GREENSEA ISLAND (continued 6)

Ten, eleven, and twelve all struck in turn, but outside the house the silence of the night remained unbroken by the faintest sound or movement. Towards one o'clock my desire for sleep became positively overwhelming. By this time any hope I had ever had of Bascomb's putting in an appearance had practically ceased to exist, and it seemed worse than useless to tire myself out to no purpose just when I might need every ounce of energy and intelligence that I could possibly rake together.

I debated for a moment as to whether I should go upstairs and get into bed. The prospect had its attractions, but, on the other hand, I felt extremely comfortable where I was, and from a strategic point of view the position could hardly be improved upon. As long as I remained in the hall no one could break into the house without waking me. If I were fast asleep upstairs in my bedroom the odds would be altogether in favour of the visitor, and since the safety of my throat appeared to be the stake at issue, this consideration was quite enough to turn the scale.

By an heroic effort I roused myself sufficiently to make a final inspection of the back premises, in order to be quite certain that all the window fastenings were properly hasped. Satisfied on this point I returned to my couch, and, taking off my collar and tie (the only form of undressing that I attempted), I dropped back on to the cushions with a little grunt of contentment. I just remember seeing the gleam of the lamp reflected on Manning's revolver, and then, as far as I was concerned, that weapon and all the remaining troubles of life were suddenly and completely blotted out of existence.

When I woke up again it was to find myself in semi-darkness. The lamp had gone out, and the only light there was filtered in dimly through the cracks in the shutters. Everything looked very cold and depressing and for a minute or two I lay there staring vaguely round the room, and wondering how long I had been asleep.

At last, with considerable reluctance, I sat up and pulled out my watch.

I expected the time to be between six and seven, but to my utter amazement the hands, which were just visible pointed distinctly to a quarter past ten. I thought at first that the damned thing must have stopped, but on putting it to my ear I found that it was ticking away merrily.

Thoroughly roused now, I scrambled to my feet, and, crossing to the window, unbolted one of the shutters. As I threw it back a flood of daylight poured into the room, and an instinctive glance up at the clock merely helped to confirm the previous verdict.

Under the circumstances the fact that I had managed to oversleep myself was not without its comic side. It was the sort of thing that would tickle Bobby immensely, but, as far as I was concerned, there were too many other pressing considerations to give my own sense of humour a sporting chance.

Opening the window, I stepped out on to the verandah. Though still leaving a good deal to be desired, the weather had actually improved during the night. In place of the fog there was now only a thin drifting mist, which barely obscured the opposite trees. One or two birds were chirping away in the shrubbery, while overhead a lemon-coloured, watery-looking sun was striving bravely to make its belated appearance.

Slightly cheered by these discoveries, I walked back into the hall. Unless things were very much worse out at sea there was nothing to prevent Bobby from running down the coast in his motor-launch. It would be necessary for him to go a bit carefully, of course. Even under such conditions, however, the passage was a comparatively short one, and, provided he had been able to get away in good time, any moment might bring him to the island.

Knowing Robert, it seemed to me that the sooner I fixed up something in the way of breakfast the better. He would probably have contented himself with a cup of coffee before starting, and I could hardly expect him to listen intelligently to a long story until he had backed it up with a little solid nourishment.

As a first step towards this desired end I set about lighting the fire. It proved an evasive job, but, having at last persuaded it to burn, I opened the remainder of the shutters and carted away the debris of my previous night's feast. Leaving this on the kitchen table, I prowled off once more to the larder, where I had noticed a basin of eggs during my former investigations.

Heaven knew how long they had been there, but it was no time for indulging in any false delicacy. I brought them into the hall, together with a pot of marmalade and what was left of the bread and butter, and then, after laying the table and putting on a kettle to boil, I began to think with some favour of a well-earned wash and shave.

I had actually reached the foot of the staircase when a sound from outside pulled me up short. It was the unmistakable clang of the garden gate, and, hurrying towards the verandah, I saw to my delight a sturdy figure in naval uniform advancing across the grass.

With a joyous shout I flung back the window and stepped forward to meet him.

"This is splendid, Bobby," I said. "You're just in time for breakfast."

He came up to me, grinning cheerfully, and wrung my hand in a double-fisted grip.

"I'm glad to hear it, my lad," he said, "and I'm still more glad to see you looking so devilish well. After your alarming note I expected to find nothing but a nasty mess on the carpet."

"You were always an optimist," I remarked. "Come along inside and make yourself useful. You can attend to the tea while I run upstairs and have a wash and shave."

He followed me over the threshold, and, tossing his cap on to the sofa, established himself in a comfortable position in front of the fire.

"Where's that sunny-faced butler of yours?" he enquired. "Doesn't he like early rising?"

"For the time being," I replied, "Bascomb is off the map. You shall hear everything if you'll wait a minute, but it's a long yarn, and I don't want to start telling you in bits and pieces."

"Right you are," he drawled. "You bung along off and wash your face. I'll look after the kettle and answer the front door."

Leaving him in the act of lighting a cigarette, I retired upstairs to the bathroom, where with the aid of a cold swill and a hasty shave I managed to make myself a little more presentable.

I got back to the hall just in time to catch Bobby emerging through the baize door with a saucepan in his hand.

"You must excuse the liberty," he remarked, "but I couldn't find anything to boil the eggs in."

"I am afraid we are a trifle disorganized," I confessed. "The fact is we have had a lot of trouble in the family in the last twenty-four hours." I paused. "By the way," I added, "what have you done with your crew? I suppose you didn't come down here single handed?"

"I brought one chap with me," was the reply. "I left him on board down at the landing-stage. He's all right. He'll sit there on his little behind until further orders."

I took the saucepan away from him and motioned him towards a chair.

"That's your programme also, old dear," I said. "I'll finish getting the breakfast ready, and I'll talk to you at the same time. You freeze yourself into that pew and listen to me as you never listened to anyone in your life."

There must have been something in my manner which showed that I was in dead earnest, for without another word Bobby seated himself at the table.

I put the saucepan on the fire and stood up facing him.

"It pains me to confess it, Robert," I said, "but the last time you were here I'm afraid I wasn't quite straight with you."

"I had an idea you were keeping something up your sleeve," he replied. "It takes a lot of practice to make a really convincing liar."

I nodded a little sadly. "Yes," I said, "honesty was always a handicap of mine—especially in the Service."

A sudden hiss from the kettle attracted my attention, and, stepping forward, I picked up the teapot.

"You're going to hear the real truth now, Bobby," I added, "and don't you dare to open your mouth again until I've got it off my chest."

Long and complicated as my story was, the whole thing had burned itself into my mind so vividly that I was in no danger of forgetting the smallest detail. I enjoyed, too, the additional advantage of having rehearsed it the previous night, and when once I started I found myself going ahead with amazing fluency. Without attempting to skip anything, I told him exactly what had occurred from the fateful moment when Christine and her uncle had arrived on board the Neptune in Manaos Harbour. He already knew, of course, about my interview with Mr. Drayton and my adventure in the dock, but all the rest of it was, so to speak, fresh ground, and I did not think there was much chance of his finding my narrative either tedious or redundant.

To say that this confidence was justified would be putting it at its mildest. Munching his food and sipping his tea, he followed every word with an expression of absorbed interest that never varied from start to finish. Once or twice he interrupted me to ask a question, but otherwise he sat there in profound silence, his blue eyes fixed steadily on mine.

Bit by bit I proceeded to unravel the whole tangled skein of my adventures, until I at last reached the point when the clang of the garden gate had announced his own arrival upon the scene.

"I don't want to appear emotional," I concluded, "but I must admit the sight of your ugly mug filled me with the most inexpressible joy." I paused to moisten my lips, which were as dry as parchment. "That's as far as we've got up to the present, Robert," I added, "and now for heaven's sake let's have a drink."

"Well, the first thing's easy," remarked Bobby, as he accepted the tumbler which I offered him. "Here's to Christine, and if she's half as nice as she sounds you're the luckiest beggar that ever trod this planet."

We drained the toast in silence, and then, putting down his glass, he hoisted himself out of his chair and walked across to the window.

"That's that," he observed grimly, "and——"

I saw him pull up with curious abruptness, and stand there perfectly still staring out into the garden.

"What's the matter?" I demanded.

He looked back over his shoulder with a queer smile on his lips.

"I don't know if you're expecting any visitors," he began.

Before he could conclude his sentence I was standing alongside of him.

Crossing the lawn and coming directly towards the house were two figures. One was an enormously stout, broad-shouldered man, whom I recognised immediately as the landlord of the Gunner's Arms; the other was a police sergeant in uniform.

Bobby was the first to break the silence. "We seem to have finished the story just in time," he said drily.

Without making any reply, I unlatched the window and threw it open.

The two men came up to the verandah side by side and halted exactly in front of us.

For a moment nobody spoke; then the landlord, who was breathing heavily, stepped forward and touched his cap.

"Beg pardon, Mr. Dryden," he said huskily, "but this is Sergeant 'Umphries of Torrington. He wants to have a word with you."

"Why, certainly," I replied. "Come inside, both of you."

I moved back, and, mounting the verandah, they tramped in heavily over the threshold.

"I expect you know Commander Dean," I added, "at all events by sight."

There was an exchange of salutes, followed once more by an embarrassing silence.

"Well," I said encouragingly, "what is it? Anything I can do for you?"

Sergeant Humphries cleared his throat

"I'm afraid I come on rather an unpleasant business, Mr. Dryden," he began. "I believe you have a man in your employment name of John Bascombe?"

A sudden feeling of impending tragedy tightened round my heart.

"That's right," I said. "He has been with me ever since I came here."

"Do you happen to know where he is now?"

I shook my head. "He went ashore last night without my permission, and so far he hasn't returned."

There was another pause.

"He won't return," said the Sergeant, "and if you want to know the reason why I can tell you, Mr. Dryden. At the present moment he's lying dead in the stable at the Gunner's Arms."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Although I was half prepared for what he said, the announcement left me momentarily dumb.

"Dead!" I repeated at last. "Bascomb dead! How in God's name was he killed?"

The Sergeant looked at me with a certain sympathy in his stolid features.

"We reckon he must have run into the jetty in the fog last night, and upset his boat. As like as not he stunned himself at the same time; anyhow, he was found lying on the mud this morning with a gash in his head that you could shove a couple of fingers into."

"We got the dinghy all right," put in the landlord. "It was floatin' about the estuary bottom upwards."

I caught Bobby's eyes fixed upon my face, and I knew that the same thought was in both our minds.

"This is pretty bad news, Sergeant," I said. "What do you think I ought to do?"

The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, sir, I take it the first thing's for you to come ashore with us and identify the body. There'll have to be an inquest, of course, but seein' as the Coroner's away at Ipswich I don't suppose it will be until the day after to-morrow." He paused. "Per'aps you know where the poor fellow belonged, mister? If so we shall have to write and tell his relatives."

I shook my head. "I haven't the slightest notion," I said. "He had been with my uncle for some time, and I re-engaged him on the lawyer's recommendation. He wasn't the sort of man to talk about his own affairs."

"That's a fact," added the landlord emphatically. "If ever there was a bloke who kept his mouth shut——"

"It ain't of no real consequence," interrupted the Sergeant with some dignity. "The police can always find out what they want sooner or later." He turned to me. "If it's convenient to you, mister, I reckon we'd better get across at once. The doctor's examinin' the corpse, and mebbe 'e'd like to have a talk with you."

"The doctor?" I repeated. "What doctor?"

"Doctor 'Ayward of Torrington," was the answer. "He came over in the car with me as soon as we got the message."

I remained silent for a moment, thinking rapidly.

"Very well, Sergeant," I said. "I will be ready almost at once. I must have a word with Commander Dean first; we are just settling up some rather important business." I crossed to the sideboard and fetched a couple of glasses. "Help yourselves to a whisky," I added. "I shan't keep you more than two or three minutes."

They both murmured their thanks, and, motioning Bobby to follow me, I walked into the dining-room and closed the door behind me.

I couldn't have controlled myself much longer.

"The devils!" I said hoarsely. "The infernal devils! They've murdered him, just as they murdered Satan."

Bobby laid his hand on my shoulder. "It's a rotten business, but we mustn't lose our heads, Jack. We've got to decide what we're going to do."

"I feel as if it were all my fault," I muttered. "I ought to have killed Manning yesterday when I had the chance."

"What the hell would have been the good of that?" demanded Bobby impatiently. He thrust his hands into his pockets and took a couple of rapid turns up and down the room. "Look here, old son," he went on quietly. "We haven't any time to spare, so the sooner we fix things up the better. In the first place, what are you going to tell the police?"

"Nothing," I said curtly. "There's only one other person in this beside ourselves, and that's Inspector Campbell. I shall go up to London as soon as I can and put the whole thing in front of him."

He nodded his approval. "Just what I was about to propose. There'll be the very devil to pay if these local people get hold of the faintest idea of the truth." He paused. "You must lie to them for all you're worth," he added. "You must make them believe that no suspicion of foul play has ever entered your head. I'll stop here and look after the place until you get back."

"You're sure you can manage it?" I asked.

"Easily," was the comforting rejoinder. "There's next to nothing doing in our line at present. I must run over to Martlesea some time to-morrow; otherwise I'm at your disposal for the next three days."

Considerably cheered by this assurance, I led the way back into the hall where I found our two visitors in the act of wiping their moustaches.

"Very good whisky that, sir," observed the landlord approvingly. "'Tain't often you get a taste of the pre-war stuff nowadays."

"Well, I'm ready if you are, gentlemen," I said.

With a regretful glance at the decanter the Sergeant picked up his helmet, and, leaving Bobby standing in the window, we all three set out across the lawn.

We found the motor-launch lying about twenty yards out in the estuary, and a dilapidated dinghy tied up alongside the landing-stage.

"I had to bring one of me own boats," explained the landlord as he unfastened the painter. "We got yours all right, sir, same as I told you; but the rudder's broke and two of her planks stove in."

"She must have been smashed up pretty badly," I remarked. "It seems to me as if she'd been run down."

"I should have said the same," put in the Sergeant, "but accordin' to what they told me at Pen Mill there wasn't a craft afloat yesterday. That's so, ain't it, Mr. Robinson?"

The landlord nodded. "None of our folks was out, at all events," he observed. "Might 'a' bin a stranger goin' up to the lock, but it don't seem likely—not in a fog like that."

"Well, we can find out, I suppose," I said, taking my place in the boat. "The point is sure to be raised at the inquest, anyhow."

We sculled rapidly across to the opposite shore, and disembarked on the jetty, close in front of the inn. It was easy to see that something unusual had happened, for the whole population of the village had apparently collected on the hard, and were hanging about in small groups eagerly watching our arrival.

Through a fire of curious glances we marched up to the stable, outside which a solemn-looking constable was standing on guard.

Lifting the latch, the Sergeant opened the door just wide enough for us to enter; and then, following on our heels, closed it carefully behind him.

We found ourselves in a large, dimly lit coach-house, which had evidently been emptied for its present tragic purpose.

Stretched out on a bundle of straw was the dead body of Bascomb, and stooping over it a tall, grey-haired man who bore the unmistakable stamp of a country doctor.

In a businesslike fashion the Sergeant stepped forward.

"Well, here we are, doctor," he said. "This is the gentleman I was speaking about. Mr. Dryden—Dr. 'Ayward."

The doctor straightened himself, and, having surveyed me for a moment through a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, came up to where I was standing.

"I am pleased to meet you, sir," he said. "I only wish it was under less distressing circumstances."

We shook hands.

"It's a very sudden and shocking business," I said. "Bascomb was the sort of man who ought to have lived to be a hundred." I paused. "Have you any idea how it happened?" I asked.

Dr. Hayward pursed up his lips and looked at me a little queerly.

"I am quite certain of one thing at least," he answered, "and that is that the poor fellow didn't meet his death by drowning. He was dead before he ever reached the water."

There was a brief silence.

"Then the idea about his having run into the jetty—" I began.

The doctor shook his head. "He was killed by a violent blow on the back of the skull. If you think you can stand a rather unpleasant sight, I'll show you the actual injury."

I contented myself with a nod, and, moving forward, followed him across the stone floor.

Bascomb's body was lying on the straw, face downwards. It had been stripped to the waist, and in the grey light which filtered in through the glass roof the enormous muscular development of his back and shoulders was plainly visible.

My companion took out an electric torch from his pocket, and, bending down, switched on the current.

"See that?" he enquired briefly.

Hardened as I was by my experiences in the war, I was unable to repress a shudder of horror. Right in the middle of the close-cropped hair the bone had been smashed in like the top of an eggshell.

"Not much doubt about the cause of death—eh?" The doctor switched off his torch, and stood up facing me. "One doesn't do that sort of thing without a little assistance," he added grimly. "He may have been struck by the prow of a boat or the screw of a steamer; the only other explanation I can offer is that he was deliberately murdered."

"Murdered!" The Sergeant strode forward, and then, suddenly pulling up, stared incredulously from one to the other of us.

"We must at least consider the possibility," I remarked.

The Sergeant rubbed his chin in the same thoughtful fashion as before.

"It's a startlin' notion," he observed at last. "There's never been a murder in Pen Mill yet—at least not in my time."

"I don't say there has now," interrupted the doctor, with a slight touch of impatience. "It all depends upon whether any vessel went up the estuary last night in the fog."

"We can find that out easy enough," chimed in the landlord. "Only a matter of enquiries at the lock. She couldn't 'ave got no farther—not till this mornin'."

The Sergeant looked at him with a certain severity. "I know my business, thank ye, Mr. Robinson. When I want any help I'll ask you for it." He turned to me. "What's your opinion, sir? Any party in your knowledge as had a grudge against the deceased?"

I shook my head. "I am absolutely ignorant about his private affairs," I answered. "As I told you before, he was one of the most reserved men who ever lived. For all I know he might have been at daggers drawn with the entire neighbourhood."

"Was he violent tempered or quarrelsome?" asked the doctor.

"I never saw any sign of it," I replied. "We were alone together for a month, and I couldn't have wished for a better servant."

"I reckon our first idea was the right one," announced the Sergeant. "It must have been some craft coming up in the fog that did it. The odds are they thought it was an empty boat they had run down, and, seeing as they'd be liable for damages, they made up their minds to say nothing about it." He took out his note-book and sucked the stump of a pencil. "What time was it when the deceased left the island?" he enquired.

"I couldn't say exactly," I replied. "It was probably between five and six."

"Just about high tide," he observed, in a satisfied voice. "That more or less settles it to my way of thinking."

He asked me one or two other questions, to all of which he noted down the answers; then, with the air of a man who has efficiently discharged a difficult duty, he snapped together his book and replaced it in his pocket.

"I don't think we need detain you any longer, Mr. Dryden. If the Head Constable comes over he'll probably wish to speak to you, but as like as not he'll leave the case to me. I'm going along to the lock straight away now, and it's my belief that before to-night we'll have our hands on the party that's wanted."

"I shouldn't be surprised, Sergeant," I said untruthfully. "All the same, it will be a smart bit of work if you do."

The doctor, who appeared to have lost interest in our conversation, picked up a piece of sacking and spread it across Bascomb's body. I had an idea that he was very far from satisfied, and the moment we left the coach-house my suspicions were confirmed.

Drawing me slightly to one side, he glanced impatiently at the Sergeant, who was engaged in giving some instructions to his subordinate.

"The man's a fool," he said in a low voice, "but there's nothing more to be done at present. We must wait until the Head Constable comes over."

Before I could make any reply we were joined by Mr. Robinson, the landlord.

"Excuse me, sir," he began apologetically, "but if you 'appen to be wantin' a boat while that dinghy o' yours is under repair, you're welcome to the use o' the one we came across in."

"That's uncommonly good of you," I said, "and, what's more, I should like to thank you for all you've done this morning. I am very sorry you should have been put to so much trouble and inconvenience."

"There ain't nothing that calls for mention," he objected. "You and me are neighbours in a manner o' speakin', and quite apart from that, sir, I'm always ready to do me duty by a corpse."

I was still searching for a suitable rejoinder to this sentiment when I was released from my embarrassment by the Sergeant.

"I'll wish you good morning, Mr. Dryden," he remarked, coming across to where we were collected. "Don't you get upsetting yourself over this business; you leave it to me, and I'll see that it's brought home to the right quarter."

I shook hands all round, and, followed by the fascinated glances of the public, made my way down to the jetty, where I proceeded to re-embark. On the whole, in spite of Dr. Hayward's suspicions, the affair had gone off as well as I could possibly have hoped, and it was with feelings of considerable relief that I ran in alongside the landing-stage and stepped out once more on to my own territory.

I found Bobby lying in a deck chair on the verandah awaiting my return. He jumped up as I appeared and came forward across the lawn to meet me.

"Welcome home, my lad," he observed. "I was just beginning to be afraid they'd clapped you into the local dungeon."

"Anything fresh happened while I've been away?" I asked.

He shook his head. "It's been positively dull. I've spent the time sitting in the sunshine, brooding over your family affairs."

He led the way back to the verandah, and, taking the chair alongside of him, I plunged straight away into an account of my experiences at Pen Mill.

"I hope I handled the thing right, Bobby," I concluded. "The doctor was evidently inclined to think it might be a case of murder, and to have set myself up against him would have been simply asking for trouble. If he felt the least suspicious about me, he'd probably have wired bang off to the Head Constable. As it is, thanks to that fool of a Sergeant, we ought to have at least twenty-four hours' breathing space."

Bobby patted me approvingly on the back. "You displayed a surprising amount of tact," he remarked. "It looks to me as if falling in love had considerably sharpened your wits."

"I think it was falling into the dock," I retorted. "Anyhow, the question is, What are we going to do now? According to the Sergeant the inquest will probably be on Friday morning, and unless we make pretty good use of our time——"

"We shall," interrupted Bobby. "I've been chewing the whole thing over while you were ashore, and I've come to one or two highly intelligent conclusions." He leaned across the arm of his chair, and knocked out his pipe against the side railing. "In the first place," he continued, in a rather more serious tone, "we've got to face the fact that Bascomb's death puts us into a devilish awkward position. I'm not very strong on law, but there's such a thing as being an accessory to murder. If we suspect Manning and de Roda we've no right to keep the fact from the police merely because we don't want to get your girl into trouble."

"But it was your advice," I protested. "Besides, I don't believe that de Roda had anything to do with it. I'm almost certain that Bascomb went over to the barge with some mad idea of revenging himself upon Manning. He probably found Craill there as well, and between the pair of them——"

"Exactly my idea," broke in Bobby. "All the same, we've got to be precious careful what we do or the police will end by nabbing the whole damned lot of us."

"Well, what do you suggest?" I asked.

"I think your notion's the right one. You must cruise up to town first thing to-morrow morning and get hold of this detective Johnnie. Tell him everything, just as you have told it to me. He is evidently a long-headed sort of bird, and he'll probably see some way out of the difficulty. Even if he can't we shall have put ourselves on the right side of the fence."

"Hadn't I better go at once?" I proposed.

Bobby glanced at his watch. "You may as well wait till the morning. He would most likely have left his office by the time you got there, and it's quite on the cards you might be missing all sorts of fun down here."

"Not much chance of that," I said regretfully. "They'll give us a fairly wide berth as long as your motor-boat's lying off the jetty."

"One never can tell," observed Bobby philosophically. "If Manning has found out all he wants to, and if he and Craill really did Bascomb in, you can bet your boots they won't hang about any longer than they can possibly help."

"I wish I could guess where the diamonds are hidden," I remarked.

Bobby looked at me with that queer provoking grin of his.

"Well?" I demanded.

"You're not very good at riddles, are you, Jack?" he said slowly. "I suppose it's never occurred to you that your uncle must have had some damned good reason for putting in a new fireplace?"

"By God!" I cried, jumping up from my chair; "I believe you've hit it." I paused for a moment, as a whole stream of significant memories rushed back into my mind. "It explains everything," I almost shouted. "Bascomb told me he had workmen over from Holland to put it in, and——"

"Why the devil didn't you say so before?" interrupted Bobby. "Of course, if that's the case, it absolutely settles the matter. I was merely going on the fact that directly Manning thought you were asleep he made a bee-line for the hall."

"I'm an ass, Robert," I admitted humbly. "Manning told me so yesterday, and I'm hanged if for once in his life he wasn't speaking the truth." I glanced in through the open window in the direction of the hearth. "Have you got as far as making a search?" I asked.

He nodded. "I went over every inch of it while you were away. It's my belief they're bricked up behind one of the tiles. You don't want much space to hide a packet of diamonds in."

"Well, come along then," I exclaimed. "There's a good hefty chisel in the kitchen, and if we can't——"

"Don't be in such a hurry," drawled Bobby. "We've an uncommonly tricky course to navigate, and we can't afford to run aground."

"But where's the harm?" I objected. "It's my property. I've every right to hack it about if I want to."

"I'm not questioning your title deeds," returned Bobby languidly. "What we've got to consider is how it will look in a Court of Law. If there's any trouble we shall be more or less dependent on this detective merchant of yours to get us out of it, and that being so, I don't propose to do any treasure-hunting until he's actually on the spot."

"I suppose you're right," I said after a short pause. "I only hope Campbell will be able to come."

"Hoping's no good; unless you find him and bring him back with you to-morrow night we shall have to tell the Head Constable the whole truth. If the Coroner knows his job something's sure to come out at the inquest, and you don't want to see your girl stuck up in the dock alongside Manning and Craill."

"It's the one idea that's been haunting me all through this ghastly business," I exclaimed. "I'm not talking rot, Bobby, but I'd hand in my ticket without a kick as long as I could keep Christine out of it."

"Of course you would," he replied. "Otherwise I shouldn't be wasting my time trying to help you." He hoisted himself out of his chair and put his hand on my shoulder. "You have my blessing for what it's worth, Jack," he added. "I don't know much about girls—not what you call nice girls; all the same, I'm absolutely certain that you've struck a regular prize-packet."

Compliments were so rare in Robert's vocabulary that I appreciated his effort at its proper value. We shook hands solemnly, and then, with a little grunt of satisfaction, he reseated himself on the arm of his chair.

"Well, that's that," he observed; "all we've got to do now is to carry on till to-morrow morning. You'll trot up to town by the first train, and I'll stop here and look after the treasure."

"I don't quite know how we shall manage about the housekeeping," I said. "There's tons of liquor, but the grub's running devilish short."

"It doesn't really matter," replied Bobby cheerfully. "Drink's very sustaining, provided one has enough of it."

As things turned out, I think we should have contrived to get through the rest of the day successfully, even without the help of Uncle Richard's well-stocked cellar. Although Bobby had heard my story from start to finish, there were still so many points on which he was anxious for further enlightenment that it took me all my time to answer his innumerable questions. He cross-examined me with a dogged persistence that would have done credit to a prosecuting counsel, and in more than one instance I was extraordinarily impressed by the shrewdness and insight of his comments.

At seven o'clock we adjourned the discussion in favour of a scratch meal, which consisted chiefly of champagne and biscuits. The former being Pol Roget of a particularly good vintage, we were able to give Bobby's nutriment theory a really convincing test. It worked out most successfully, for resuming our conversation over a couple of cigars, we talked on for the next two hours without the faintest feeling of exhaustion.

About ten Bobby glanced at his watch. "You'd better turn in now," he remarked firmly. "You've got a long day ahead of you, and the more sleep you have the better."

"Hang it all!" I protested. "I'm not going to dodge my share of the work. Somebody's got to keep awake."

"That will be all right," he interrupted. "I shall have nothing to do to-morrow after you're gone. If I want to I can sleep the whole blessed morning."

"But how about to-night?" I persisted. "Suppose Manning and Craill pay us a visit?"

Bobby smiled grimly, and, putting his hand in his hip pocket, pulled out a vicious-looking Mauser pistol.

"You'll probably hear the shooting," he replied. "You can come down in your pyjamas and help me throw out the bodies."

I saw that it would be a waste of time to argue any further, so, having made sure that he was provided with plenty of smokes and drinks, I assisted him to close the shutters and lock up the house. This done, I wished him a pleasant vigil, and, retiring upstairs to my own room, I was soon safely between the sheets, with Manning's Smith and Wesson tucked away under the pillow beneath my head.

I must have dropped off on the spot, for the next thing I remember is suddenly sitting up in bed and finding Bobby standing beside me with a cup of tea in his hand. He had drawn back the curtain, and the grey light of early day was coming in through the open window.

"Here you are, my son," he remarked cheerfully. "You shove this down your neck and tumble out at once. It's getting on for six o'clock."

"Anything happened?" I enquired. "I've been sleeping like a log."

"The champagne's finished," he announced with a grin. "There's no other news that I can think of at the moment."

I gulped down the tea, and, scrambling out of bed, proceeded to commence a hasty toilet, while Bobby, who looked very unshaven and disreputable, seated himself on the window sill and puffed contentedly at a cigarette.

"I've never spent a more peaceful night in my life," he continued. "If we can't find the diamonds you might do worse than turn the place into a rest cure. I believe you'd make a pot of money."

"It's not a bad notion," I admitted. "We could have Manning as a resident physician."

I ducked my head into a basin of water, and emerged from the process feeling considerably refreshed.

"How's the weather?" I enquired, seeing that he was looking out of the window.

"Better than it was. There's still a lot of mist hanging about the estuary, but the wind's south-east, and it will probably get up later in the day." He turned back into the room. "What time are you due in town?" he demanded.

"Just after nine," I said. "I ought to be in Fleet Street by half past."

He sat there swinging his foot and meditating while I rapidly pulled on my trousers and laced up my boots.

"It all depends whether the sleuth-hound's in his kennel," he observed. "If he is you'll be through by about ten-thirty. Send me a wire directly you've fixed up your arrangements. I want to let them know when to expect me at Martlesea."

"You couldn't put off the trip till to-morrow?" I suggested.

He shook his head. "I must look in for an hour. It doesn't matter what time though; there's always someone there till eight o'clock."

"I shall try and bring Campbell back with me by the mid-day train," I said. "Then we can have a hunt for the diamonds before you start."

"That's the idea," he replied approvingly. "With any luck it ought to be a very interesting and profitable afternoon."

He hoisted himself off the sill, and, coming up to where I was standing, helped me on with my coat.

"I'll row you ashore now," he added, "and if you'll let me know when to expect you I'll be waiting for you at Pen Mill."

"But how about the house?" I objected. "We oughtn't to leave it empty."

"I've only got to tip the word to my man Jenkins," he replied. "He'll take damned good care that nobody lands on the island."

We made our way downstairs, and, shutting the front door behind us, we set off at a brisk pace for the landing-stage.

The motor-boat, which had slewed round with the tide, was now lying with her nose towards the island, and Jenkins himself—a stalwart figure in white slops—was leaning pensively over the iron railing. As soon as he saw us he drew himself up and saluted.

We paddled alongside, where Bobby gave his instructions; and then, pulling straight across the estuary, ran in under the end of the jetty. Except for an aged fisherman mending his nets the place was entirely deserted.

With an encouraging "Good luck" from my companion I jumped ashore. I expected any moment that the landlord would appear at his door and waylay me before I could pass the inn, but by the mercy of providence his attention must have been otherwise occupied. Anyway I reached the village green unchallenged, and a few minutes later I was half way up the hill and safely beyond the reach of any such unfortunate encounter.

It was a full hour's tramp to Torrington, even for a quick walker like myself. Bobby had timed things perfectly, however, and just as I arrived at my destination the train came steaming in alongside the platform.

I made a rapid inspection of my fellow-passengers, and, having discovered that to the best of my knowledge they were all complete strangers, I took my seat in the corner of an empty smoker. The doors banged, the guard waved his flag, and with a triumphant whistle we slid slowly forward on our fifty mile journey to London.

I don't know whether the Great Eastern is generally punctual, but on this occasion its performance was beyond criticism. The hands of the big timepiece at Liverpool Street were pointing to exactly nine o'clock as I stepped out of the carriage and, hailing a taxi, instructed the man to drive me to Angel Court. He put me down outside the entrance, and with a queer feeling of excitement at my heart I walked up the narrow passage and pressed the bell of the Inspector's office.

My ring was answered by an alert-looking youth in his shirt-sleeves.

"Mr. Campbell hasn't come yet, sir," he said, in answer to my enquiry. "I'm not expecting him till half past ten this morning."

I suppose he saw my disappointment, for he added civilly: "Was it something important you wished to see him about, sir?"

"It was important enough to get me out of bed at six o'clock this morning," I explained.

"Well, perhaps you could look in again, sir," he suggested "If you like to leave your name I'll give it to him directly he arrives. He'll be here for certain by ten-thirty."

"I'll come back in an hour then," I replied. "If he turns up before tell him that Mr. John Dryden wants to see him."

I had met with the first hitch in my programme, but as I walked back into Fleet Street I consoled myself by reflecting that things might very easily have been much worse. Even if we missed the earlier train there was another, an equally good one, at two-fifteen. This would get us to Pen Mill shortly after four, which would still give Bobby plenty of time for his trip to Martlesea.

It occurred to me that the best thing I could do while I was waiting was to lay in a stock of fresh provisions. I could hardly expect Campbell to subsist entirely upon a diet of dry biscuits and champagne, so summoning another taxi, I told the driver to take me to Fortnum and Mason's. Here I purchased a number of delicacies, including a couple of cold chickens and a fresh tongue. I gave instructions that they should be packed in a hamper and sent off to the cloak-room at Liverpool Street to await my arrival, and then, still having half an hour to spare, I strolled across to the Piccadilly Hotel and treated myself to a glass of sherry and two or three caviare sandwiches.

At ten-thirty exactly I was back once more in Angel Court with my finger on the Inspector's bell. It had scarcely rung before the door was pulled open and the burly figure of Campbell himself appeared in the passage.

"Glad to see you, Mr. Dryden," he exclaimed, giving me a hearty grip. "My clerk told me you'd be along in a minute. I'm sorry I wasn't in when you called before."

"It was my fault," I said, following him into the office. "If people will come at such unholy hours they can hardly expect to find you at home."

"We're used to early visitors in this line of business," he replied with a laugh. "Besides, you couldn't have come at a more convenient time anyhow. As a matter of fact I was just going to write to you."

He pulled forward a tattered arm-chair, and, relieving me of my coat and hat, laid them on the sofa.

"Are you busy this morning?" I asked. "Can you fix things so that we shan't be interrupted for at least a couple of hours?"

He glanced at me sharply from under his bushy eyebrows.

"I daresay I can if it's really essential. Do you mind waiting a minute while I speak to my clerk?"

He stepped out into the passage and entered the opposite room. A minute later he returned, and, having shut the door behind him, took the chair opposite mine.

"Now," he enquired genially, "what's the trouble?"

I suppose that the task of listening to the most incredible stories is just part and parcel of a detective's business. Few men had probably had more experience in this line than Campbell himself, but as I began to speak I wondered in my own mind if he had ever encountered such a strange yarn as the one which I was about to unfold.

Following the same course that I had adopted with Bobby, I once more described my first meeting with Christine and her uncle that sunny afternoon in Manaos Harbour. Then, step by step, and taking infinite pains to omit nothing which might be of the least significance, I laid bare the whole amazing train of incidents which had led up to my present visit.

As a feat of uninterrupted talking (for, unlike Bobby, Campbell made no attempt even to ask a question) it was the nearest approach to a record that I am ever likely to achieve. Long before I had finished my voice was as hoarse as a crow's, and even now I can remember the feeling of relief with which I lay back in my chair when it was all over, and gazed expectantly into the shrewd, wide-awake eyes of my apparently unwearied companion.

It was he who was the first to break the silence.

"I congratulate you on a really remarkable performance, Mr. Dryden," he observed. "I have never met anyone who would make a better witness."

"Well, if that's the case," I replied, "I hope to God my abilities will be wasted."

Campbell looked at me for a moment with a queer, half-quizzical smile; then very suddenly his expression changed to one of the utmost gravity.

"Aye," he said in his harsh North country accent, "it's a serious enough matter in all conscience. The pity is that you couldn't come to me before. It might have saved one poor fellow's life anyway."

"You believe that Bascomb was murdered then?" I answered slowly.

"I'm sure of it," was the grim reply, "and, what's more, I'm practically certain that every word which that young lady told you is the Gospel truth." He sucked in his upper lip, and sat there for a moment gnawing the end of his short stubbly moustache.

"It's curious what a fool one can be at times," he continued. "I've been looking out for those stones ever since the Brazilian Government sent round their first notice. Twenty per cent was the offer they made, and on their own original estimate that would have worked out at something like forty thousand pounds. There isn't a police officer or detective in Europe who hasn't tried his hand on the job—and to think that for the last three months I've been walking around with the blessed things right under my very nose!"

"Oh, hang the diamonds!" I exclaimed. "We've got something more important to think about than them."

"Quite so," assented Campbell drily. "All the same, you may find the subject of some interest—after we've settled with Dr. Manning."

"Have you any doubt in your own mind as to whether he killed Bascomb?" I asked.

"I should think it's more likely to have been Craill," was the answer. "There was a touch of crudeness about the affair which doesn't quite fit in with our friend's record."

I leaned forward eagerly. "You've traced him?" I exclaimed. "You've found out who he is?"

Campbell pulled open a drawer in the table beside him and took out a piece of paper.

"I've managed to dig up one or two interesting little details. I was going to send them along to you this morning if you hadn't saved me the trouble." He glanced at his memoranda. "The gentleman's right name," he continued, "is not Manning at all. It's Francis Maitland Winter. He is thirty-six years old, a graduate of Harvard University, and I should say one of the most complete scoundrels that ever infested this earth."

I looked at my companion with open admiration. "How on earth did you discover all that?" I demanded.

"It wasn't difficult. The cleverest criminal makes a slip at times, and when our friend let out to you that he had once been a ship's surgeon he was actually speaking the truth. It was an unpardonable piece of carelessness, and he has probably regretted it bitterly ever since. Of all people in the world a ship's surgeon is one of the easiest to trace. A few enquiries in the right quarter convinced me that Dr. Manning was the same person who, under the name of Francis Winter, was tried for murder some years ago in New York and triumphantly acquitted by a well-meaning but remarkably thick-headed jury."

"Whom did he murder?" I asked.

"Well, he was charged with having poisoned one of his own patients—an old gentleman who had been ill-advised enough to make a will in his favour. He seems to have carried the whole thing through with extraordinary cleverness. Anyhow, he was not only acquitted, but he actually got away from America with the money. I believed it amounted to about a hundred thousand dollars."

"He must be a greedy devil," I observed. "If I'd made a coup like that, I'm hanged if I'd risk my neck a second time."

Campbell shrugged his shoulders. "I don't suppose he's well off. According to the evidence that came out at the trial, the man's a born gambler. He's probably lost the whole of it by now."

"But what are we to do?" I exclaimed, getting up from my chair. "I'm tied hand and foot for fear of dragging in Christine and her uncle. Unless you can help us——"

"I'll help you, Mr. Dryden, that's what I'm here for." The Inspector had risen to his feet also, and somehow or other the sight of his burly figure and the fighting gleam in his hard grey eyes sent a fresh wave of hope and confidence through my heart. "Our first job," he continued, "is to get Mr. de Roda and the young lady out of the hands of these ruffians. We must do that immediately. As soon as we've made quite certain that de Roda had nothing to do with the murder of Bascomb we can put the Yard on to Manning straight away. That will keep them busy while we're looking for the diamonds."

"I'd better go out and wire to Bobby that I'm bringing you back with me," I said. "I promised to let him know as soon as I could."

Campbell glanced at the watch which he was wearing on his wrist.

"The only trouble is that I can't leave here until after five. I've asked a man to come and see me this afternoon, and there's no possible way in which I can put him off."

I did a moment's rapid thinking. "Have you got such a thing as a time-table?" I enquired.

He handed me an A.B.C. off the mantelpiece, and, hunting up the right page, I soon found what I wanted.

"The best plan for you," I said, "will be to come straight through to Martlesea. There's a six o'clock train from Liverpool Street which gets in at seven-fifteen. I'll go back this afternoon and arrange with Bobby to pick you up at the station. Then he can bring you over to Greensea in his motor-boat."

Campbell nodded. "That will do me all right. What time shall we get in?"

"Oh, somewhere about eight-thirty," I replied "It's not more than a dozen miles, and you won't hang about on the way—not if Bobby's driving her." I picked up my hat and coat. "I'd better be clearing off now," I added. "That will give you a chance to settle up your affairs and make your will."

With a twinkle in his eyes Campbell held out his hand.

"Well, good-bye for the present," he remarked. "Don't do anything rash while your friend's away, Mr. Dryden. If you take my advice you'll just lock yourself in the house and wait there till we arrive."

He walked with me to the front door, and, leaving him standing on the steps, I made my way back down the alley into the roar and bustle of Fleet Street.

In answer to my enquiry a friendly policeman directed me to the nearest post office, where, after a brief deliberation, I sent off the following wire to Bobby:

"Business satisfactorily arranged. Meet me Pen Mill four o'clock."

By the time I had handed this in it was already a few minutes past one, and, feeling that whatever else I had accomplished I had certainly earned a good lunch, I turned into the Cock Tavern, which was only half a dozen yards away.

Here I feasted sumptuously on roast saddle of mutton and a bottle of Burgundy—an excellent wine for anyone who is suffering from the after-effects of two hours' continuous oratory. There being no occasion for hurry, I dawdled away another pleasant half hour over a cigar, and then at a leisurely pace I walked back through the City to Liverpool Street. At five and twenty to three I was watching the panorama of East London slip by the carriage window, with Fortnum and Mason's hamper reposing safely in the opposite rack.

On reaching Torrington station I was fortunate enough to secure the same ramshackle cab which had carried me to Pen Mill two days before. Packing myself and the hamper inside, I requested the driver to repeat the performance, and at a stumbling trot we once more jogged off through the wet and narrow lanes.

Bobby had evidently received my wire, for as we descended the hill I caught sight of him strolling in solitary state up and down the hard. He came forward to meet me, and opened the door of the cab when we drew up.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed. "Where's the sleuth-hound?"

I stepped out, clasping the hamper in my arms.

"Don't worry," I said, "I've got him all right."

Bobby looked round blankly. "Well, where is he?" he demanded. "In the basket?"

"No," I explained. "That's a little addition to the larder. Campbell couldn't get away till the six o'clock train. He's coming straight through to Martlesea, and I've arranged for you to pick him up at the station."

With a satisfied nod Robert relieved me of my burden, and having paid the cabman, we started off together up the jetty.

"There's no reason why you shouldn't shove off at once," I added, "not if you're in a hurry. We can't do anything here till Campbell arrives."

"I suppose I ought to," said Bobby rather doubtfully. "All the same, I'm not over keen on leaving you alone."

He stepped down with the hamper into the dinghy, and I took my place at the tiller.

"I shan't get into any mischief," I assured him. "I shall take Campbell's tip and lock myself up in the house with a loaded revolver. He's heard the whole yarn and he quite approves of our present arrangements."

As briefly as possible I went on to describe my interview in Angel Court and the dramatic news which the Inspector had given me with regard to Manning's real identity.

"I always knew he was a bad egg," grunted Bobby, tugging away grimly at his oars. "It's uncommon lucky for you that you happened to make a hit with that girl of yours. If it hadn't been for her——"

He left the sentence unfinished, and with a few vicious strokes ran up alongside the motor-boat, where Jenkins was awaiting our arrival.

"Well, you pop off," I said, preparing to take his seat. "I've told Campbell to look out for you on the platform, so you can't very well miss each other. I'll expect you back here about eight-thirty."

Bobby clambered on board, and, waving him farewell, I rowed on to the landing-stage, where I proceeded to disembark. I stood there until they had cast off their moorings and were heading out into the estuary; then with the hamper on my shoulder I trudged off towards the house.

The first thing I did on getting inside was to lock the front door and close up all the shutters. It was rather an undignified business—barricading oneself in one's own house in broad daylight—but, as somebody says in the Bible, "there's a time for everything," and it seemed to me that this was the right occasion for a little judicious cowardice.

Having secured my defences, my next step was to unpack the hamper. I arranged its contents in a tempting array on the empty shelves of the larder, and then, after boiling a kettle and making myself a cup of tea, I settled down on the hall sofa with a bundle of papers which I had brought down from town.

For any use they were to me, however, I might as well have left them behind. Try as I would, I was quite unable to fix my attention on what I was reading, and in a very little while I gave up the attempt in despair, and finally abandoned myself to my own thoughts.

Now that I had done everything I could I was once more beginning to feel intensely worried about Christine. Not a word or message had come from her since she had disappeared into the fog at Pen Mill, and knowing, as she must have done, the state of anxiety I should be in, this complete silence was all the more ominous and suggestive.

The murder of Bascomb and the facts which Campbell had discovered with reference to Manning's past history added to my misgivings. Except for the poor protection afforded by her uncle and the old French servant, she was at the mercy of one of the most cunning and pitiless scoundrels who had ever escaped the gallows. Every evil impulse in his nature must have been roused to life by the events of the previous afternoon, and still more bitterly than before I cursed my own folly and weakness in ever having permitted her to leave the island.

I was sitting there gnawing my lip and staring at the empty grate when a sudden sound in the verandah outside attracted my attention. Faint as it was, every muscle in my body stiffened instinctively. In one rapid movement I whipped out Manning's revolver, and the next moment I was crouching forward, my eyes fixed on the shutters.

For perhaps a couple of seconds the silence remained unbroken. Then, clear and unmistakable, came a low whistle, followed almost immediately by two sharp taps upon the pane.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

By a great effort of will I remained exactly as I was. I had to decide what to do, and I had to decide in a hurry, but it was obviously one of those situations in which one could not afford to make the least mistake. If I called out, the answer, for all I knew, might take the shape of a Mills bomb. On the other hand, if I kept silent, how could I discover the identity of my visitor?

Tap, tap, tap.

Once again came the mysterious summons—this time more imperative than before.

As the last knock died away, an idea flashed into my mind. Rising to my feet, I moved stealthily across the hall, and, creeping up the staircase like a cat, I turned into my own bedroom, which looked out on the front of the house. The window was still open, and, advancing towards it with infinite care, I was just preparing to make a cautious reconnaissance when I suddenly heard a shuffling movement down below. I paused, and, almost at the same second the loud jangling peal of the front door bell echoed up from the kitchen.

Somehow or other, the sound acted on me like a tonic. Without hesitating any longer, I thrust my head out over the sill, and there, right underneath me, I saw the ragged, curly-haired figure of my little friend, Jimmy.

"Hullo, James," I called out, "what are you doing here?"

He took a step back, and looked up.

"I gotter letter for you guv'nor—a letter from the young laidy."

"The devil you have!" I exclaimed eagerly. "You hang on there, my son. I'll be with you in half a tick."

Thrusting the revolver into my pocket, I hurried downstairs again, and with feverish haste unchained and opened the front door. Jimmy wiped his boots noisily on the mat, and with a cheerful grin advanced into the hall.

"I seed the light through the shutters," he explained, "and I guessed you was inside. That's why I knocked at the winder."

"Quite right, Jimmy," I said. "Where's the note?"

He dived into his pocket, and produced a crumpled and dirty-looking envelope, which he handed to me.

"When did you get this?" I demanded, refastening the door.

"On'y just now, guv'nor. It was give me by the old Frenchwoman wot lives at 'The Laurels.'"

I crossed to the lamp, and, tearing open the flap, pulled out the enclosure. It consisted of half a sheet of notepaper closely covered in Christine's small writing.

"DEAREST,—I am giving this note to Marie, who has promised to deliver it to Jimmy. I believe she is to be trusted, but I dare not say more for fear that it should fall into the wrong hands. At the present moment I am a prisoner in my own bedroom. I expect to be free again, with Marie's help, at half-past eight this evening. If all goes well I shall come across to the island immediately. Will you be on the landing-stage at twenty minutes to nine? Come straight down across the garden and through the iron gate, but on no account leave the house a moment before it's necessary. I will explain everything when I see you. With all my love,

"CHRISTINE."

I read it through to the end, and then turned back to Jimmy, who was still standing where I had left him.

"Did the old woman say anything when she gave you this note?" I asked.

"On'y as I was to let 'er know whether you'd got it," was the answer. "She's going to wait for me at the corner o' Butcher's Lane."

"Well, you can tell her it will be all right," I said, thrusting the letter into my pocket. "I suppose you haven't heard whether Mr. de Roda is back at the house—the young lady's uncle, you know?"

Jimmy nodded. "'E's there all right. 'E come up in a motor-boat about mid-day. She's lying out in the tideway round the point."

"How do you know it was Mr. de Roda?" I asked.

"Why, George Ellis, the boatman, seed 'im and Craill rowin' ashore. I 'eard George tellin' my dad. She's a fine boat, too, guv'nor—the old Seagull, wot used to belong to Captain Stainer of 'Arwich. George reckons 'e must 'ave bought 'er while 'e was away."

"Big enough to go to sea in?" I asked.

He nodded his head. "That's a fact," he answered in the usual Essex idiom. "The Capt'n run across to France in 'er once, and George says she done the trip in a reg'lar treat."

I pulled out my pocket-book and extracted a ten shilling note.

"Here you are, Jimmy," I said, "you cut back and give the old lady my message. Just say that I've received the letter, and that I'll do exactly what Miss de Roda wishes."

I conducted him to the door, stammering his thanks, and assuring me that my errand should be faithfully discharged, and having watched him hurry across the lawn and disappear into the shrubbery, I once more turned the key and shot home the bolts.

I felt that if ever I had cast my bread successfully upon the waters, it was in picking out Jimmy as a trustworthy confederate. Except for him, Christine would have had no chance of sending her letter across to the island, while the news he had brought with regard to de Roda was perhaps of even greater significance than anything she had dared to write.

There was only one explanation which would account for this sudden purchase of a sea-going motor-boat. Manning and de Roda must have made up their minds that the time had arrived for their final effort. Believing that I should be alone in the house that night, they had evidently decided to seize the diamonds by force and to make a bolt for the continent, where their plans were no doubt already arranged. Having become suspicious of Christine, they had apparently taken the simple course of locking her in her own room, so that she should have no possible opportunity of communicating their designs to me.

The one weak point in their otherwise excellent scheme had been the old French servant. Her affection for Christine had manifestly over-ridden her fear of the others; and, while pretending to carry out their orders, she had secretly consented to assist her young mistress.

If only the suggested plan worked successfully, nothing would fit in better with my own arrangements. To get Christine and de Roda into our hands was, as Campbell had said, the first and most essential step in our future proceedings. By eight-thirty, or soon after, he and Bobby ought to be back from Martlesea, and matters would be enormously simplified if they were to find half of the opening task already accomplished.

I was under no delusion, however, with regard to the dangerous nature of the undertaking. Should Christine's attempt fail, she would be in greater peril than ever, while even if she succeeded it was more than probable that her escape would be immediately discovered. In that event the house might be attacked before Campbell and Bobby returned. It was impossible to foretell to an exact certainty what time they would arrive, and, with everything at stake, Manning was not the sort of gentleman to allow the grass to grow under his feet.

I took out my revolver, and, having emptied the contents, carefully tested its mechanism. There was a comforting efficiency about the ensuing click, click, click, which left nothing to be desired, and, picking up the cartridges one by one, I reloaded it in every chamber. After all, if it came to a fight, the odds would be in my favour. I am a pretty safe shot, and, unless they blew the whole place to pieces, I ought to be able to hold the house against half a dozen assailants. No one could force an entrance without exposing himself to a bullet, and I was cheerfully prepared to shoot both Craill and Manning at the very first opportunity that presented itself.

A glance at the clock showed me that it was close on half-past six. There were still two hours to spin out before the appointed time—a prospect which certainly demanded all the patience that I possessed. I took the precaution of going upstairs again and fastening my bedroom window, and then, having filled a fresh pipe, I settled down grimly to my long vigil.

With exasperating slowness the minute hand crept up to seven, and began to drag round again on its interminable circle. By the time it had reached eight the strain of sitting there and doing nothing had become unbearable—so much so, indeed, that if it had not been for the very emphatic warning contained in Christine's letter I could hardly have resisted the temptation of starting out for the landing-stage. Her instructions had been too definite, however, to admit of any doubt as to their importance, and I felt that it would be madness to run the risk of endangering the whole plan for the lack of a little extra self-control.

At last the half hour struck, and with a sigh of relief I got up from my seat. Being careful to avoid any unnecessary noise, I unlocked the front door, and for a moment I stood on the step, revolver in hand, taking a rapid survey of the garden. Viewed from there in the gathering dusk, it presented a singularly peaceful and deserted appearance. A faint rustic in the tree-tops was the only sound which disturbed the silence, and, closing the door quietly behind me, I set off across the lawn in the direction of the iron gate.

On reaching that point I came to a temporary halt. The path beyond—always a sombre and depressing place even in broad daylight—was now so dark as to be hardly distinguishable from the rest of the shrubbery.

I peered ahead into the blackness, listening intently, but except for the occasional creak of a branch everything was as still as the grave. It was about as uninviting a route as one could very well imagine, but there was no other method of getting to the boat-house unless I disobeyed Christine's instructions, and I had been along it too often to be in much fear of losing my way.

Opening the gate, I passed through. For another second I again paused to listen; then with my revolver ready for immediate use I stepped boldly forward into the gloom.

As I did so my foot struck against a piece of wire, which was stretched across the path a few inches above the ground. So sudden was the shock that I had no chance of recovering my balance. The revolver escaped from my hand, and almost before I realised what had happened I had pitched forward full length on the point of my shoulder.

At the same instant there was a crash amongst the bushes and two men hurled themselves on top of me. One of them fell across my legs, clutching me by the knees; the other landed with his full weight right in the middle of my back.

Half dazed, and almost entirely winded, I still had strength to make one desperate effort. Twisting myself sideways, I jabbed back my elbow into the face of the man above me, and a smothered oath told me that the blow had gone home. Before I could repeat it, however, his fingers sank into my throat, and I felt a cold ring of steel pressed against my forehead:

"If you move again, I'll blow your brains out."

It was Manning's voice, and, low as the whisper was, there was no mistaking its savage sincerity.

I ceased struggling, for beneath that suffocating hold it was impossible to do otherwise.

"Hurry up, de Roda," came the sharp command. "Tie his arms and legs and be quick about it, we've no time to spare."

I felt my ankles being lashed together, and then a thrill of pain darted through my shoulder, as somebody jerked my arms roughly behind my back. A minute later I was as helpless as a trussed fowl.

Manning let go my throat and rose to his feet

"The first sound you make," he observed softly, "I'll shoot you like a dog."

"Better knock 'im in the 'ead," suggested a hoarse voice, "it'll save a lot of trouble."

I heard Manning laugh, as though he found the suggestion amusing.

"I have a better plan for dealing with Mr. Dryden, Craill," he remarked. "Do you think you can carry him to the house?"

The other made no answer, but, stooping down and gripping me round the waist, hoisted me over his shoulder as though I had been a sack of flour. Considering that I turn the scale at fourteen stone, the fellow's strength must have been prodigious.

Manning opened the gate for us, and we passed out on to the lawn.

Every step Craill took gave me a fresh thrill of pain, but the physical suffering I felt was nothing to the agony of rage and mortification that was tearing at my heart. The devilish ingenuity by which I had been trapped only added to my torture, for since the contents of Christine's letter were known to my captors, it was only too probable that her position was as dangerous as my own.

As we reached the verandah Manning's voice once more broke the silence.

"You had better put our friend down for a moment," he said. "We shall have to borrow his key to get into the house."

With a heave of his back Craill let me fall heavily on the stonework, and moving up to where I was lying Manning ran his hand quickly through my pockets.

"I've got it," he announced. Then, turning towards the silent figure on his right, he added almost mockingly, "Quite a dramatic moment, isn't it, de Roda?"

I heard the sharp click of the lock, and almost simultaneously a flood of light streamed out through the doorway.

With a strange gasping sob de Roda thrust his companion aside, and, trampling on my foot as he passed, stumbled blindly ahead of us into the hall.

Manning shrugged his shoulders. "You must make allowances for the old gentleman, Dryden," he said. "He has been very hardly treated, and I'm afraid it's affected his manners."

He stepped forward, laughing quietly to himself, and, without waiting for further orders, Craill dragged me roughly in after him and closed the door behind us.

"I think that end of the room will be a good place for our host," observed Manning, pointing towards the staircase. "You can tie him up comfortably there, and then he will be able to get a nice uninterrupted view of our researches."

Powerless to resist; I was hauled to my feet and lashed securely with my back to the banisters—a proceeding which gave me such pain in my injured shoulder that I had all my work cut out to remain silent.

With a cruel smile upon his lips Manning stood watching the operation. One side of his face was still bruised and swelled almost out of recognition, and even in the midst of my own suffering the sight filled me with fierce and exulting pleasure.

"You are not looking quite at your best, Manning," I remarked, "I am afraid you must have had another sleepless night."

"Shall I give 'im a wipe across the mouth?" growled Craill. "That'll stop his jaw."

Manning silenced him with a gesture.

"I don't think I shall be very much in your debt by the time I have finished with you, Dryden," he replied pleasantly.

A queer exclamation from de Roda, who was crouching in front of the fireplace, broke in suddenly upon our conversation.

"You were right," he cried hoarsely, "you were right, doctor! It is here! I see it myself."

He pointed with trembling fingers towards a small ornamental knob in the centre of the grate, which I had noticed on several occasions bore a rough resemblance to a bull-dog's head.

Manning glanced round unconcernedly, and then turned back to me.

"You must excuse me for a moment," he said. "Mr. de Roda is naturally impatient."

He walked across to the hearth, and the gaunt, huddled figure of the other moved aside to make room for him.

"Now we shall see," he remarked. "It will be very disappointing if I am wrong after all."

He caught the knob in both hands, and, bending forwards, gave it a sharp wrench. Instantly, and without the least noise, the whole front of one of the side pillars swung open like a door, exposing a high narrow cavity lined with brick.

In a second de Roda had flung himself on his knees and was groping in the aperture.

"They are here!" he screamed wildly. "My God, they are here!"

Sobbing with excitement, he began to drag out handful after handful of rough uncut stones, which rolled about the floor as he dropped them in his frantic haste.

Manning stood looking down on him as though he were regarding the antics of a child.

"Don't get too excited," he said soothingly. "You will only make yourself ill if you do." He beckoned to Craill. With staring eyes fixed upon the treasure, the latter shambled across the room. "Go into the kitchen," he added, "and see if you can find something to put them in. There's pretty sure to be a bag or basket about, and I don't suppose Mr. Dryden will object to giving us the loan of it."

Craill turned obediently towards the baize door, but he was checked by another gesture.

"I shall also want some paraffin oil," continued Manning in the same dispassionate tone. "Let me have all you can find, and if you come across any old newspapers bring them as well."

He glanced once more at de Roda, who was gloating over the diamonds and babbling to himself, then with his hands in his side pockets he strolled back to where I was pinioned.

"And now, Mr. John Dryden," he said, "I have time to attend to you."

For a moment we stood face to face, his china blue eyes fixed upon mine with a kind of pitiless satisfaction. I felt sure that I was very close to death. Even though Bobby and Campbell arrived in the course of the next few minutes, it would make no difference to my own fate. Manning would certainly kill me if it were his last act on earth, and in the absolute conviction that whatever happened I was a doomed man, a curious and almost detached calm seemed to find its way into my heart.

I looked back at him with a smile on my lips.

"For an expert, Manning," I said, "you take a long time about committing a murder."

He laughed easily. "I am sorry to keep you waiting," he replied. "It won't be very long—I can assure you of that—but there are just one or two little bits of information which I should like to give you first." He came a step closer. "I don't often take people into my confidence, but, you see, in your case I can afford to make an exception. Dead men are notoriously reticent."

I realised that every moment he indulged in the luxury of trying to torment me the more slender became his chances of escape.

"Go ahead, doctor," I said cheerfully. "Your conversation is always stimulating."

Provoking as my attitude must have been, he managed to control himself admirably.

"In the first place," he began, "it may amuse you to learn that the letter which brought you blundering out of the house in that singularly convenient fashion was written by myself."

Incredible as his statement seemed, something told me that he was speaking the truth.

"I congratulate you," I said coolly. "I knew you were a murderer and a thief, but I had no idea that you were an accomplished forger as well."

"You flatter me," he replied. "As a matter of fact it was a very hurried and rather clumsy piece of work. Any intelligent person would probably have seen through it at once." He pulled out an envelope from his pocket and held it up mockingly in front of me. "This is the touching and affectionate original," he added. "It was given to Marie by Christine, and, like a good servant, the old lady promptly handed it on to me. Very trustworthy domestics the French, Dryden."

For a moment I made no answer. The sight of Christine's letter in that brute's hands sent such a fresh wave of anger surging through me that I was afraid I should be unable to control my voice.

"I won't read it to you," he continued. "You might find it upsetting, and I should like your last moments to be really peaceful and happy." He paused. "Besides, you would probably be more interested to hear about my own future arrangements, especially as, to a rather important extent, they involve those of Miss de Roda."

He put the letter back into his pocket, and once more surveyed me with the same Satanic enjoyment.

"I have been fortunate enough to get hold of a really nice little ocean-going steam yacht, Dryden. At the present moment she is lying in the harbour at Rotterdam, and by to-morrow night we hope to be well on our way to the South Seas."

He glanced round again carelessly at de Roda, who was still scrabbling amongst the treasure, apparently blind and deaf to our presence.

"For Christine and myself," he continued softly, "the voyage will be full of romance. It will be our honeymoon, Dryden; a rather unwilling one on her part, perhaps, but none the less enjoyable for that."

I bit my lip until I could feel the blood trickling into my mouth.

"A pleasant family party at first," he went on, in a still lower voice; "but between ourselves, I don't think we shall be troubled with the old gentleman's company for very long. It would be sad, of course, if anything were to happen, but I shall do my best to console Christine. I fancy she has one of those rare natures which will respond to affectionate treatment."

God knows how much more of this I could have stood, but at that instant the baize door opened and Craill re-entered the hall. He had a bundle of newspapers under his arm, and was carrying a large tin of paraffin and a canvas bag.

Manning relieved him of the latter, and held it up to the light.

"That will do, Craill," he observed, handing it back. "You can put down the other things and help Mr. de Roda pack away the stones. We shall be leaving very shortly."

He turned towards me again, brushing off a patch of mud which he had apparently just noticed on his sleeve.

"By the way, Dryden," he added, "in the excitement of the moment I have clean forgotten to thank you for telling me where to look for the diamonds. It was the one point in which I was utterly at a loss. Your late lamented uncle was always babbling about a dog's head, but somehow or other I never connected it with the hiding-place. I always thought he was talking about that brute Satan. It was only when you confided to me that he had had the fireplace specially put in that I happened to notice that ingenious little bit of carving in the centre of the grate. Curious that I should have been so stupid, but the best of us make mistakes at times. Non semper arcum tendit Apollo, as our delightful friend Horace used to say."

He looked deliberately round the room, as though in search of something, and then walked across to the writing-table, where there were a couple of candle-sticks with stumps of candles in each.

He took out one of them, and, strolling back, picked up the bundle of newspapers which Craill had deposited on the floor.

"I have devoted considerable thought towards providing you with a fitting exit, Dryden," he remarked. "One or two very attractive ideas have occurred to me, but I think on the whole that the best plan will be to burn down the house. I trust that in the throes of courtship you have not overlooked the precaution of insuring against fire?"

His fiendish purpose had been obvious ever since he had sent Craill for the paraffin, and if he hoped for any sign of weakness from me he must have been singularly disappointed.

"I am afraid there will be no premium this time," I said. "You can't expect all your murders to be equally productive."

In spite of his wonderful self-control the shot went home. I saw the fingers of his left hand tighten sharply, while a sudden look of surprise flashed across his face.

"So you have been making enquiries into my past history?" he observed almost caressingly.

"Just a few," I admitted. "It was an unsavory business, but I have managed to dig up one or two quite interesting facts. At the present moment they are in the hands of the police."

He laughed gently. "I was doing Christine an injustice," he replied. "You seem to have occasional gleams of intelligence after all."

We were interrupted by Craill, who, leaving de Roda and the diamonds, lurched menacingly across the room.

"You 'eard wot 'e said, boss! Shove 'im through it, quick, and let's be off. We got to fetch the girl an'——"

"Don't upset yourself, Craill," came the imperturbable answer. "We shall have plenty of time to carry out our original programme."

He took another leisurely inspection of the room, and then, walking across to the opposite corner, dropped the newspapers in a tumbled heap alongside the grandfather clock.

"You can pull up those two tables," he added, "and empty out the log basket against the wall. I don't think we shall have much trouble in starting a really satisfactory bonfire. That's the best of these old panelled houses: they burn beautifully when they once catch alight."

With an evil grin upon his face, Craill set about the business, while de Roda, clutching the bag of diamonds in his trembling hands, stared vacantly at all three of us.

As soon as his instructions had been obeyed Manning picked up the paraffin. Taking out the cork, he poured half the contents of the can on to the wood, and splashed the remainder over the two tables and the wall. Then, bending forward, he placed the stump of candle in the middle of the pile of newspapers.

"You see the idea, Dryden?" he remarked, turning to me. "Something after the principle of a delayed fuse. Bar accidents, it will take the candle about ten minutes to burn down. That will afford you a nice comfortable opportunity to say your prayers. It will also give us plenty of time to call for Christine and be well on our way down the estuary before anyone has grasped the important fact that you are in need of assistance."

He struck a match, and, having carefully ignited the wick, stepped back to contemplate the result.

"For Gawd's sake 'urry up, boss," repeated Craill, more insistently than ever. "There ain't no sense in messin' abaht 'ere—not now we've got the stuff."

"You two can start now," replied Manning, "I shall catch you up before you reach the landing-stage."

Craill made a movement as if to take the diamonds from de Roda, but with a snarl, almost like that of a wild animal, the latter started away.

Manning laughed again. "Mr. de Roda will carry the stones, Craill," he said. "They will be quite safe in his charge."

Still hugging the bag fiercely in his arms, de Roda followed his companion to the hall door, and without any further remark from either of them the two men passed out into the darkness.

Directly they had gone Manning sauntered up to me. "I think we had better gag you, Dryden," he said thoughtfully. "I want to leave the window open so as to ensure a good draught, and it's just possible that somebody might hear you squealing."

Twisting his handkerchief into the shape of a bandage, he stepped up on to the staircase behind me, and, drawing the broad part tightly across my mouth, knotted the ends together at the back of my head. Then, coming round in front of me again, he took a last smiling survey of his handiwork.

"Good-bye, my friend," he drawled slowly. "I am afraid you are in for a rather uncomfortable time, but you must try to regard your suffering as a kind of disguised blessing. If there is any truth in what the church teaches us, you will probably find it an excellent preparation for the next world."

He made me a low mocking bow, and then with a final glance at the candle walked quickly across to the doorway and strode out into the garden after his two companions.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

SILENCE!

Silence so complete that I could almost hear the beating of my own heart as I stared across the room at the little cone of flame which burned away steadily amongst the tumbled pile of newspapers.

Five minutes had passed since Manning had left me—five ghastly, interminable minutes that had seared themselves for ever into the very fibre of my being. Twice I had tried to close my eyes, but on each occasion the hideous fascination of that ever-shortening stump of candle had proved far stronger than my own will. I had wrenched at the ropes which held me until my wrists were bleeding, and, now, utterly exhausted and almost sick with pain, I leaned back waiting for the end.

I had no feeling of fear for myself; all my thoughts were of the horrible fate that awaited Christine if Manning succeeded in getting her on board the yacht. I tried desperately to imagine what would happen when Bobby and Campbell reached the island. As far as I was aware they knew nothing of Manning's intentions. They would probably arrive only to find the house a mass of blazing ruins, and unless by some miracle they guessed the truth, they would be powerless to interfere until it was too late.

With straining eyes I watched the little yellow flame as it began to flicker ominously in its final stages. The end was very near now. A minute—forty-five seconds——

Clang!

Merciful God! What was that?

A stifled cry broke from my lips, and, jerking my head round, I stared through the open doorway into the darkness outside.

Someone had passed through the garden gate and was hurrying towards the house. I heard a rustle on the lawn, the swift pad of footsteps across the verandah, then, breathless and dripping wet, a slim, solitary figure stumbled into the light.

It was Christine.

Dressed only in the scantiest of swimming costumes, with the water still trickling from her bare arms and legs, she stood there, white-faced and horror-struck, gazing at the sight before her.

"The candle!" I stammered wildly. "Quick, put it out!"

With a faint splutter the wick suddenly heeled over, and a thin wisp of smoke shot up into the air.

In a flash Christine seemed to realise the peril in which we stood. Almost before the words left my lips she had darted across the room, and the next moment she was stamping out the smouldering paper with her bare feet.

I remember making a queer sound which I think was intended for a protest. For an instant she leaned against the wall, trembling and sobbing from the reaction; then with a kind of pitiful blind haste she groped her way to my side and began to unfasten the handkerchief which Manning had knotted across my mouth.

"What have they done to you?" she faltered. "Oh, what have they done to you?"

I gulped down a mouthful of sorely needed fresh air.

"Christine, my darling," I whispered, "how in heaven's name did you get here?"

"I swam over from the shore," she answered breathlessly. "I landed on the saltings just opposite the garden."

"You did what?" I exclaimed. I stared at her in amazement. "You swam in the dark across the estuary?"

She nodded.

"There was no other way of reaching the island. Marie had promised to send you a message by Jimmy, but instead of keeping her word she must have given it to Dr. Manning. He came to my room and told me what he was going to do. I made up my mind then that as soon as they started I would try to follow them. I got out through the window and I managed to climb down by the creeper. I thought the tide would be too strong for me, but I didn't care either way. If I wasn't in time to help you, I just wanted to be drowned."

She stopped, and her eyes fell upon an old-fashioned American bowie knife which was hanging from the wall at the head of the stairs. With a quick movement she stepped forward, and, unhooking it from the nail, began to saw away feverishly at the ropes which fastened me to the banisters.

She had just cut through the first strand when I suddenly realised that at any moment Manning might return.

"Shut the door before you do anything else," I explained. "Lock it and bolt it top and bottom. If they guess where you are——"

I had no need to finish, for Christine hurried off at once, and, forgetting my injured shoulder in the excitement of the moment, I gave an impatient tug at the nearly severed cord. I was rewarded by such a stab of pain that before I could stop it an involuntary grunt broke from my lips.

"What is it? What's the matter? You are hurt after all!"

With a face whiter than ever, and her eyes full of concern, Christine had hastened to where I was standing.

"It's nothing much," I said. "I blundered over a bit of wire they'd stretched across the path and I rather think I've cracked my collar-bone. It will be all right as soon as I've tied it up."

She knelt down beside me, and with trembling fingers set about the task of freeing my wrists. I heard her give a sudden gasp of horror as she saw the state they were in.

"Oh, the brutes!" she sobbed. "The utter brutes! How can God allow such people as Manning to exist?"

"He won't allow it much longer," I replied grimly.

The cut ends of the rope pattered down on to the floor, and, shaking myself loose, I stepped forward, a free man. Christine dropped the knife and rose unsteadily to her feet. The next moment I was crushing her soft wet body in my uninjured arm, and pressing kisses upon her bare neck and shoulders.

"My own dear love!" I whispered. "I must have been mad ever to let you go."