one side of the porch were two long windows, opening out on to a verandah. A strip of lawn with flower-beds in it ran the whole length of the front, and, except for the general air of neglect which seemed to pervade everything, it looked as charming and comfortable a place as the most exacting owner could desire.

Ross gave vent to a long whistle of approval.

"It's great!" he exclaimed admiringly. "A real dyed-in-the-wool happy little English country home! I can just picture you paddling around with the mowing machine, and sneaking out at night to murder the slugs."

Bascomb glanced at him queerly out of the corner of his eye, as if wondering whether he were quite sane; then, marching ahead of us across the grass, he pushed back the front door, which was already partly open.

We found ourselves in a large, rambling hall, fitted up as a sitting-room. One glance round showed me that it was a sort of place where I should feel absolutely at home. Like the parlour at the Gunner's Arms, it was panelled from floor to ceiling in black oak. There was a huge fireplace, with steel dogs on the hearth; a couple of big leather armchairs were ranged invitingly on each side of it; while tucked away in one corner stood a broad low couch, plentifully heaped with cushions. An old Jacobean desk, apparently locked, and a fine corner cupboard of the same period, practically completed the furniture.

Ross stood there gazing about him with the same approving smile.

"By Gad!" he remarked. "The old boy knew how to make himself comfortable."

I turned to Bascomb. "Did my uncle furnish this room himself?" I asked.

The latter shook his head. "No, sir. 'E bought these things along with the 'ouse. 'E 'ad that fireplace put in, otherwise it's just the same as when 'e come 'ere."

"I'm glad he had the good taste to leave it alone," I said. "It's more than I should have given him credit for."

Except for a rather sour glance, Bascomb made no reply. He crossed the hall to a door at the back, and, turning the handle, pushed it open.

"This is the dining-room," he announced curtly.

Ross and I walked over and followed him in. It was a pleasant apartment, with a diamond-paned bow-window looking out on to another strip of grass, where several chickens were strutting about in the sunshine. In the centre was a table laid for lunch.

"I've got a bit o' cold lamb ready when you'd like it," continued Bascomb, in the same surly tone. "But p'raps you'd rather see the rest of the 'ouse while yer about it?"

I nodded my assent, and, turning back into the hall, he conducted us up the staircase to the landing above. He stopped at one of the rooms, the door of which was already ajar.

"Mr. Jannaway used to sleep in 'ere," he said, "but there's two others if you don't fancy it."

I glanced round at the big four-poster bed and the solid, old-fashioned furniture, all of which I found distinctly pleasing. Then I moved over to the window and looked out. The room faced directly towards Pen Mill, and through a gap in the trees I could just see the rough stone jetty, and the picturesque front of the Gunner's Arms.

"This will suit me," I said. "It would take a very bad conscience to keep one awake here."

I made the remark quite carelessly, but from the expression on Bascomb's face he evidently took it to be another reflection upon his late lamented master. In dead silence, and with a scarcely concealed air of resentment, he led us through the remainder of the house; then, having brought us back to the dining-room, departed to fetch the lunch.

"Well, what do you think of it all?" I asked Ross as soon as were left alone.

He sat down on the broad cushioned seat in the window.

"It reminds me more of the hymn than anything else," he said, "'Where every prospect pleases, and only man is vile.' The place is top-hole, but of all surly brutes I've ever met, that prize-fighter of yours about takes the biscuit."

I pulled one of the chairs to the table. "He's not exactly a sunbeam," I admitted. "All the same, I think it was chiefly my fault. I ought to have been more careful what I said about Uncle Richard. From what Drayton told me this chap was devoted to him in his way, and I suppose I've managed to upset his feelings."

Ross grunted unsympathetically. "He'd go tracking jolly quick if it was my place," he observed. "I should get the blue hump if I were shut up alone in the house with a fellow like that."

Any further discussion was cut short by the sound of steps in the hall, and a moment later Bascomb himself came back into the room carrying a well-loaded tray. Without saying a word, he proceeded to set out its contents on the table, moving around with a quick noiseless tread rather surprising in a man of his size and weight. When he had finished he stood for a moment with the empty tray in his hand.

"There's a bell alongside the fireplace," he announced, "and there's some coffee comin' after. I'll be in the kitchen if you want me before then."

With this information he again took himself off, shutting the door behind him as he went out.

Ross drew up his chair opposite to mine. "It looks all right," he said, with a satisfied glance round the table. "I suppose he hasn't put poison in the salad!"

"I shall risk it, anyhow," I returned. "I'm too hungry to worry about trifles."

In spite of his suggestion, Ross seemed to share my feelings, for he certainly did full justice to the excellent meal in front of us. Besides the lamb there was cold gooseberry tart and cream, with a large slab of Cheddar cheese to fill up any remaining corners. For drink we had a bottle of good hock, a wine to which I have always had a peculiar and affectionate attachment.

By the time we had finished and rung for the coffee all Ross's usual amiability had returned.

"I like your island, my lad," he said, lighting himself a cigar. "I could even put up with the prize-fighter if he always turns out meals like this. When we come back in August you shall ask me to stay."

"Why not stay now?" I suggested.

He shook his head. "Can't be done," he said regretfully. "I have promised to take my sister to Bath. I take her there every year in May when I'm home, and I wouldn't have the heart to disappoint her. For some extraordinary reason she appears to enjoy it."

I was more than a little disappointed, for to tell the truth I had been counting a good deal on Ross's society during the next two weeks. Half the fun of settling into a new place is to have some pal to talk things over with, and he was just the sort of cheerful, easy-going chap who would have exactly filled the role.

Apart from that, Christine's warning about not being alone on the island still echoed clearly in my memory. I was not afraid, but after what had happened to me in the docks I could hardly doubt the soundness of her advice, and for a moment I could think of nobody else whom I could invite to share my solitude. It is true that Mr. Drayton's friend, Inspector Campbell, had expressed his willingness to come down for a week-end whenever I asked him, but until I had got a little firmer grip on the situation I was not particularly anxious for the presence of a detective.

As I have said before, however, I am not given to worrying over what cannot be helped, and I was on the point of making some suitable rejoinder when the door opened and Bascomb arrived with the coffee. As he set it down in front of me I took the opportunity to congratulate him upon the excellence of our lunch.

"We'll have a stroll round the island as soon as we've finished," I added. "You might come with us and show us anything there is to be seen."

"Very good, sir," he returned, in a slightly mollified voice. "I'll be outside—along by the front door."

True to his word, we found him standing on the path when we came out, with Satan in due attendance.

"If yer don't like the dog," he said, "I can tie 'im up in the yard."

"But I do like him very much," I replied. "We are going to be the best of friends, aren't we, Satan?"

I bent over and patted the huge black head, an attention which its owner accepted with a complacent grunt that was distinctly encouraging.

It seemed to me that a momentary flicker of relief passed across Bascomb's naturally wooden features, but without any further observation he led the way round to the back, where another rusty iron gate opened out on to the marshes.

From this point the whole expanse of Greensea Island was visible to our eyes. It consisted of a long stretch of saltings and swamps, only broken by occasional creeks and pools, which sparkled here and there in the bright May sunshine. To some people, I suppose, the outlook would have appeared dismal in the extreme, but for me this kind of scenery has always possessed an extraordinary charm. I love it even in the winter time, when it lies bare and desolate under a cold sky. Now, with the thrift mantling the marshes everywhere with a garment of shot satin, its strange and lonely beauty seemed to stir the very chords of my heart.

These delicate emotions were rudely interrupted by Ross, who had been watching my face with his usual amused smile.

"You look like the stage hero coming back to his long-lost village. If there was only a golden-haired damsel in white muslin picking roses, it would make a lovely fifth act for a melodrama."

"I can get along very nicely without her," I returned. "I've had quite enough melodrama to last me for the present."

I had spoken again without thinking, but once more my words appeared to have a curious effect upon Bascomb. Anyhow, I caught him staring at me suddenly, with a peculiar expression of doubt and suspicion. He turned away, however, directly he met my eyes, and, pushing open the gate, stepped back to allow us to pass.

We set out over the uneven ground, and, striking right across to the water's edge, started to make a complete circuit of the island. It was not easy walking, for the whole place was infested with puddles and patches of bog, and we were constantly making small detours or else jumping from tuft to tuft in order to avoid one or another of these obstacles.

Innumerable red-shanks and sea birds kept on popping up in front of us with shrill cries of alarm, while more than once a large heron rose slowly to his wings and flopped away with a kind of majestic indignation. I could see that in winter it must be a splendid shooting-ground, and I reflected with some satisfaction on the new gun which was one of the first things I had promised myself to buy.

We had covered about half the distance, and were skirting along the inner shore in the direction of the landing-stage, when Ross suddenly came to a standstill and pointed away up the estuary.

"Look there!" he said. "Somebody's coming to pay you a visit already."

About a couple of hundred yards distant a small petrol dinghy containing a single passenger was rapidly churning its way towards the island.

I turned to Bascomb. "Who is it?" I asked. "Anyone you know?"

Shading his eyes, he stared out at the approaching boat.

"Yes," he said. "It's Dr. Manning."

If he had said it was the devil his tone could scarcely have been more appropriate, and both Ross and I looked up in amazement at the renewed churlishness of his manner.

"Dr. Manning!" I repeated. "I thought he was in London."

Bascomb whistled to the dog, who trotted up obediently to his side.

"'E may 'ave bin there for all I know. 'E come back last night anyway. I seen 'im goin' across to the barge."

There was a short pause.

"Well, I suppose we'd better get along and meet him," I said dryly. "I know he wants to have a talk with me, and I can't very well say I'm not at home."

To this Bascomb returned no answer. He fell in behind Ross and me, with Satan at his heels, and in this order we advanced across the strip of salting which still separated us from the landing-stage.

We reached our destination at almost the same moment as the boat. Its owner brought it up alongside with a skill which showed him to be a practised hand, and, switching off his engine, leaned over and caught hold of the ring.

I don't know exactly what I had expected, but my first impression of him was a distinctly surprising one. He was a man who would have attracted attention anywhere, if only for his unusual good looks. Except on one of the early Greek coins, I don't think I have ever seen features so extraordinarily well cut. His face was burned to the colour of old mahogany, and against this dark background a pair of china blue eyes looked out with a curious and almost disconcerting brilliance. He was wearing flannels and the usual white yachting cap, and as far as age went he might have been anything between forty and forty-five.

"How do you do?" he said pleasantly. "I suppose I'm right in taking you for Mr. Dryden? I'm Dr. Manning."

"You're quite right," I answered, "and I'm very glad to see you. Won't you come ashore?"

He stepped up lightly out of the boat, and shook my hand with a grip that certainly lacked nothing in heartiness.

"I spotted you from my barge," he went on, "so I thought I would come over and introduce myself. I have been looking forward to meeting you for some little while."

"I was half-expecting to hear from you in London," I said. "Mr. Drayton told me that he had given you my address." I paused. "Let me introduce you to a brother professional," I added. "Dr. Ross, of the Neptune."

I saw his glance travel swiftly and keenly over my companion.

"Delighted to meet you," he said. "I was a ship's surgeon myself at one time." He turned back to me. "I should have run down to look you up at the docks, only I couldn't quite fit things in. Besides, I thought we were certain to come across each other here before long."

"Suppose we go up to the house and have a drink," I suggested.

"That's not a bad idea," he returned cheerfully. "I must just fasten up the boat first, though."

He bent down, and with a couple of quick turns hitched the painter to the ring. I was on the verge of speaking rather sharply to Bascomb, who, still standing sullenly in the background, had made no effort to come forward and assist him. For the moment, however, I thought it best to let the matter pass, and side by side we all three started up the path towards the front door.

"There's no need for ceremony," I said, as I led the way into the hall. "You probably know the house better than I do."

"Well, I was here for several days," he answered, "but most of the time I was up in your uncle's bedroom."

I mixed him a whisky and soda and passed it across.

"I know," I said, "and I haven't thanked you yet. It was uncommonly good of you to come over and look after him as you did."

"Oh, you mustn't say that," he protested. "I was very pleased to be of any use. I have given up practice for some years, but I am always ready to do anything I can in an emergency." He paused. "I only wish I had been more successful," he added. "It was one of those cases, though, in which medical skill is practically helpless. Heart failure, you know, on the top of double pneumonia."

I nodded "I never met my uncle," I said, "but I imagine that he had led a pretty hard life. I suppose that's bound to tell when it comes to the point."

His blue eyes rested curiously on mine. "You never actually met him?" he repeated. "I suppose you knew a good deal about him though?"

"Precious little," I said frankly. "He went off to South America when I was about five years old, and the next thing I heard of him was Mr. Drayton's cable telling me that he was dead."

"Why, it's quite a romance," he exclaimed in his easy, almost drawling manner. "You were evidently born under a lucky star. There are not many people who drop into a fortune from relations that they've never spoken to." His glance wandered round the room, as though noting its various features. "Not that it's everyone's property," he went on with a smile. "Jolly enough in the summer, of course, but it's a bleak and desolate place in the winter, I give you my word. I have often wondered what induced your uncle to shut himself up here."

"I suppose it appealed to him," I said. "There's no accounting for tastes."

Dr. Manning took a sip of his whisky and soda and set down the glass.

"I believe Mr. Drayton spoke to you about my proposal," he said. "I mean the idea some of us had of starting a yachting club here."

"He did mention it," I replied, "and I'm very sorry to disappoint you. The fact is that I haven't any wish to let the place. I mean to live here myself."

He took my refusal with the most perfect good humour.

"I'm delighted to hear it," he answered. "Of course, if you are particularly set on the island itself there's no more to be said. I thought, however, that you might prefer to be on the mainland. It's much more convenient and cheerful in some ways. There are one or two very jolly little places in the market that could be picked up for a mere song, and we should be prepared to give you a good rent for Greensea. You see, it's just exactly suited for what we want."

"It isn't a question of money," I said. "As far as that goes, the terms you offered through Mr. Drayton were exceedingly handsome. The point is that I am quite contented where I am. I have always wanted to have an island of my own, and now I have got one I mean to stick to it."

"Well, if that's the situation," he returned with a laugh, "we mustn't bother you about it any further." He finished his whisky and soda, and, putting his hand in his pocket, pulled out a small cigarette case.

"Won't you have a cigar?" I suggested.

He shook his head. "No, thanks. I never smoke anything but Egyptian cigarettes. A friend of mine sends them to me over from Cairo. Will you try one?"

He held out the case, and both Ross and I helped ourselves.

"I suppose you will be importing servants if you are going to settle down here?" he said. "Your uncle, you know, wouldn't have anyone else on the island except that one man of his."

"What do you think of Bascomb?" I asked.

He blew out a long wreath of smoke. "Well, it's hardly my place to criticise him," he answered, smiling, "but to be quite candid, I should get rid of him as soon as possible if I were in your shoes. I don't want to do the fellow an injustice, but from what I saw of him while I was here I mistrust him profoundly."

Ross glanced at me with rather a triumphant expression.

"I daresay you're right," I said. "He certainly doesn't err on the side of cheerfulness."

As a matter of fact, his warning, though doubtless a well-intended one, only increased my determination not to act hastily in the matter. There is a regrettable streak of obstinacy in my character which always gets up against other people's advice, and, in addition to that, I had an unaccountable feeling inside me that Bascomb was not really as black as he was painted. In spite of his surliness, he gave me the impression of being an honest fellow, and when it comes to judging character I am prepared to back my instincts against a good deal of circumstantial evidence.

Something, however, urged me to keep my ideas to myself, so, changing the conversation, I asked Manning if he could tell me anything about the prospects of wild fowling during the coming winter. I had evidently hit on the right source of information, for he at once began to discuss the subject in a fashion which showed me that he knew every creek and marsh throughout the length and breadth of the estuary.

"There's plenty of sport," he added, "any amount of it; only, if you don't mind my giving you a tip, you want to be a little careful how you go about it. The fact is that some of these fellows round here—the professional gunners, I mean—are as jealous as hell. They are a rough lot, and I wouldn't put much beyond them when they get really nasty."

I looked at him with some surprise. I had run across a certain number of these gentry when I had been messing around in the motor launch with Bobby Dean, and although they were a queer crowd in their way, I should never have suspected them of being dangerous.

"You don't mean to say they'd take a pot shot at one," I said, "or anything bloodthirsty of that sort?"

"It sounds rather a large order," he admitted. "All the same, when I first came here I had a couple of devilish narrow escapes. They may have been accidents, of course, but if so—" He shrugged his shoulders in a fashion that was sufficiently expressive.

"It doesn't seem to have interfered much with your shooting," put in Ross.

"Oh, I'm all right now," he replied easily. "I'm well in their good books because I have doctored up two or three of them when they were seedy, and I suppose they feel grateful to me in their way." He turned to me. "I thought I ought to mention it though, just to put you on your guard."

"Thanks very much," I said. "I'm not a nervous person, but I'll keep my eyes open in case anyone should mistake me for a duck."

As though suddenly thinking of the time, Dr. Manning glanced at the slim gold watch which he wore upon his wrist.

"I must be off," he announced. "I'm expecting some friends on the barge at half-past three." He rose to his feet and shook hands with both of us. "I shall see you again before very long, I suppose?" he added, addressing himself to me.

"I shall be down here for good in three or four days' time," I said.

"Well, don't forget to make use of me," he returned. "If you would like to be put up for the club at Shalston or anything of that sort you have only got to let me know."

I thanked him again, and we all walked down together to the landing-stage, where he got into his boat and started off on his return journey.

Ross and I stood for a minute watching the long wake of foam that he left behind him as he sped rapidly away into the distance.

"I am beginning well," I said. "It's something to have made friends with one's next-door neighbour."

Ross, who was still staring at the retreating dinghy, indulged in a rather doubtful grunt.

"I suppose he's all right," he said half reluctantly. "I can't say I cottoned to him much myself. He's too damned good-looking for my taste."

"There doesn't seem to be much love lost between him and Bascomb," I remarked. "I wonder what the trouble is."

"God knows," returned Ross, "but on that point at least my sympathies are with the doctor." He turned away from the water, and we strolled back side by side towards the house. "Do you think there's anything in this yarn of his about the natives? If so, it looks to me as if you were up against a pretty breezy proposition."

"I'm not worrying myself," I replied placidly. "Somebody wants to assassinate me already—that's quite plain—and a few extra hands on the job won't make much difference. After all, one can only die once."

"That's the spirit, my lad," observed Ross, slapping me on the shoulder. "All the same, I don't like to think of you stuck down here on your little lonesome. I've half a mind to chuck my sister and come and keep you company."

"No you won't," I said firmly. "You trot off to Bath like a good boy. If things get too hot I'll rout out somebody else to share the racket."

We reached the front door just as I spoke, and almost simultaneously Bascomb came into view round a corner of the shrubbery, with Satan still at his heels. I hesitated for a moment, wondering what was the best thing to do. Should I take him to task there and then, or would it be better to wait until I returned to the island and was properly settled into the house? I decided on the latter course, and, leaving Ross, walked forward to where he was standing.

"We shall be off in a few minutes, Bascomb," I said "I must leave the rest of the island until I come back."

He met my gaze quite steadily, though the same sullen expression still lingered in his eyes.

"Very well, sir," he said. "When shall I expect you?"

"I don't know for certain," I replied. "About Wednesday or Thursday, I expect, but I'll send a line and let you know." I paused. "Is there anything you want for the house—anything I can have sent down from London?"

He shook his head. "There's no trouble about gettin' food," he answered. "All the Shalston tradesmen deliver at Pen Mill, and, as far as liquor goes the cellar's just full up with it."

My opinion of Uncle Richard underwent a slight improvement.

"That's good news," I said. "How are you off for money?"

"I've got enough to go on with. Mr. Drayton gave me twenty pound last time 'e was down 'ere." He hesitated for a moment, and then added gruffly: "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but might I ask what arrangements you're thinkin' o' makin'?"

"How do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, I was wonderin' if you wanted me. Mebbe you'll be bringin' your own folk along with you."

"You looked after my uncle while he was alive, didn't you?" I asked.

"Yes," he said bluntly, "I reckon 'e was satisfied, but it don't foller you won't 'ave different ideas."

"That depends on you," I said. "If you make me comfortable I shall be quite contented with the arrangement—at all events for the present."

He was evidently rather surprised, but the satisfaction in his face was unmistakable.

"I'll do my best," he said. "No one can't do more than that." He glanced down at Satan, who was sitting patiently by his side. "'Ow about the dog?" he demanded suspiciously. "You won't be wantin' to get rid of 'im?"

"Not likely," I said, with some feeling. "He's one of the chief attractions of the place from my point of view."

At this moment, as luck would have it, Satan rose leisurely to his feet, and, strolling across, thrust his wet muzzle into the palm of my hand. The timely demonstration evidently had a considerable effect upon Bascomb, for he looked up at me with a sudden respect that had hitherto been absent from his manner.

"'E's taken to you proper, sir," he observed; "an' wot's more, 'e's worth 'avin' as a friend, that dog is. If 'e was around, and any bloke was to try a dirty trick on you, 'e'd tear the throat out of 'im before 'e knew wot 'ad 'appened."

"I'm very pleased to hear it," I said heartily, and, having bestowed several more encouraging pats on my new and useful ally, I followed Ross into the house.

I found him in the dining-room in the act of helping himself to another whisky and soda.

"It's time we were making a start," I said, copying his example. "There are no lights on the car, and it will take us at least three hours to get back to town."

"I'm ready," he replied. "I didn't like to leave all this drink behind, though. It's putting temptation in Bascomb's way."

"You needn't have worried yourself," I explained. "There's a whole cellar full of it downstairs, and of course he's got the key."

Ross nodded his head in mock amazement. "Good Lord! And yet the silly fool hasn't even the sense to try and keep his job. I suppose you'll give him the sack now you've heard the doctor's opinion of him?"

"I daresay," I returned evasively. "I'm keeping him on for the present, though. It's no good throwing away dirty water until one's got clean."

We went down to the landing-stage and stepped into our boat, which Bascomb had busied himself in making ready for us. He and Satan remained standing on the shore as we pulled out into the estuary—two motionless black figures against the lonely background of trees and shrubs. To my imagination they seemed to me to strike a curiously grim and forbidding note, well in keeping with the reputation for unsociability that Greensea Island had evidently earned. In view of certain possible contingencies, however, this was distinctly a fault on the right side, and I looked back at them both with a certain growing sense of comfort and confidence. If my uncle's legacy was a trifle unhealthy, I was beginning to think that he had at least left me the means of dealing with it in a thoroughly practical fashion.

We had no difficulty this time in making the passage, for the tide was now at its lowest, and were able to row straight across to the jetty. We abandoned the boat to the charge of Jim, who was waiting for us, and going up to the Gunner's Arms, routed out our chauffeur from a comfortable seat in the bar parlour.

"You've got back all right then, sir," observed the landlord. "I hope you found the place come up to what you expected?"

"Quite, thank you," I said. "I think I shall be as happy and contented there as my uncle was."

He eyed me for a moment with the same air of peculiar interest, but beyond thanking me for the five shillings which I gave him he offered no further remarks.

Three minutes later we were spinning up the long incline, at the top of which we had paused in the morning to view my new property. At the very point where we had halted the road turned away to the left, winding off inland towards the railway junction at Torrington.

We were just rounding this corner when the unexpected blast of a horn caused our chauffeur to pull in hastily to the near side. As he did so a big car suddenly swept into view, coming from the opposite direction. How we avoided each other I don't know, for the fleeting glimpse which I had caught of the man alongside the driver put everything else for the moment completely out of my head.

Ross sprang up in his seat, and stared back in amazement over the top of the tonneau.

"Well I'm damned!" he exclaimed, turning to me. "If that wasn't our friend de Roda it must have been his twin brother!"

CHAPTER SIX

I helped myself to a glass of port, and, sitting back in my big arm-chair, looked contentedly round the dining-room. It was the third evening I had spent in my new quarters, and the refreshing air of novelty had not yet quite worn off.

So far things had been moving with admirable smoothness. I had come down on the Thursday following my first visit, and I had been happily surprised at the improvements which Bascomb had effected in the interval. He must have worked hard, for the house was as neat and clean as anyone could reasonably wish, and in addition to that he had cut the grass and tidied up the garden, both in the back and the front.

In his own queer way, too, he had seemed quite pleased at my arrival, a welcome seconded by Satan, who had evidently adopted me as a new and desirable feature of the establishment. I had put In a couple of pleasantly lazy days, rambling about the place, exploring it from top to bottom, and now on this Sunday evening I found myself sitting over the remains of supper with something of the same "monarch-of-all-I-survey" feeling which helped to brighten the solitude of Robinson Crusoe.