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3 34.33 OZ480751 6





I
GREENSEA. ISLAND
7





GREENSEA ISLAND
A MYSTERY OF THE ESSEX COAST
BY
VICTOR BRIDGES
Author of “A Rocue by compulsion,”
“the cruise of the scandal,” etc.
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
ºbe Tºknicketbocket Stegg
1922 ‘. . . . . . . * . . . .
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Tºri York
PUGLIC LIBRARY
: 29474. A
asºror, LRNox Ane
TILDEN Feux Da Trons
r 1924 L.
Copyright, 1922
by
Victor Bridges
Made in the United States of America


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GREENSEA. ISLAND


|
TT5 lirºi York
PUBLIC LIBRARY
29474. A
astor, LRNox Ane
TILDEN Feux DAT 14 NS
R 1924 I.
Copyright, 1922
by
Victor Bridges
Made in the United States of America


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MARGARET
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833 6 9 WO8） gausNww1





GREENSEA ISLAND
CHAPTER ONE
I was leaning over the starboard railing, waiting
for a boat, when Ross, the ship's doctor, came saunt-
ering along the deck, puffing contentedly at a large
Manilla cigar.
“Hullo, Dryden!” he observed, in that pleasant
drawling voice of his. “Busy as usual?”
Having just completed five hours' strenuous toil,
supervising the unlading of cargo, I could afford
to treat his effort at sarcasm with the contempt that
it deserved.
“Are you coming ashore?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I’m not the second officer
of the Neptune; I've got work to do. We are expect-
ing another bundle of Dagoes on board at three
o'clock, and I must be around to examine their
beastly eyes.” He knocked off the end of his cigar,
which fluttered down into the blue water of Leixoes
Harbour. “Besides,” he added, “what on earth's
the good of going ashore? There's nothing fresh
to see in Oporto.”
“There's probably something fresh to smell,” I
replied hopefully. “Anyhow, I'm going. I'm sick
to death of the ship, and I want to stretch my legs.”
3


4. GREENSEA. ISLAND
His glance travelled ironically downwards.
“I should have thought they were quite long
enough already,” he said. “If you grow any bigger
you will have to give up the sea, or else join the
White Star. There will be no room for you on the
Planet Line.”
“Well, I shan't break my heart about it,” I
returned, laughing. “I’ve had quite enough of the
gay and bounding ocean to last me the rest of my
time.”
He nodded sympathetically. “It’s a dog's life,”
he admitted. “I have often thought of chucking
it myself and setting up as a Harley Street specialist.
The only objection is my incurable honesty and
truthfulness.”
“In about a week,” I remarked, “you would be
packing up and bundling off to Timbuctoo or
Yokohama or somewhere. You've not got a simple,
restful nature like mine; you are one of those people
who have to keep on wandering about because their
consciences won't let them rest.”
“It’s not my conscience,” he replied cheerfully.
“I knocked the nonsense out of that years ago. It's
nothing but a silly habit I've drifted into. If one
paddles about the world long enough one gets a sort
of taste for it into one's blood, and when once that
happens a man's lost. It's worse than drink or
opium.” He leaned back against the rail and
surveyed me with mock seriousness. “Let my fate
be a warning to you, Dryden. If you feel any
yearnings for a nice little wife, and some chickens
in the back garden, and a corner seat in the parish
church, you get out of this while you're still young


GREENSEA. ISLAND 5
and innocent. Otherwise, in a few years' time, you
will be just such another case as I am.”
“It's the horrible possibility of that,” I explained,
“that makes me want to go ashore.”
He laughed good-humouredly. “Well, go ashore
then; and while you're about it you might see if you
can pick me up a new pipe. My old one's getting
positively insanitary.” He glanced down it at the
boat which was coming alongside.
“By the way,” he added, “you may come across
the beautiful Miss de Roda if you're lucky. She
went off about half an hour ago.”
“What, alone?” I asked.
“Quite alone,” he returned encouragingly.
“Uncle's still too seedy to go bucketing about as a
chaperon.”
“Well, I wonder he allowed her on shore by
herself,” I remarked. “It's the last thing I should
have expected considering the way he has bottled
her up all the blessed voyage.”
Ross smiled indulgently. “He probably thinks
she's safe against ordinary temptations. I expect
it's only romantic-looking second officers that he's
frightened of.” He walked with me to the head of
the ladder. “I suppose you'll want a boat to fetch
you,” he added. “Don’t forget we sail at six sharp.”
“Oh, that will be all right,” I replied, preparing
to descend. “I’m not sure what time I shall be
back, so I'll get one of those ruffians on the beach to
bring me off.”
I climbed down and took my place along with a
couple of passengers who had also been seized with
a belated desire to set foot on the soil of Portugal.


6 GREENSEA ISLAND
A minute later we were moving rapidly across the
harbour towards the long stone jetty.
All the way in, despite the chatting of my com-
panions, my thoughts kept flitting persistently round
the two people Ross and I had been discussing.
One meets many and various types of humanity on
a South American liner, but from the very first
Senor de Roda and his niece had aroused my especial
Interest.
They had joined the ship at Manaos, and I had
happened to be standing on the deck at the very
moment when they had come on board. Two things
had struck me about them instantly; one was the
fact that de Roda himself looked wretchedly ill,
and the other that his niece, on whose arm he leaned
heavily as he came up the gangway, was quite the
prettiest girl I had ever seen in my life. I am not
much of a hand at describing anyone's appearance,
but if you can imagine yourself coming face to face
with one of Greuze's most lovely pictures, suddenly
brought to life and a little sunburned, you will get
some faint idea of my sensations at that particular
moment. I am glad that no one was with me, for
I know that I stood there gaping at her with a sort
of stupefied admiration of which I should never have
heard the last during the remainder of the voyage.
To de Roda, on the other hand, I had only devoted
the briefest of glances. That, however, had left me
with the impression of a tall, powerfully built man
of middle age, prematurely bent by illness, and with
a sallow face, from which two dark eyes looked out
with a curious and rather forbidding intensity.
The next moment they had passed me, and with


GREENSEA. ISLAND 7
an effort I had jerked myself back into something
like my usual self-possession.
Later on the same day, when I had happened to
run across the purser, I had made some enquiries
concerning the new arrivals. Except for supplying
me with their names, however, he had been unable
to give me any information, beyond the fact that they
had booked through for the full voyage to London,
and that they had taken the two best cabins still
available.
It was from Ross that I subsequently gleaned the
few further particulars I knew about them. His
medical services had been called in the first evening,
and he had been in fairly regular attendance
throughout the whole voyage from Manaos to
Oporto.
From one or two remarks he let drop I gathered
that de Roda was suffering from some form of heart
trouble, and that although this might, and probably
would, get better for a time, any permanent recovery
was out of the question. The girl, it appeared, was
his patient's niece, and, unlike her uncle, who was
an obvious South American through and through,
she herself was half English, and spoke the language
as fluently and readily as she did Spanish or
Portuguese.
Ross declared that she was as charming to talk
to as she was beautiful to look at, but this was a
statement that so far I had no opportunity of
putting to a practical test. Throughout the entire
voyage both uncle and niece had kept as strictly to
themselves as any two people could possibly do on
an ocean-going steamer. For the first day or so de


8 GREENSEA. ISLAND
Roda's state of health had rendered it advisable
that all his meals should be served in his cabin, and
it was not until we were half way across that either
of them had appeared in the saloon. Even then
they had made arrangements with the steward that
they should have a private table, and so far as I
knew they were only on the barest speaking terms
with any of the other passengers.
Very occasionally they would stroll round the deck
in each other's company, de Roda invariably holding
his niece's arm and staring out in front of him with
a sombre look that was distinctly discouraging to
any casual advances. Now and then in the after-
noons Miss de Roda would establish herself in a
quiet corner with a book and a deck chair, but the
few more intrusive spirits who had attempted to
take advantage of this fact did not seem to have met
with any startling success.
Personally, I had made no effort to follow in their
steps. I will confess straight away that this was not
due to any indifference on my part, for she occupied
my thoughts in a curiously persistent and disturbing
fashion. My duties, however, left me little time for
talking to the passengers, and, apart from that, I
had no wish to try and force my acquaintance upon
a girl who so obviously desired to be left alone. At
times I could not help wondering whether her atti-
tude in the matter was not dictated rather by loyalty
to her uncle's wishes than by any natural inclination
for solitude; but still, that made no difference to
the facts of the case, which were sufficiently obvious
for any but the most thick-skinned individual.
So far as I was concerned, this slight touch of


GREENSEA ISLAND 9
mystery only added to her attractiveness. In spite
of our never having spoken to each other, I found
that with each day of the voyage my interest in her
increased rather than lessened, a circumstance which
I had been at some particular pains to keep entirely
to myself. As a rule I have not the least objection
to being chaffed, but for once in a way I rather
shrank from the raillery which Ross would certainly
have indulged in if he had had the remotest inkling
of my real feelings.
In the middle of these meditations of mine we
came alongside the jetty, from which two or three
nondescript longshoremen had been eyeing our
arrival with apathetic interest. For its size, Leixoes
seems to contain a remarkable number of leisured
citizens, whose only source of income appears to be
the scanty earnings of their hard-working wives.
My two companions were anxious to have a look
round the village before proceeding farther, so,
leaving them to their own devices, I walked up the
beach and boarded an electric tram which was just
about to start for Oporto. Half an hour's run along
the sandy road brought me to that straggling city,
which, with its mediaeval charm and shoddy,
unfinished modern “improvements,” gives one an
illuminating picture of Portuguese history.
I descended in the old quarter on the quay, where
the tall, tumble-down houses, with their quaint open
fronts, still stare out picturesquely over the broad
waters of the Douro. A glass of excellent iced beer
in a neighbouring café washed away most of the
dust which had collected in my throat, and then,
feeling remarkably at peace with the world, I strolled


IO GREENSEA ISLAND
off up the hill in the blazing glare of an almost
tropical sunshine.
For perhaps an hour I wandered leisurely about
the town, buying one or two things which I wanted
—including Ross's pipe—and thoroughly enjoying
the sensation of being once more on solid ground.
Then, having nothing better to do, I turned my
steps to the English Club, where, through the kind-
ness of the members—a very genial and hospitable
crowd—any officer of the Planet Line was always
a welcome guest.
Here I found one or two old acquaintances, in-
cluding the British Consul. All of them hailed me in
the friendliest fashion. What with cigars and talk
and more iced drinks, the time slipped away so
rapidly that I suddenly woke up to the fact that I
was cutting things rather fine with regard to the
return journey. I had intended to walk back to
Leixoes, but this was out of the question now, so,
bidding my kind hosts a hasty good-bye, I made my
way to the celebrated Rolling Square, where I found
another obliging tram waiting my convenience.
As I stepped inside, the very first person who met
my eyes was Miss de Roda. For the time I had
quite forgotten that she was on shore, and the
spectacle of her sitting there quietly in the corner
gave me such a start that with a sudden unintentional
movement I trod heavily upon the conductor's toe.
The explosion that followed, punctuated by my
apologies, naturally attracted her attention. She
glanced up with a half-suppressed smile quivering
round the corners of her lips, and behind it I thought
I could detect a faint trace of friendly recognition.


GREENSEA ISLAND II
Anyhow, I hesitated no longer. Taking my courage
in both hands, I walked up the tram to where she
was sitting and raised my cap.
“I hope you won't mind my introducing myself,”
I said. “I am the second officer of the Neptune,
and I think that you are one of our passengers.”
A slight but charmingly graceful movement of
her head encouraged me to take the vacant seat
beside her.
“My name,” I added, “is Dryden—John Dryden
—the same as the poet.”
She looked at me with a faint gleam of amusement
still lurking in the depths of her beautiful brown
eyes.
“I know you by sight, Mr. Dryden,” she said. “I
have seen you on the ship.” Then she paused. “You
must be proud of your name,” she added. “It is a
very distinguished one.”
“It was very nearly extinguished just now,” I
replied. “At least, judging by what I could under-
stand of the conductor's remarks.”
She laughed softly—a low musical laugh that gave
me a curious little stab of pleasure.
“One can't blame him,” she remarked. “You
must be a dreadfully heavy weight to come down
suddenly upon anyone's toe.”
I could hardly explain to her the real reason for
my clumsiness, so I took refuge in a piece of shame-
less dishonesty.
“I was in a hurry,” I explained. “I had been
talking to some friends in the English Club, and I
suddenly realised I should only just have time to
get back. Hence the catastrophe"


I2 GREENSEA ISLAND
She glanced at her watch. “We have left it
rather late,” she admitted. “I have been doing
some commissions for my uncle, and they kept me
a good deal longer than I expected.” She looked
up at me with a slight trace of anxiety. “I suppose
there is really no danger of our missing the ship?”
she asked.
I shook my head. “None at all. If there were
I should have taken a taxi. We shall be at Leixoes
by half-past five, and it's only a ten minutes' row
to where the Neptune's lying.”
“Provided that we can get a boat,” she added.
“Oh, there'll be no difficulty about that,” I said.
“There are generally plenty on the beach, and if it
came to the worst we could always signal to the
ship.”
My reassurances seemed to have the desired effect,
for she leaned back in her seat with a relieved expres-
sion, and obviously dismissed the matter from her
thoughts.
It is not an easy thing to carry on a natural and
unbroken conversation in a Portuguese tram, handi-
capped as one is by the pace at which the vehicle
travels and the perpetual gong-ringing in which all
drivers so joyously indulge. Still, considering the
difficulties under which we laboured, we certainly
got along together remarkably well. Long before
we reached Leixoes I was in full agreement with
Ross's statement that my companion was just as
charming to talk to as she was beautiful to look
at, and all the way I was secretly blessing the lucky
accident which had given me the chance of making
her acquaintance.


GREENSEA. ISLAND I3
One thing I noticed, however, and that was that
although she talked freely about the voyage and
about her impressions of Oporto, she made no
further reference either to her uncle or to her own
affairs. I need hardly add that I was particularly
careful to avoid saying anything which might sound
like an attempt to introduce either topic, but the fact
only strengthened my previous opinion that her
self-imposed solitude on board was due to some
private reason rather than to any natural aversion
to society.
This belief was increased by the faint but curious
suggestion of reserve which seemed to linger in the
background, even when she was speaking about the
most unimportant matters. It gave me the impres-
sion that she regarded our conversation as a sort of
unexpected holiday—a holiday which for some
mysterious reason she had no real right to indulge
in. Its only effect, however, was to render her still
more attractive, and I felt quite resentful against
the unnecessary efficiency of the Portuguese tram
service, when we gonged our way noisily into
Leixoes five minutes after the appointed time for
our arrival.
Disentangling ourselves from the rest of the com-
pany, we made our way down to the beach. Out in
the harbour we could see the Neptune busily engaged
in getting up steam, while a few trading boats still
clustered round her side, making a final effort to
coax money out of her now wary passengers.
As we reached the shore a swarthy and rather
truculent-looking gentleman, decorated with silver
ear-rings, came forward to meet us.


I4 GREENSEA. ISLAND
“You want to go to sheep?” he enquired, waving
a dirty hand in the direction of the Neptune.
I eyed him with some disfavour, but there ap-
peared to be only one boat on the beach, so it was
no good being too fastidious.
“Bring her along to the edge of the jetty,” I said,
“and we'll get in there.”
With a shrill whistle through his fingers he sum-
moned another and equally unattractive individual
to his aid, and the pair of them commenced to haul
their boat down into the water.
Miss de Roda and I walked along the causeway.
“I’m sorry I can't find you a handsomer crew,”
I said, “but it's a question of Hobson's choice.”
“Oh, they will do very well,” she answered,
smiling. “They are probably the most respectable
people really.” Then she paused. “It’s a bad habit
to judge by appearances,” she added, with what
seemed to me the least touch of bitterness in her
voice.
I looked at her steadily. “Perhaps you're right,”
I admitted. “All the same, it's one of those bad
habits that I’m rather a believer in.”
To this remark she returned no answer, and the
next minute the boat, with its two unprepossessing
occupants, came drifting alongside. We took our
places in the stern, facing the gentleman with the
silver ear-rings, who was pulling stroke. At closer
quarters I thought I had never seen a more sinister-
looking rascal in my life, an impression which was
in no way mitigated by a large, businesslike-looking
knife, which he wore stuck in a sheath suspended
from his belt.


GREENSEA. ISLAND I5
At a very leisurely pace we moved away from the
jetty and headed in the direction of the ship. Neither
of the men appeared to be putting the least energy
into his work, and at any other time I should have
called their attention to the fact in pretty straight
language. As it was, the prospect of spending a few
more minutes in my companion's society reconciled
me to their slackness, though the furtive way in
which they kept glancing at us annoyed me almost
beyond endurance.
We had covered about half the distance, and were
still some two hundred yards from the Neptune,
when, without any warning, both men suddenly
ceased rowing and rested their oars on the water.
I looked up at them sharply. “What are you
doing?” I said. “Get on at once.”
The fellow with the silver ear-rings eyed me with
provoking insolence.
“No-no,” he said. “You pay us now. You
pay us two pound and then we take you to sheep.”
Now the proper fee for a harbour boat at Leixoes
is two shillings, so for a moment the audacity of this
demand almost took away my breath. I suppose my
face showed what I felt, for before I could speak
Miss de Roda leaned across and touched me on the
arin.
“Please don't let my being with you make any
difference, Mr. Dryden,” she said. “Do exactly
what you think best.”
I had quite recovered myself by this time, and
the cool way in which she accepted the situation
filled me with secret pleasure.
I addressed myself to the leader of the mutiny.


16 GREENSEA ISLAND
“I shall pay you your exact fare,” I said, “and
if you take my advice you will go on at once.”
He met my gaze with an expression of truculent
defiance.
“Two pound,” he repeated, “or we take you over
there and leave you.” He waved his hand in the
direction of the desolate sandbanks which stretched
along the farther side of Leixoes harbour. “You
not get boat then,” he added, grinning maliciously;
“you stop there and lose sheep.”
It has always been an axiom of mine that when
you have got to have a row the quicker and more
vigorously you start work the better. The man's
face was only a few feet away from me, and, without
a second's hesitation, I made a swift lunge forward,
and struck out with all the force that I was capable
of. He saw what was coming and grabbed for his
weapon, but just as he drew it from its sheath the
blow crashed home on the point of his chin, and
sent him reeling over backwards into the arms of
his companion. Slipping from his hand, the knife
tinkled down on to the floorboard of the boat, and
the next instant I had snatched it up and was stand-
ing over the confused heap of arms and legs which
represented the vanquished enemy.
“Now,” I said, “are you going on, or am I going
to chuck you both into the harbour?”
For a moment there was no answer; then, with
an effort, the gentleman in the bow slithered out
from under his companion and sat up, blinking and
gasping. He was evidently a poor-spirited ruffian
compared with the other, for his face had gone the
colour of putty, and he eyed me with absolute terror.


GREENSEA. ISLAND 17
“You had better make up your mind quickly,”
I added.
He nodded his head vigorously. “Yes, yes,” he
exclaimed; “we take you to sheep”; and, without
waiting for any further developments, he seized hold
of his discarded oar and plunged it furiously into
the water. -
“Well, you won't do it by rowing round in a
circle,” I observed. “We must try what first aid for
the injured will do.”
I picked up a rusty tin from under one of the
seats, and, filling it with water, poured the contents
over the head of the sleeping beauty, who still lay
in a huddled mass between the two seats. For such
a simple remedy it worked with surprising efficiency.
There was a grunt, followed by a convulsive start,
and then, shaking himself like a drenched New-
foundland dog, the patient slowly arose from his
recumbent attitude.
I scowled at him ferociously. “Oh, you've waked
up, have you?” I said. “Catch hold of your oar,
and don't let me hear another word from you before
we reach the ship.”
If looks could kill I should have dropped dead in
the boat, but, nature having fortunately arranged
otherwise, no such unpleasant tragedy occurred.
Without a word he proceeded to carry out my in-
structions, and the next moment we were moving on
towards the Neptune at a considerably brisker pace
than we had hitherto achieved.
Going back to my place in the stern, I reseated
myself beside Miss de Roda.
“You have made me change my opinion,” she
2


18 GREENSEA. ISLAND
said, in a delightfully tranquil voice. “In future I
shall attach more importance to first impressions.”
“I hope you didn't mind,” I answered apolo-
getically. “I couldn't think of anything else to do
for the moment.”
She shook her head, with the same gleam of
amusement in her eyes that I had seen before.
“On the contrary,” she said, “I am extremely
obliged to you. I have the greatest possible objec-
tion to being cheated.” She paused, and, bending
sideways, looked out ahead of us. “I wonder if
anybody on the ship saw what happened,” she added.
“There seem to be several people leaning over the
side.”
I fancied I could detect a faint trace of anxiety
in her voice, as though she rather dreaded the
possibility she referred to.
“I don't suppose so,” I said comfortingly. “The
sun's in their eyes, and we were some distance
off --
“It's only my uncle I am thinking of,” she ex-
claimed. “As long as no one says anything to him it
doesn't matter in the least. He is not very well, you
know, and I shouldn't like him to be upset or—or
annoyed.”
She brought out the last word with some hesita-
tion, and then stopped, as though rather regretting
that she had made use of it.
“I’m sure it will be all right,” I repeated. “There's
something very deceptive about the Portuguese at-
mosphere. If anybody imagines they saw anything,
I shall let them know that they were making a
mistake.”


GREENSEA ISLAND 19
By this time we had drawn close enough to the
Neptune to be able to distinguish the small group
of people who were watching our approach. It
was with a certain feeling of discomfort that I recog-
nised amongst them the burly figure of Ross, for I
knew that, whatever the others might have missed,
nothing would have escaped his singularly observant
eye. Still, I comforted myself with the thought
that he was the last person who would be likely
to gossip unnecessarily, and that it was only I
myself who would be the victim of his amiable
banter.
As our two boatmen brought us alongside the
ship in sullen silence, a sailor who had been waiting
at the top of the ladder ran down and caught hold
of the gunwale. I guessed from his expression that
he also had been an intelligent witness of our little
disturbance, a suspicion which was fully confirmed
by his opening remark.
“Been 'avin' trouble with 'em, sir?” he enquired.
I assisted Miss de Roda out of the boat, and
collected the one or two small parcels which I had
brought with me.
“It was a case of sudden illness,” I explained.
“One of our friends here was taken faint, and I had
to pour some water over his head. He is feeling
better now.”
The sailor said nothing, but I saw him glance with
an appreciative grin at the scowling face of the
supposed invalid, which was beginning to show
distinct traces of its recent contact with my fist.
This scowl became even darker when I handed over
a two shilling piece, and stepped up unconcernedly


2O GREENSEA ISLAND
on to the bottom rung of the ladder, leaving the knife
lying behind me on the seat. I fancy that its owner
would have given all his earthly possessions to jump
up after me and plunge it into my back, but if so
his longing had to share the fate of many another
splendid aspiration in this disappointing world.
As I reached the deck, under a fire of rather
curious glances from the small knot of passengers
who had gathered there, I noticed Miss de Roda, a
little distance apart from the others, apparently
waiting to speak to me. Ross, who was still leaning
over the rail, made no effort to attract my attention,
so, passing through the group, I walked up to where
she was standing.
“Here is my shilling, Mr. Dryden,” she said,
holding out her hand; “and thank you very much
for saving me the other nineteen.”
I took the coin she offered me and put it into my
pocket.
“I think I shall bore a hole in it,” I said, “and
wear it as a medal. A naval victory like ours
deserves some recognition.”
She laughed softly. “There will always be one
person who remembers it,” she said, “if that's any
satisfaction.”
Something prompted me to take a bold step.
“May I come and talk to you sometimes when I
see you on deck?” I asked. “Please tell me straight
out if you would rather I didn't.”
A troubled look came into her eyes, and for a
moment she hesitated.
“It isn't a question of what I should like,” she
said slowly. “You see, I have to think of my uncle.


GREENSEA. ISLAND 2I
He is not at all well, and he has a very strong
objection to our making any fresh acquaintances on
board.”
I daresay my face showed what I thought of
Senor de Roda, for she continued a little hastily:
“You mustn't imagine that he is unkind or disagree-
able. Indeed, in a way I–I agree with him. Please
don't think me ungrateful, but it will be much the
best if we just say good-bye now.”
There was something almost wistful in the way
she spoke, which at once softened my resentment
without in any way altering my disappointment.
“Couldn't we split the difference?” I suggested.
“Let me have one more talk with you, and then, if
it's got to be good-bye, I'll try and say it as cheerfully
as possible.”
There was a moment's pause. “Very well,” she
said. “I sometimes go up on deck for a few minutes
before breakfast. If you care to come and talk to
me to-morrow morning, please do.”
I took off my cap, and with a very slight bow she
turned towards her cabin, leaving me standing there
in a tangle of interesting, and, so far as I was
concerned, quite novel emotions.
I woke up to perceive Ross sauntering towards
me, with his hands in his pockets and a mischievous
twinkle in his grey eyes.
“Hullo!” he observed. “Got my pipe?”
I nodded. “I have bought you a beauty,” I
said. “You will be a credit to the ship.”
“There's a telegram for you in your cabin,” he
went on; “a cable from England, I think. It came
on board just after you had gone ashore.”


22 GREENSEA ISLAND
“A cable from England!” I repeated. “I wonder
who the Dickens it's from.”
He chuckled softly. “Can't say,” he replied,
“unless it's a message from King Arthur offering
you a seat at the Round Table. I believe they're
getting devilish short of knights errant.”
I stepped up to him and took him gently but
firmly by the arm.
“I think you want a drink, Ross,” I said. “You
had better come along down with me, and I'll give
you a whisky and soda.”


CHAPTER TWO
I LED him across the deck until we reached the
companion, when I released my grip on his elbow.
“Tell me, you old scoundrel,” I said, “did anyone
except you and that confounded sailor see what was
going on?”
He chuckled again. “What can you expect,”
he enquired, “if you will choose the public ocean on
which to perform these feats of chivalry?”
“There wasn't any chivalry about it,” I said.
“The blighters tried to blackmail us into giving
them a couple of quid. In fact, they had the infernal
cheek to threaten to out us ashore on the sands if
we didn't pay up.”
Ross smiled provokingly. “I should have thought
that would have just suited you,” he observed.
“You would make a very nice Paul and Virginia.”
“It wouldn't have suited Miss de Roda,” I re-
turned. “As it is, she's worried to death with the
idea that someone will go and tell her uncle about
that scrap in the boat. She thinks it will give him
another heart attack, and, seeing the sort of doctor
we've got on board, I must say I rather sympathize
with her.”
He took my shaft quite imperturbably.
“I thought you would get the poor girl into trouble
23


24 GREENSEA. ISLAND
sooner or later,” he remarked. “Still, thanks to
me, it's not as bad as it might have been. I was
the only one on board with a pair of glasses, and,
when the others asked me what was happening, I
told them the gentleman you sloshed on the jaw had
managed to catch a crab. It was some crab, by the
way, wasn't it? I hate lying, but I knew that your
natural modesty would shrink from anything like
a public ovation.”
I stopped outside my cabin. “Ross,” I said
feelingly, “you may be a bad doctor, but you're a
damned good pal. You shall have a double whisky
for this.” -
I led the way in and closed the door behind us.
“Besides,” he continued, settling himself down
on my bunk, “there's no risk of Uncle Philip drop-
ping dead. He has bucked up a lot the last day or
two, thanks to my extraordinary skill.”
I mixed a generous peg, and brought it across to
where he was sitting.
“I can't quite make out the Senor de Roda,” I
said. “He looks as if he had something on his mind
—something he was always brooding over.”
Ross took a long and appreciative drink. “He
has had a rotten time somehow,” he replied; “that's
quite certain. I should put him down as a naturally
healthy man who had been broken up by bad feeding
and rough living.” He paused. “But I expect
you're pretty well up in the family history now?”
he added drily.
“That's the weak point of your profession,” I
retorted. “When you don't know you generally
guess wrong. As a matter of fact I only met Miss


26 GREENSEA. ISLAND
There was a short pause. Then once more he
glanced through the message which he was still
holding in his hand. “Who was Mr. Richard
Jannaway?” he demanded. “And what's all the
mystery about?”
I picked up the whisky and helped myself to a
drink.
“He was my mother's brother,” I said. “I know
hardly anything about him besides that. I was
under the impression that he was dead years ago.”
“Haven't you ever seen him?”
I shook my head. “He left England when I was
a baby. I believe he was a pretty bad egg one way
and another—the sort of black sheep that every
respectable family rolls out occasionally. I have
got some vague idea that he went to South America,
but so far as I know there has never been any news
of him from that day to this.”
Ross reseated himself on the bunk and stared at
me with vast enjoyment.
“You’ve struck the main reef, my son,” he
observed. “It’s the sort of thing one reads about
in a shilling shocker. He's probably made a huge
fortune cornering castor oil or something, and when
you get back you'll find yourself a prancing
millionaire.”
“It's much more likely he's left me a bundle of
debts,” I said sceptically.
“Don’t you believe it,” persisted Ross. “I’ve
got a wonderful instinct for lucky people, and the
very first time I saw you I smelt money. I don't
suppose you'll ever do another honest day's work
in your life—at least, not after you reach London.”


GREENSEA ISLAND 27
As he spoke the jangling sound of the shore bell
echoed loudly through the ship.
“Anyhow, I must go up and make a final effort
at it now,” I said. “I am due on the bridge in five
minutes, and I shouldn't like to leave the service
with a tarnished record.”
Ross hoisted himself to his feet and handed me
back the wire.
“I shall retire to my cabin and read Marcus
Aurelius,” he announced. “He is very consoling
with regard to the favouritism and injustice of
life.”
As people go I don't think I am very easily upset,
either by good luck or the reverse. Still, I must
admit that, in spite of what I said to Ross, the
totally unexpected news which Messrs. Wilmot and
Drayton had been kind enough to forward me had
certainly set my heart beating a little more briskly
than usual. There is something peculiarly stimula-
ting in the thought that one may have come into
a fortune—especially to a second officer in the
Merchant Service, whose capital consists of about
seventy pounds in cash and a miscellaneous collection
of shore-going clothes.
All through my watch, while we were creeping
out of Leixoes harbour, and thrashing our way up
the desolate coast of Spain, the pleasant possibilities
of the situation kept turning themselves over in my
mind. As I had told Ross earlier in the afternoon,
I was sick of my present life—sick to death of it.
Ever since the war I had been helping to trundle the
Neptune backwards and forwards between London
and Brazil, and any faint attraction the job might


28 GREENSEA. ISLAND
once have possessed had long since vanished into
thin air. I had already practically made up my
mind to chuck it at the first favourable opportunity,
and now it looked as if Fate were suddenly offering
me a chance such as I had never hoped for even in
my wildest dreams. If this mysterious uncle of
mine had really left me anything worth having I
could start out on my fresh career with all the
advantages of a leisurely and deliberate choice.
What that choice would be I had not exactly deter-
mined. When one is twenty-six, and as fit as a
fiddle, the world contains so many delightful open-
ings, it is difficult to decide in a hurry which is the
most congenial.
Even when I was back in my cabin and stretched
out comfortably in my bunk, I still found my mind
sufficiently busy to keep me wide awake. Another
and highly interesting thought had suddenly dawned
upon me, and that was that if Ross's predictions
were in any way right, I should now be in a much
more justifiable position to pursue my acquaintance
with Miss de Roda.
Lying there in the dark, I seemed to see her face
as plainly as if she were standing just in front of me.
Those wonderful eyes and the soft curve of her lips
stood out before me with a strange, bewitching
vividness. Slowly and with a curious pleasure I
went through again all our conversation during the
drive down from Oporto. It had been simple
enough on the surface—the mere exchange of ordi-
nary cheerful commonplaces suitable to the situation
—but once more I seemed to catch that faint,
tantalising atmosphere of reserve and mystery


GREENSEA. ISLAND 29
which was none the less real for being so utterly
intangible.
The more I thought it over the more certain I felt
that in her own opinion there was some impenetrable
barrier which cut her off from the possibility of
making friends with anyone on board. Her uncle's
wishes may have had something to do with it, but
there seemed to me little doubt that she herself shared
his views in the matter, and was fully determined
to carry them out.
It was not exactly an encouraging conclusion, but
I refused to let it depress me. Barriers, after all, are
only made to be attacked, and on the whole I rather
like a certain amount of opposition. It adds so
enormously to the value of the prize after one has
succeeded in getting one's own way.
I meditated upon this satisfactory truth a little
longer, and at last with a feeling of drowsy content-
ment over the prospect of seeing and talking with
her the next morning, I turned over comfortably on
my side and dropped off to sleep.
It is not always that nature is so obliging as to
harmonize with one's feelings, but from what I could
see through the porthole when I woke up the next
morning it appeared to me that the weather was
thoroughly in keeping with my own good spirits.
When I reached the deck I found no reason for
changing my opinion. Under a sky of cloudless blue
and through a sparkling, sunlit sea the Neptune was
steadily churning her way northwards, leaving a
broad white wake of foam stretching away half a
mile behind her. Even the usually expression-
less face of the first officer was wreathed in a


30 GREENSEA. ISLAND
satisfied smile as he paced slowly up and down the
bridge. -
By half-past seven one or two passengers had
already made their appearance, but it was not until
a few minutes after eight that I at last caught sight
of Miss de Roda. She was standing by herself look-
ing out over the stern railing, and the sudden thrill
that ran through me when I recognised her showed
me that my feelings must have been travelling at a
very creditable pace during the last twenty-four
hours.
There was not much time before breakfast, so,
without any unnecessary delay, I at once made my
way aft. She looked up as I approached, and the
swift fear I felt that she might have repented making
the appointment vanished immediately before the
friendly smile with which she returned my greeting.
“Good morning, Mr. Dryden,” she said, “and if
you've any consideration for my feelings, please
don't tell me it's a beautiful day. I have heard that
from three different people already.”
I looked at her with deep contentment. She was
wearing a plain linen frock that showed off the
graceful lines of her figure, and altogether she was
as fresh and delightful a picture as ever gladdened
the eye of sinful man.
“I am sorry,” I said regretfully. “I had made
up one or two very bright remarks on the subject,
but under the circumstances I'll keep them for some-
body else.” I paused. “How is Señor de Roda this
morning?” I asked. “I hope he hasn't heard any-
thing about our adventures in the harbour?”
She shook her head. “Not a word apparently.


GREENSEA ISLAND 3I
I am beginning to think that nobody saw us after
all, except the sailor who spoke to you.”
In a few words I acquainted her with what Ross
had told me the previous evening—a piece of infor-
mation which she received with obvious thankfulness.
“I have always liked Dr. Ross,” she said. “He
is so kind and cheery. Is he a special friend of
yours?” -
“We have been together for a dozen voyages,”
I explained, “and so far we have managed to get
along without squabbling.”
“A dozen voyages!” she repeated, opening her
eyes. “You must be getting a little tired of the
Neptune, aren't you?”
“She has lost some of her first charm,” I admitted
frankly. “I have been thinking of applying for a
separation for some time.”
She looked up at me with a friendly interest that
I found very refreshing.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I don't know exactly,” I replied. “It depends
to a certain extent upon Messrs. Wilmot and
Drayton.”
There was a short pause.
“They sound like two very important people,”
she said, wrinkling her forehead, “but I am afraid
I have never heard of either of them.”
“Neither had I until I got back yesterday,” I
returned. “Then I found a cable from them in
my cabin telling me that my uncle was dead.”
She gave a little exclamation of sympathy. “Oh,
I am so sorry,” she began. “I’m afraid—”
“It's quite all right,” I interrupted cheerfully.


32 GREENSEA. ISLAND
“I never saw him in my life, and I believe he was
several kinds of a blackguard. The only reason
they wired to me was because I happen to be the
next of kin, and as he died without making a will I
suppose I come into his goods and chattels—if there
are any to come into.”
“But don't you know? Didn't they give you
any details?”
I shook my head. “Nothing at all. I may be
a millionaire, or he may have left me a parrot and
an old suit of clothes. I should think the latter
was much the more likely of the two, but Ross won't
have it at any price. He says that he has got a
kind of second sight about money matters, and that
he's always felt I was born to be one of the idle rich.”
She laughed easily. “I do hope he's right. Aren't
you tremendously excited about it?”
“I am trying not to be,” I said. “You see, the
more one expects the greater the disappointment.”
“Who was your uncle?” she asked, after a
moment's silence. “Another namesake of the
poet?”
“He wasn't a Dryden at all,” I explained. “He
was my mother's brother, and his name was Richard
Jannaway.”
I had given my answer quite casually, but its
effect was so startling that for a moment I stood
there petrified with astonishment. Every vestige
of colour had fled from my companion's face, and
she was staring at me with an expression of
incredulous horror.
“Good heavens!” I exclaimed involuntarily.
“What is it? What's the matter?”


GREENSEA. ISLAND 33
By a tremendous effort of will she managed to
pull herself together.
“It's nothing,” she answered, with amazing cool-
ness. “I—I once knew somebody of that name, but
it couldn't possibly have been the same person.”
“I don't know,” I said slowly; “there can't be
very many Richard Jannaways in the world.” Then
I paused. “My uncle spent most of his life in South
America,” I added deliberately.
I saw her hand tighten on the railing that she was
holding until the knuckles stood out white and
distinct under the skin.
“South America?” she repeated in a low whisper.
The same panic-stricken look had come back into
her face, as though the two words confirmed all the
strange dread which the first mention of my uncle's
name had suddenly aroused.
I came a step nearer to her. “For God's sake
tell me what's the matter,” I said again. “If there's
anything in the world y -
I was interrupted by the noise of the breakfast
gong, which came booming up from below in a loud,
insistent clamour.
With another obvious effort my companion re-
gained her self-control, and, letting go of the railing
stood up in front of me, white and breathless.
“Mr. Dryden,” she said, “please don't ask me
any questions. There is something I can't explain
to you now—something I can never explain. I
can only assure you that what you have told
me makes no real difference between us. It was
always quite impossible that we could ever be
friends.”
3.


34 GREENSEA. ISLAND
“Nothing is impossible unless one admits it,” I
returned doggedly.
She made a little despairing gesture with her
hands.
“You don't understand,” she said; “and, please
God, you never will.”
For one moment we remained facing each other
in a strained, unnatural silence; then, without
another word, she turned away towards the com- .
panion, and disappeared down the steps into the
saloon.
To say that I was utterly flabbergasted would be
nothing but the literal truth. It had all happened
so unexpectedly, and with such astounding abrupt-
ness, that for a second or so I felt like a man who
had inadvertently dropped a lighted match into a
large can of petrol. Indeed, no actual explosion
could have reduced me to such a complete state of
amazed bewilderment as that in which I stood
staring at the spot where she had vanished.
Then, quite suddenly, my senses seemed to come
back to me. I caught sight of several passengers
advancing towards the companion, and, taking out
my case, I lighted myself a cigarette, and strolled
very slowly in the direction of the stern. At this
hour the stretch of deck behind the donkey engine
house was absolutely deserted. A better place for
a little quiet meditation could scarcely have been
found, and, leaning over the railing, I set about the
process with as much steadiness as my disturbed
faculties would permit.
One thing seemed absolutely certain. Whatever
Miss de Roda's original views may have been as to


GREENSEA. ISLAND 35
the wisdom of continuing her friendship with me,
it was her sudden discovery about my uncle which
had been wholly responsible for the extraordinary
change in her manner. If I had told her that I was
the nephew of Judas Iscariot the result could hardly
have been more striking. The mere mention of
Richard Jannaway's name had been sufficient to
fill her with such amazement and horror that she
had been quite incapable of making any attempt
at hiding her feelings.
This fact of itself would have been sufficiently
remarkable, but to me its significance was doubly
increased by the way she had behaved the previous
day during our little discussion with the boatmen.
Any girl who could have shown such perfect coolness
under the circumstances must be gifted with a spirit
and nerve that were not easily shaken. I was, there-
fore, convinced that it must have taken some very
real and urgent sense of danger to upset so com-
pletely her usual self-control.
Having arrived at this point, I found myself
utterly at sea. Beyond the fact that the mystery
was in some way or other connected with my uncle
I had practically nothing to go upon. If the family
recollections of that distinguished gentleman could
be trusted, he had probably thrown himself heartily
into all kinds of mischief during the course of his
South American career, and since the de Rodas
came from that part of the world it was quite pos-
sible that the name of Richard Jannaway might be
connected with some black, unwholesome memory
which overshadowed both their lives.
Señor de Roda was just the sort of man who sug-


36 GREENSEA. ISLAND
gested a mysterious past. His obvious avoidance
of any sort of society, and the brooding depression
which always haunted his sallow face, were exactly
in keeping with the idea. The more I thought it
over the more probable it seemed that at some period
in his life he had been mixed up with my disreputable
relation, and I began to feel an acute desire for a
little genuine information about the latter's history.
The most likely people to be able to gratify this
curiosity appeared to be Messrs. Wilmot and Dray-
ton. However secretive their late client may have
been, they would at least know more about him than
I did, and such facts as they possessed might well be
the starting-point for further discoveries.
There was no other chance of enlightenment that
I could see except by renewing my interrupted con-
versation with Miss de Roda. This plan, difficult as
it might be to put into practice, appealed to me on
two grounds. In the first place, I was ready to jump
at any suggestion which would bring me into further
contact with her, and secondly, I felt perfectly cer-
tain that if she chose she could give me a good deal
more interesting information than I was likely to get
in Bedford Row.
The abrupt way she had left me was not exactly
an encouraging omen, but it was possible that
after she had recovered from her first agitation she
might take a different view of the matter. Anyhow,
I made up my mind that if an opportunity came
along I would be ready enough to grasp it, and with
this resolve I at last tossed away the burned-out
stump of my cigarette, and went off to hunt up a
belated and much-needed breakfast.


GREENSEA. ISLAND 37
It is one thing to come to a sound decision, how-
ever, and quite another to get the chance of carry-
ing it out. All the rest of that day, though I kept
a particularly watchful eye upon every likely part
of the deck, I never so much as caught a glimpse of
the one figure that I was looking for. The remainder
of the passengers promenaded up and down in the
sunshine with maddening persistence, but Miss de
Roda herself remained as obstinately invisible as
though she had vanished from the ship.
At one time I almost made up my mind to send
along a note to her cabin asking her to meet me.
Second thoughts, however, soon led me to abandon
the idea. She could be in no possible doubt about
my feelings on the matter, and if she didn't choose
to gratify them, any attempt to persuade her would
be worse than futile. There was nothing to do but
to put up with the situation as philosophically as I
could, a course of action in which I was assisted by
a natural and happy tendency not to worry unneces-
sarily about anything that cannot be helped.
Late in the day, after we had rounded Ushant and
were making our way up Channel, the fine weather
which had so far kept us company suddenly petered
out. We ran into a grey, drizzling mist, which,
although not thick enough to retard our speed to any
great extent, was a most unpleasant change after the
perfect conditions of the last twenty-four hours.
Things got worse rather than improved as we drew
nearer to the mouth of the Thames, and when we
stopped to pick up our pilot off the Nore the rain was
coming down with a pitiless energy that would have
damped the ardour of the most enthusiastic patriot.


38 GREENSEA. ISLAND
Under these depressing conditions we crept up the
river and came to our berth off the docks. We were
not due to make our entrance until eight o'clock the
next morning, and it was with a feeling of thorough
thankfulness for the fact that I went down to my
cabin, and, throwing off my wet clothes, took the
chance of a few hours' well-earned sleep.
It was still raining dismally when I turned out,
but the short rest had restored me to my usual good
spirits. While dressing, I determined that before
going on deck I would write a brief line to Miss de
Roda wishing her good-bye. I knew that, even if
she were willing to see me, which was very unlikely,
I should probably be much too busy for the next hour
or so to attend to anything but my immediate duties.
A second officer is never likely to run short of work
while his ship is entering a harbour dock.
I therefore routed out a sheet of notepaper and
an envelope, and, sitting down on my bunk, scribbled
the few following words by the grey light which
filtered in through the port-hole:
“DEAR Miss DE Roda, As you will probably
be leaving the ship before I get a chance of seeing
you, I am sending you a line to say good-bye—
for the present. I am not going to ask you any
questions, as you don't want me to, but I should
like you to know that there is nothing in the world
which I should allow for a moment to stand in the
way of my friendship with you. Whatever the
difficulties are, I mean to find them out and put
an end to them. Till then I shall have to content
myself with thinking about you, as I can't see


GREENSEA ISLAND 39
you; but please remember that always and any
time, if I can be of the slightest service to you,
you have only got to let me know. For the next
few days I shall be staying on the ship; after
that a letter addressed to the head office of the
Planet Line in Cockspur Street will always reach
Ine.
“Yours sincerely,
“JoHN DRYDEN.”
In reading this through I felt that it was not
altogether what I had wanted to say; but I am not
much of a hand at letter-writing, and, anyhow, it
was too late to start altering it. I put it in the
envelope, and on my way along the corridor I gave
it to one of the stewardesses, and asked her to hand
it on privately to Miss de Roda. Then, having done
all I could, I went up on deck and set about the
task of earning my inadequate salary.
In a shroud of mist we crept in through the grey
dock entrance, amidst the usual bustle and excite-
ment which always accompanies the process of com-
ing alongside. Passengers were already trooping up
with their hand-bags and lining the rail nearest the
shore, but I was much too occupied with my various
duties to have any time to try and distinguish one
from the other. Bit by bit we sidled slowly into our
appointed berth, while a small crowd of people who
had gathered on the dock under dripping umbrellas
began to exchange cheerful greetings with their
expectant friends on board.
At last the warps were made fast, and up the
lowered gangways came the customary knot of port


4O GREENSEA ISLAND
officials. Knowing that I should be wanted, I left
my station in the bows, where everything was now
secured, and started to come back aft. On my way
I ran into Ross, who, hidden in a long mackintosh
and smoking his new pipe, was watching the scene
with his usual good-tempered indifference.
“Anything I can do for you ashore, Dryden?”
he asked.
I stopped. “Are you landing at once?” I asked.
He nodded. “I’ve got to go up to the office
with my papers. I shall be back in about half an
hour.”
I unbuttoned my coat and took out the cable
from Messrs. Wilmot and Drayton.
“Well, if you can manage it,” I said, “you might
ring up these people and make an appointment for
me. Any time after twelve will do.”
He took the wire and stuffed it away in his
pocket.
“Leave it to me, my lad,” he said. “I’ll see they
have a red carpet down for you all right.”
I passed on through the jostling crowd of pas-
sengers, and, going down below, proceeded to lend a
hand in the various formalities which attend the
arrival of an incoming vessel. This process must
have occupied the best part of an hour, and by the
time I was free Ross had got through his busi-
ness and returned to the ship. I came across him
at the entrance to the smoking-room, where
he was squatting peacefully on an upturned cabin
trunk.
“It's all right about your appointment,” he
observed. “Half past twelve's the time, and you


GREENSEA ISLAND 4I
can take it from me that you're on a red hot winner.
They nearly fell down when I mentioned your
name.”
“You're a fine liar, Ross,” I said sceptically, “but
I'm much obliged to you all the same.”
By eleven o'clock we had got everything cleared
up, and, as my services were no longer required, I
went down to my cabin to change into shore-going
kit. On my way I met the stewardess to whom I
had entrusted my note for Miss de Roda. In reply
to my enquiry she informed me that it had been
safely delivered, but that the “young lady” had left
the ship without giving her any message or answer.
This, however, was only what I had expected, so
I was able to accept the news with becoming
fortitude.
The rain was still falling heavily when I set foot
on the dock, but a pleasant tingle of excitement over
my approaching interview lifted me above the con-
sideration of such trifles. I made my way to the
nearest underground station, and established myself
in the corner of a first-class smoker in company
with an excellent cigar on which I had omitted to
pay duty. I felt that on such a critical occasion a
little extravagance was distinctly permissible.
On reaching the Temple I changed into a taxi,
and instructed the driver to take me to the address
which Messrs. Wilmot and Drayton had given me.
It was a slow journey, for the Strand and Chancery
Lane were both under repair, as usual, a state of
affairs which necessitated frequent and abrupt stop-
pages. At last, however, we managed to worm a
passage across Holborn, and a few minutes later we


42 GREENSEA. ISLAND
swung round the corner into the sedate and peaceful
atmosphere of Bedford Row.
No. 117 was the last house in the street—a large,
old-fashioned Georgian building, that seemed to
breathe out a reassuring air of comfortable respect-
ability. I threw away the stump of my cigar, and,
getting out on to the pavement, handed the driver
his fare. As I did so, or rather, as I turned towards
the house, I suddenly caught sight of a man who
was leaning up against the railings a few yards
farther on. Under ordinary circumstances I don't
suppose I should have given him a second glance, but
there was something in his manner—some curious
suggestion of a furtive interest in my movements—
which at once attracted my attention. Not being
handicapped by any natural shyness, I stopped where
I was and had a good square look at him. He was
not what you would call an attractive individual,
and any faint claims to beauty he might once have
possessed had been seriously marred by a broken
nose, which even at that distance was distinctly
visible.
As soon as he caught my eye he turned away with
an air of badly assumed indifference, and sauntered
off up the street. I watched him for a second or
two, wondering whether I could have been mistaken,
or whether he was really as interested in me as he
seemed. I even had some momentary idea of going
after him, and asking him what the devil he wanted,
but since he made no attempt to stop or look back,
I came to the conclusion that he was not worth
bothering about. It seemed wildly improbable that
a complete stranger could be hanging around there


GREENSEA. ISLAND 43
with a deliberate purpose of spying on me; and,
anyhow, if I ever ran across him again I should
certainly recognise him at once by his broken nose.
With this reflection I dismissed the incident from
my mind, and, pushing open the door of No. 117,
stepped forward into the hall.


CHAPTER THREE
I Found myself in a broad passage, panelled on
each side, and ending in a solid-looking stone stair-
case which led up to the floor above. There was a
partly open door on my right, and through the
aperture I could see the head of an elderly gentleman
peering forward over a desk. He looked up at the
sound of my footsteps.
“Good morning,” I said. “My name's John
Dryden, and I want to see either Mr. Wilmot or
Mr. Drayton.”
He got up in a leisurely fashion and came round
from his seat.
“If you will take a chair,” he observed, “I will
see whether Mr. Drayton is disengaged. Mr.
Wilmot has been defunct for the past seven years.”
I was about to offer my condolences, but, without
waiting to hear what I had to say, he shuffled past
me, and in a crab-like fashion began to ascend the
staircase. I filled in the interval by strolling across
to the fireplace and looking at the books which
decorated the mantelpiece. They were a jolly lot,
begining with Webster's Dictionary, and working
up through a rising grade of frivolity to Whitaker's
Almanack, which last was carefully encased in a
brown paper cover, as though to disguise its rather
44


GREENSEA. ISLAND 45
unseemly tendencies. I was just wondering which
of them was the old gentleman's favourite reading
when the sound of his returning steps became audible
outside. A moment later he reappeared on the
threshold.
“If you will accompany me,” he observed, “Mr.
Drayton will see you.”
Placing my umbrella in the stand, I followed him
up to the next landing, where he pushed open a door
in front of us, and then stood back to allow me to
enter.
It was a large, lofty room, lighted by three long
windows facing into Bedford Row. Apart from
several rather dilapidated easy chairs and a number
of black tin boxes, its only furniture appeared to
be an enormous table, plentifully strewn with papers
and one or two musty packets of deeds.
Mr. Drayton, who was sitting at this table, rose
on my entrance and stepped forward to meet me.
He was a well-dressed man of about forty-five, with
a strong, humorous face and a pair of very honest
blue eyes. I took a fancy to him at once.
“How d'you do, Mr. Dryden?” he said, offering
me his hand. “You received my cable all right
then?”
“I did,” I replied, exchanging grips with him,
“and I’ve come along as soon as I could manage it.
We only got in at eight o'clock this morning.”
He pulled forward an easy chair. “Sit down,”
he said; “sit down and make yourself comfortable.
By the way, have a cigar?” He came back to the
table, and, picking up a box of excellent-looking
Larenagas, held them out for my inspection.


46 GREENSEA ISLAND
“Well, I've only just this moment finished one,”
I said, “but still, that's no reason why I shouldn't
have another.”
“Certainly not,” he remarked cheerfully. “Any-
body who can smoke two cigars running ought to
take full advantage of the gift.”
He lighted one for himself, and then, pulling up a
second chair, sat down opposite me.
“I am sorry we were not able to communicate
with you sooner,” he began, in a rather more serious
tone, “but as a matter of fact we had some difficulty
in finding out your address. Your uncle seems to
have known nothing about you beyond the bare fact
of your existence.”
“I am not surprised,” I said. “I was in much the
same blissful position with regard to him.”
The lawyer nodded. “Yes,” he observed drily, “I
gathered that. To be quite candid with you, Mr.
Dryden, your uncle had no particular wish that you
should benefit by his death. He omitted to make a
will because he was utterly indifferent about the
disposal of his property. He told me, to use his
exact words, that he didn't care a curse what hap-
pened to it after he was dead.’”
“He seems to have been a genial sort of chap,”
I said. “How did you run across him?”
Mr. Drayton tilted his chair in the direction of the
table, and picked up a bundle of miscellaneous papers
fastened together by a clip.
“He came to us originally in rather a peculiar
fashion. About two years ago we had been acting
in a police court case on behalf of a man called Bas-
comb—a professional boxer. Bascomb had had a


GREENSEA. ISLAND 47
fight in the street with another fellow, whom he
accused of cheating him, and, according to the doc-
tor's evidence, he'd come within an inch or two of
murder. Luckily for him there had been nothing
against him before, and, as the other fellow was
known to be a bad lot, we managed to get him off
with a month's hard labour.
“The next day Mr. Jannaway called here at the
office. He had seen an account of the case in one
of the papers, and he wanted us to give him Bas-
comb's address. He told me quite frankly that as
soon as the month was up he was ready to engage the
man as a servant.”
“He must have had a sporting taste in domestics,”
I observed with interest.
“Well, perhaps it wasn't quite so extraordinary
as it sounds,” continued Mr. Drayton, with a laugh.
“Bascomb had been in the Marines before taking
up with the ring, and he'd had some experience in
that class of job. Indeed, one naval officer he had
worked for came and gave evidence for him at the
court.”
“How did it turn out?” I asked curiously.
“As far as I know it was a complete success.
Bascomb seemed very grateful for the unexpected
chance, and as he has been in your uncle's employ-
ment ever since, I suppose he must have proved quite
satisfactory. Anyhow, Mr. Jannaway appeared to
be perfectly contented with him.” He paused and
turned over two or three of the papers which he was
holding in his hand. “All this is a little beside the
point, however. Our real dealings with Mr. Jan-
naway, so far as you are concerned, began last


48 GREENSEA ISLAND
November. On the third of that month he came to
see me again, and asked me if I would act for him
in a matter of business. There was an island being
advertised for sale off the Essex coast. It was a
place called Greensea—a small property of about
six and a half acres in the mouth of the Danewell
River.”
“Greensea!” I echoed. “Why, I know it quite
well! I was in the Harwich Patrol the last part of
the war, and we were always running in and out of
the estuary.”
“That's very interesting,” said Mr. Drayton, “and,
what's more, it saves me a good deal of trouble.
If you are already acquainted with your new estate,
there's no need for me to try and describe it for you.”
I sat up pretty sharply in my chair. “Do you
mean to say that Greensea Island belongs to me?”
I exclaimed.
“It certainly does,” he answered smilingly, “unless
someone else turns up with a better claim to it.
Your uncle bought the place through us on No-
vember the tenth, and, like all the rest of his effects,
it goes to his next of kin.”
For a moment I sat there, hardly able to believe
my ears. If I had been asked to name any legacy
more entirely to my taste I think I should have had
some difficulty in doing so. All my life, ever since
I was quite a small boy, I have had a curious longing
to be the owner of an island. I think it was reading
one of Anthony Hope's books which originally im-
planted this desire in my soul, but anyhow, it has
always been a secretly cherished dream of mine
which I hoped some day to be able to put into prac-


GREENSEA. ISLAND 49
tice. To find a life-long wish like this suddenly and
unexpectedly gratified was such a startling experi-
ence that it was only natural I should be momentarily
“knocked out.”
“What special attraction your uncle saw in the
place,” continued Mr. Drayton, “I haven't the re-
motest notion. There is nothing on the island except
the house, and even at low water it's cut off com-
pletely from the shore. Personally, I can't imagine
a more unpleasant spot to settle down in Still,
there it was; he had evidently made up his mind
to buy it, and, as he raised no objection about the
cost, we hadn't much difficulty in fixing things up for
him. We gave two thousand three hundred and
sixty pounds for it, and a very good price too—from
the previous owner's point of view.”
I reached out for the matches and re-lit my cigar,
which in the absorption of the moment I had allowed
to go out.
“And what did he do with it when he'd got it?” I
demanded. “Go and live there?”
Mr. Drayton nodded. “He went straight down
the day after the agreement was signed. There were
a few improvements and alterations which he wanted
done, but they were all carried out after he was in
the house. As far as I know he never left the place
again.”
I felt my interest in this remarkable uncle of mine
increasing with each fresh discovery about him.
“Was he all alone?” I asked. “Hadn't he got
anyone living with him?” -
“Only Bascomb and a dog,” replied Mr. Drayton,
“a great savage brute as big as a small donkey. It
4.


50 GREENSEA ISLAND
used to run about loose most of the time, and from
what I saw of it I should imagine that nobody would
have dared to set foot on the island even if he had
been invited. Not that it made much difference,
because, as a matter of fact, your uncle never invited
anyone. He shut himself up entirely, and, except
for Bascomb and the local doctor who attended him
in his last illness, I don't believe he ever saw or spoke
to another living soul.”
“What was the matter with him?” I enquired.
“Was he off his chump?”
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. “More or
less, I should think. At least, it's difficult to account
for his conduct any other way. Up till then he had
been living the life of an ordinary middle-aged man
about town. One doesn't throw up all that sort of
thing suddenly and go and bury oneself in a God-
forsaken place like Greensea unless one's got a screw
loose somewhere.” He paused. “Besides,” he
added, “there's no doubt that his mind gave way
during his last illness. He was quite incapable of
recognising me when I went down to see him, and,
according to Dr. Manning, he remained in exactly
the same state until he died.”
“When was that?” I enquired. “You didn't tell
me in your cable.”
Once again Mr. Drayton referred to his papers.
“He was taken ill suddenly on March the twenty-
third. I think he got a chill, or something of the
sort; anyhow, Bascomb wired to me the next day
that he was very seedy, and I ran down there in the
afternoon. I found him delirious, and altogether
about as bad as anyone could possibly be. Bascomb


GREENSEA. ISLAND 5.I
had got hold of a doctor—a fellow called Manning,
who spends most of his time on a barge in the river,
which he has fitted up as a kind of shooting-box.
He doesn't practise as a rule, but when he saw how
urgent the matter was he had very kindly come over
and taken up his quarters in the house. He seemed
to be doing everything that was possible, and as he
declared that he was quite ready to stay there as long
as he was wanted I decided to leave the case in his
hands.
“I heard nothing more for two days; then, on
the afternoon of the twenty-eighth, I got a telegram
to say that your uncle had died rather unexpectedly
in the morning. I sent back a wire to say I would
come down at once. In a strictly legal sense I had
no real authority to act, but, since there appeared to
be nobody else, I thought I had better take the
responsibility.
“Dr. Manning was still in the house when I ar-
rived, which of course simplified matters to a very
great extent. He had been in charge of the case
since the beginning, so there was no need for an in-
quest or anything of that sort. He was able to
certify that the cause of death was heart failure on
the top of double pneumonia, and between us we
fixed up all the necessary arrangements for the
funeral.
“The next thing I did was to go through your
uncle's papers. I knew very little about him, and I
hoped that I might come across something which
would put me in touch with his family. He had
never given me the faintest hint about his private
affairs—except for once mentioning that he had a


52 GREENSEA ISLAND
nephew called John Dryden, whom he believed to be
his next of kin.
“Well, to cut a long story short, I was very little
wiser at the end of my search than I was at the
beginning. I found practically nothing, except a few
receipted bills and one or two business letters which
dealt entirely with money matters. If he had any
private papers he had evidently put them away
somewhere or other in safe custody before leaving
London.
“Under the circumstances I acted as best I could.
I stayed there until the funeral was over, and then
I locked up everything and left Bascomb in charge,
with instructions that he wasn't to allow anyone in
the house without a written permission from me.
He's a queer, sullen sort of fellow, but he seemed to
have plenty of sense in his way, and, as far as I could
make out, to be thoroughly loyal and trustworthy.
“When I got back to London my first step was
to go and see your uncle's bankers. I explained
the position to them, and I found them quite ready to
give me all the assistance in their power. This
didn't amount to much, however. They had no
private documents or anything of that sort; in fact,
all they could really do was to let me have a complete
statement of the actual cash and securities in their
possession.
“I saw then that the only practical course was
to get into communication with you as soon as
possible. It was a bit of a proposition, considering
that I knew nothing whatever about you except your
name, but luckily I was able to secure the services
of a retired Scotland Yard Inspector called Martin


GREENSEA. ISLAND 53
Campbell, who is quite the smartest man in London
at that sort of thing. (He is coming here this morn-
ing, by the way, so you will probably meet him.)
Well, he set to work, and in something less than
three weeks he had managed to run you to earth—
or perhaps I should say to sea! Anyhow, he found
out that you were second officer on the Neptune,
and as the Planet people told us that your ship was
expected in Oporto on the third of May, I decided
to wait and cable you there.
“Meanwhile I went ahead with the business of
establishing your claim to the estate. It was plain
enough sailing now I had once got on to your track,
and by the time you reached Oporto all the pre-
liminary steps were more or less completed. Of
course, there are still a number of legal formalities
to be gone through. You won't be able to touch
the money in the bank for some little while, but that
is a difficulty we can probably come to some arrange-
ment over. If you are short of cash I have no
objection to making you a personal advance. As
far as the actual title to the property is concerned,
you can take it from me that your position is a
perfectly sound one.”
He tossed the bundle of papers he had been hold-
ing on to the table, and leaned back in his chair with
an air of reassuring friendliness.
“It seems to me,” I said gratefully, “that I'm
pretty deeply in your debt already. I don't know
why you should have taken all this trouble on my
account, but I'm sure I'm devilish obliged to you.”
“There's nothing to thank me for,” he returned
whimsically. “You can put it down to professional


54 GREENSEA. ISLAND
enterprise. Mr. Jannaway was a client of mine,
and it seemed to me I might as well make sure of
you before anyone else butted in We're an un-
scrupulous lot in Bedford Row as far as business is
concerned.”
“It's lucky for me you are,” I retorted, “other-
wise I might have gone on chasing about the world
without any idea that I had suddenly become a
bloated capitalist.” I paused. “By the way,” I
added curiously, “how much money is there in the
bank?”
Once again his eyes twinkled. “I was waiting
for that question,” he said. “It’s a great tribute
to your self-control that you haven't asked it before.”
“To be quite honest,” I confessed, “it’s only just
come into my head. I was so interested in what
you were telling me about my uncle that I haven't
been able to think of anything else.”
He got up from his chair, and, retrieving his
discarded papers, took a seat on the corner of the
table.
“Well, as a matter of fact,” he began, “the posi-
tion is rather odd. If the estate only consists of
what the bank holds, it amounts, roughly speaking,
to about ten thousand pounds. That, of course, is
not counting in the value of Greensea Island.”
There was a pause.
“What do you mean “if”?” I asked. “Is there
a chance of some more turning up?”
“There doesn't seem to be,” he admitted; “all
the same, it's very difficult to fit in the present sum
with the way in which your uncle was living. Ever
since he opened the account he has kept about the


GREENSEA. ISLAND 55
same balance, while on the lowest estimate he must
have been spending at least two thousand a year.”
“But surely the bank must have some idea where
he got it from " I objected.
“That's just what they haven't. In the whole
of that period—practically four years—there were
only three credit entries. One is for twelve thousand,
one for three thousand, and the other for four.
thousand eight hundred. On each occasion these
sums were paid in over the counter—in cash!”
“In cash!” I repeated half incredulously. “Why
he must have been blackmailing Rothschild!”
My companion threw back his head and laughed
boisterously. “Well, if that's the case,” he replied,
“it’s a pity he hasn't left you the family secret. It's
worth learning evidently.”
I knocked off the ash of my cigar and sat back
comfortably in my chair.
“Oh, I don't know,” I remarked. “I’m not
greedy. Five hundred a year will do very nicely
for my simple needs.”
“It will come to more than that,” said Mr. Dray-
ton. “There is one rather satisfactory piece of news
I have been keeping in reserve.” He paused. “I
have been lucky enough to get you a tenant for
Greensea Island. He is willing to pay a rent of
two hundred and fifty, and take it over just as it
stands.”
He brought out this offer with an air of satisfac-
tion which showed me plainly enough that he ex-
pected me to jump at it. For a moment I refrained
from disillusioning him.
“Who is it?” I enquired with some curiosity.


56 GREENSEA. ISLAND
“Well, as it happens, it's the very man we have
been talking about—Dr. Manning. He wants to
start a new yachting club, and he thinks the island
would make an ideal headquarters. He seems to
be as keen as mustard on the idea, but of course I
couldn't give him any definite answer until I had
seen you. I told him that you would very probably
be here this morning, and he is going to ring me up
at half-past two and find out if you will accept his
proposal. I must say I don't think you are likely
to get a better one.”
“I don't want a better one,” I said. “If Greensea
Island really belongs to me, I haven't the smallest
intention of letting it. I mean to go and live there
myself.”
There was a brief silence.
“Are you serious?” demanded Mr. Drayton.
“Rather,” I replied cheerfully. “I’ve always
wanted to have a private island of my own, and now
I've got one you don't suppose I'm going to hand
it over to anyone else?”
Something in my manner evidently convinced him
that I was in earnest.
“Well, chacun a son goût,” he observed, with a
humorous shrug of his shoulders. “I can't see the
attraction myself, but I suppose a taste for that
sort of thing runs in the family.”
“Oh, I've no intention of becoming a hermit like
my uncle,” I explained. “There must be plenty
of decent fellows in the neighbourhood, and I've no
doubt that I shall get all the society I want. It's
the shooting and sailing and fishing that will be the
chief attraction to me.”


GREENSEA ISLAND 57
“What about your engagement with the Planet
people?” he asked.
“I am under a contract of sorts with them,” I
said, “but they'll probably let me off if I ask them
nicely. There's no shortage of second officers in
the world.”
“In that case,” he remarked, “you can please
yourself. The property will be yours in a few weeks,
and if you want to go down there straight away no
one's likely to raise any objection.” He paused.
“At least, no one except Dr. Manning,” he added.
“I am afraid he'll be rather disappointed. He seems
to have set his heart on the idea.”
“I am sorry to spoil his plans,” I said, “but, after
all, I suppose he can start his club somewhere else.
Anyhow, it's no use his thinking about Greensea;
you might make that quite plain to him when he
rings up.”
Mr. Drayton nodded. “I will,” he said, “and
another thing I had better do is to drop a line to
Bascomb. I presume you will be going down there
to have a look at the place as soon as possible, and
it would be just as well to let him know that you're
the new owner. By the way, do you intend to take
Bascomb over with the other fixtures?”
“I am quite ready to,” I replied, “if he likes to
come, and I can afford to pay his wages. I shall
want someone to look after me, and he sounds the
right sort of chap.”
Mr. Drayton tossed the stump of his cigar into the
fireplace.
“How are you actually situated with regard to
money?” he enquired.


58 GREENSEA ISLAND
“I have got seventy or eighty pounds of my own,”
I said. “It’s not exactly a fortune, but it ought to
be enough to carry on with for the present.”
He relinquished his place on the edge of the table
and sat down again in the chair which he had been
occupying when I first entered the room.
“Well, it's just as you like,” he remarked, “but
if you are really serious about this idea of yours, I
think you had better let me make you a small ad-
vance. You needn't have any scruples, you know,
because I shall charge you interest on it. There are
bound to be a certain number of things you will
want to buy, and there's no particular point in run-
ning yourself short of cash.” He looked round at
me enquiringly. “What would you say to a couple
of hundred pounds at six per cent.”
“I should say thank you,” I replied promptly.
“It's rather a lukewarm sort of a phrase, but I can't
think of anything better for the moment.”
He pressed a small electric bell in the wall beside
him.
“No need for thanks,” he repeated. “I shouldn't
suggest it if it wasn't a perfectly sound investment
from my point of view. I hope to make a lot of
money out of you before we've finished.”
The door opened, and a solemn-faced young man
with a large pair of spectacles on his nose insinuated
himself into the room.
“Are you busy, Sandford?” enquired Mr. Dray-
ton, looking up from the cheque that he was writing.
“Not particularly, sir,” replied the solemn-faced
young man.
“Well, this is Mr. John Dryden, whom I was


GREENSEA. ISLAND 59
speaking to you about. We are advancing him the
sum of two hundred pounds at six per cent. interest
on the Jannaway estate. You might make out a
receipt for him to sign and bring it in here as soon as
it's done.”
“Very good, sir,” responded Mr. Sandford
meekly; then he paused. “Inspector Campbell is
downstairs, sir,” he added. “He says he will wait
until you are disengaged.”
The lawyer nodded. “I shan't be very long,” he
replied.
Mr. Sandford withdrew as noiselessly as he had
entered, and, tearing off the cheque that he had
written, my companion turned back to me.
“Now let me see,” he observed thoughtfully;
“what's the next thing we've got to do?”
“The next thing,” I said firmly, “is to go out
together and have some lunch. I always make a
point of giving a lunch party when I come into a
fortune.”
“It's not a bad habit,” he admitted, smiling.
“Unfortunately, I have got this man Campbell
waiting to see me.”
“Bring him along too,” I suggested. “You can
talk to him while we're eating.”
Mr. Drayton got up from his chair. “We'll put
it to him anyway,” he said. “I don't suppose he'll
say no. One can generally trust a Scotchman not
to miss anything that's worth having.”
He folded the cheque across in the middle and
handed it to me.
“How about the receipt?” I asked.
“You can come back this afternoon and sign that.


60 GREENSEA ISLAND
There are one or two other papers I shall have ready
for you by then.”
“That will just suit me nicely,” I said. “I can
go round to Cockspur Street first and interview the
Planet people, then I shall know exactly where I
am.”
Taking his hat from a peg behind the door, Mr.
Drayton led the way downstairs. In the small room
on the ground floor a large, burly man with a close-
cropped moustache and a chin like the toe of a boot
was standing with his back to the fireplace.
“Morning, Campbell,” said Mr. Drayton. “Let
me introduce you to Mr. John Dryden, whom you
were clever enough to find for me.”
The Inspector stepped forward.
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” he observed, extending
an enormous hand.
“Mr. Dryden has invited us both out to lunch,”
continued the lawyer. “He wants us to assist him
in celebrating his sudden accession to wealth.”
The Inspector moistened his lips with the tip of
his tongue.
“Always glad to oblige a friend of yours, Mr.
Drayton,” he replied affably.
“Well, come along then,” returned the other,
picking up his umbrella from the stand. “I’ve got
to be back by half-past two, and I hate to hurry
over a meal when somebody else is paying for it.”
He turned to me. “The Holborn's the nearest
place,” he added, “and the head waiter is one of my
clients.”
* “Providence is with us,” I answered hopefully.
We stepped out into the misty drizzle of Bedford


GREENSEA. ISLAND 61
Row, and, making our way down a couple of side
alleys, emerged into the crowded main thoroughfare
almost opposite our destination. A few minutes
later we were comfortably seated at a corner table
in the big restaurant, while the head waiter—an
impressive gentleman with side whiskers—hovered
benignly in the foreground.
“I have come into a fortune,” I explained to
him, “and I want a lunch which will be worthy of
the occasion.”
With the air of a man who is fully accustomed
to deal with such emergencies he picked up the
menu card and began to offer suggestions, com-
mencing with cocktails and oysters, and wandering
on in a mellow way through saddle of mutton, roast
duckling, and Stilton cheese. I accepted them en
bloc, and crowned the order by demanding a bottle
of his best champagne—a finishing touch which
brought a wonderfully human expression into the
naturally stern face of the Inspector.
“I was doing a better day's work than I bargained
for when I ran across this gentleman's track,” he
announced contentedly.
“The Jannaway estate,” observed Mr. Drayton,
“has certainly passed into the right hands.”
“By the way,” I said, turning to the Inspector,
“when you were hunting around after me did you
happen to make any discoveries in connection with
my uncle? He seems to have been a queer sort of
customer.”
The Inspector passed his hand across his scrubby
moustache. “Aye, sir,” he said drily, “he was all
of that and a bit over. I can't say I ever remember


62 GREENSEA ISLAND
a gentleman who managed to keep his affairs more
to himself.”
“But surely you picked up some information
about him?” I persisted.
“Only what I passed on to Mr. Drayton,” he re-
plied. “It didn't amount to much, as he's probably
told you.”
“It certainly left one or two things to be ex-
plained,” assented the lawyer. “Greensea Island,
for instance. I was just saying that Mr. Jannaway's
sudden resolve to imitate Robinson Crusoe was one
of the most extraordinary puzzles I’ve ever come
across.”
The Inspector pulled his chair closer to the table.
“I may be wrong,” he said quietly, “but it's my
belief that he was frightened—frightened stiff, if
you ask me.”
I felt a sudden tingle of excitement in my heart,
but I don't think I showed any outward sign of it.
“Why do you think that?” I asked as coolly
as possible. “What on earth could he have to be
frightened of?”
The Inspector made a slight gesture with his
hands. “That I can't tell you, sir. I only know
that when a man suddenly shuts himself up on an
island, and won't allow a living soul to land there
without his permission, he generally has some pretty
good reason at the back of it.”
“Perhaps, after all, it was only a family weakness
for solitude,” struck in Mr. Drayton. “Dryden here
intends to do the same thing as soon as he can
arrange it.”
“Well, hardly that,” I said, forcing a laugh. “I


GREENSEA. ISLAND 63
mean to go and live there certainly, but there won't
be any man-traps on my territory.”
As I spoke the waiter came up with the cocktails,
and in the short but agreeable pause that followed
I rapidly made up my mind that it would be better
for the moment not to press my enquiries about my
uncle any farther. It would be difficult to do so
without relating the story of my meeting with Miss
de Roda, and that was a step which I had no inten-
tion of taking. If she were really mixed up with
some sinister mystery concerning the dead man, I
would at least take care that her name should not be
dragged into the matter as long as I was able to
prevent it.
Accordingly, with the arrival of the oysters, I
took the chance of steering the conversation into a
rather less delicate channel by asking the Inspector
how he had managed to track me down with such
remarkable promptitude. He was ready enough to
describe his methods, and from this point we
drifted into a general conversation on detective work
and other exciting topics, which lasted us all through
the remainder of lunch.
Both my companions proved to be excellent
talkers, as well as thoroughly good fellows, and I
felt quite sorry when at last Mr. Drayton suddenly
glanced at his watch and announced that it was time
for him to be getting back to the office.
“It's on your account,” he explained, buttoning
his coat. “Our friend the doctor will be ringing
me up in a minute to find out whether you are
prepared to do a deal with him.”
“Tell him I'm sorry,” I said, “and say that if


64 GREENSEA. ISLAND
º
he can manage to forgive me I shall look forward to
making his acquaintance. I don't want to start by
quarrelling with my nearest neighbour, especially
after the decent way he has behaved.”
“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 cer-
tain 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 pros-


GREENSEA. ISLAND 65
pect 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 evi-
dently 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. Dry-
den,” 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
s


66 GREENSEA ISLAND
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 becom-
ing 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


GREENSEA. ISLAND 67
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 extraordi-
narily 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.


68 GREENSEA. ISLAND
A clammy, drizzling mist still pervaded every-
thing, 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 bear-
ings 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 care-
fully 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 sud-
denly became conscious of a quick shuffle of foot-


GREENSEA. ISLAND 69
steps 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 vio-
lently 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. Every-
thing 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 fin-
ished 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 mouth-
7o


72 GREENSEA. ISLAND
“’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 feel-
ing 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.


GREENSEA ISLAND 73
“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 or 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.
“W'ere 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 or right, sir,” he replied at
once, with a sudden tinge of respectfulness in his


GREENSEA ISLAND 75
Ross put out a restraining hand. “Whoa there!”
he said. “Take it easy. Take it easy.”
I had already made a couple of interesting dis-
coveries. 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 port-
hole.
“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 inspec-
tion. “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 gang-
way, but after that everything's a complete blank.”
“The most important thing that happened,” he
replied, “was the interruption of my tea. I was


76 GREENSEA. ISLAND
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, con-
templated 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.”


GREENSEA ISLAND 77
“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 incred-
ible it might seem, someone had undoubtedly at-
tempted 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


78 GREENSEA ISLAND
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 thirst-
ing 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 unex-
pected 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 black-
guard, 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


GREENSEA. ISLAND 79
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 assassi-
nation. 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 diffi-
cult 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 excep-
tion 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 neigh-
bourhood 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 particu-


8o GREENSEA ISLAND
larly 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


GREENSEA. ISLAND 81
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 con-
tents 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-
6


82 GREENSEA. ISLAND
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 com-
pletely, 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 un-
pleasantly 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.


GREENSEA. ISLAND 83
“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 com-
forting 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 in-
terested, 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 some-
where—at least, judging by the way my head's


84 GREENSEA. ISLAND
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 mean-
while you try and get to sleep again if you can. You
will probably be as right as ninepence in the morn-


GREENSEA ISLAND 85
ing, but one mustn't take too many liberties, even
with a skull like yours.”
He nodded in an encouraging fashion, and, back-
ing out carefully with the tray, closed the door be-
hind 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 man-
aged at last to sink into a welcome state of drowsi-
ness, 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


GREENSEA. ISLAND 87
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 provi-
dence 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 no-
thing 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 “some-
thing” 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,


88 GREENSEA. ISLAND
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 unim-
portant, 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 interest-
ing 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 judg-
ment 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


GREENSEA. ISLAND 89
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,


90 GREENSEA ISLAND
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 neigh-
bouring 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 Chris-
tine 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,”


GREENSEA. ISLAND 9I
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 establish-
ment 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 com-
panion. 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


92 GREENSEA. ISLAND
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 main-
land, 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.


GREENSEA ISLAND 93
“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, sud-
denly 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


94. GREENSEA. ISLAND
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 grate-
fully. “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


GREENSEA. ISLAND 95
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 survey-
ing 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 every-
thing, 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 main-
land. All that was plainly visible was a neglected-
96


GREENSEA ISLAND 97
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
7


98 GREENSEA ISLAND
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.


GREENSEA. ISLAND 99
“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 dis-
engaged.
“Is there a boat of any sort you could let us
i . . . * * *
- -
* * * * * * .


IOO GREENSEA ISLAND
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


GREENSEA ISLAND IOI
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


IO2 GREENSEA. ISLAND
man of about thirty-five, advanced quickly across
the open space.
“That's me, sir,” he replied. “You're Mr. Dry-
den, I suppose?”
I shipped my sculls and stepped up on to the land-
ing-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


GREENSEA. ISLAND IO3
between us, and stared out indifferently at the land-
scape.
“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 re-
turned. “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 neg-
lect 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


IO4 GREENSEA. ISLAND
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 mur-
der 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 arm-
chairs 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 fire-
place 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,”


GREENSEA. ISLAND IOS
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 pictur-
esque 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


Ioé GREENSEA. ISLAND
to be another reflection upon his late lamented mas-
ter. 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 track-
ing 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.


GREENSEA. ISLAND Io?
“There's a bell alongside the fireplace,” he an-
nounced, “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.”


Io8 GREENSEA ISLAND
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 rôle.
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 will-
ingness 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 molli-
fied voice. “I’ll be outside—along by the front
door.”
True to his word, we found him standing on the


GREENSEA ISLAND Io9
path when we came out, with Satan in due attend-
ance.
“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 compla-
cent 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


I IO GREENSEA ISLAND
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 re-
turned. “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 pud-
dles and patches of bog, and we were constantly mak-
ing 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 stand-
still and pointed away up the estuary.
“Look there!” he said. “Somebody's coming to
pay you a visit already.”


GREENSEA ISLAND III
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 churl-
ishness 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 along-
side 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


II2 GREENSEA. ISLAND
my first impression of him was a distinctly surpris-
ing 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 extraordi-
narily 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 be-
tween 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 Lon-
don,” I said. “Mr. Drayton told me that he had
given you my address.” I paused. “Let me intro-
duce 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


GREENSEA. ISLAND II3
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 bed-
room.”
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
8.


114 GREENSEA. ISLAND
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 sup-
pose 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 th 2”
“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 evi-
dently 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 fea-
tures. “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.”


GREENSEA. ISLAND II 5
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. Inever smoke any-
thing 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.


I 16 GREENSEA ISLAND
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 ex-
pression.
“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 determina-
tion 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 feel-
ing 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 circum-
stantial 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 informa-
tion, 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


GREENSEA. ISLAND II9
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, slap-
ping me on the shoulder. “All the same, I don't like
to think of you stuck down here on your little lone-
some. 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?”


GREENSEA. ISLAND I2I
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 sud-
den 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 help-
ing 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 tempta-
tion 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


I22 GREENSEA. ISLAND
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 throw-
ing 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 stand-
ing on the shore as we pulled out into the estuary—
two motionless black figures against the lonely back-
ground of trees and shrubs. To my imagination they
seemed to me to strike a curiously grim and for-
bidding 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 grow-
ing 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 deal-
ing with it in a thoroughly practical fashion.
We had no difficulty this time in making the pas-
sage, for the tide was now at its lowest, and were
able to row straight across to the jetty. We aban-
doned the boat to the charge of Jim, who was wait-
ing 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?”


GREENSEA. ISLAND I23
“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 junc-
tion 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 every-
thing 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 sur-
prised at the improvements which Bascomb had ef-
fected 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 de-
sirable 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.
Like that undefeated castaway, however, I had
124


GREENSEA ISLAND I25
other and more pressing considerations to occupy
my immediate thoughts. Whatever way I might
look at it, the fact remained that I had undoubtedly
burned my boats. Here I was, stuck down alone
on Greensea Island, in precisely the friendless and
solitary position which Christine had counselled me
to avoid. Against her advice I had thrust my head
deliberately into the lion's mouth, and for any pain-
ful consequences that might follow I should have
only myself to thank.
If any further proof were needed as to the sound-
ness of her warning I had it supplied to me in a
sufficiently dramatic shape by that momentary en-
counter with de Roda at the top of Pen Mill Hill.
That it was de Roda we had so nearly run into I was
in no manner of doubt. However much I might
have mistrusted my own eyes, Ross's immediate
recognition of him had settled the matter beyond
question. I could see him now as he had whirled
past us in a cloud of dust—a huddled mass of coat
collar, with a sallow face and sombre eyes staring
out fixedly into space. It was my impression that
he had not even glanced at either of us, but the whole
thing had happened so abruptly that on this point
at least I might very easily have been mistaken.
Anyhow, it didn't seem to make a vast deal of
difference. By no conceivable stretch of imagina-
tion could I account for his presence in this out-of-
the-way part of the world, unless it had something
to do with my own humble affairs. Those grim
words out of the Bible, “Where the carcase is, there
will the eagles be gathered together,” seemed to hit
off the situation with unfortunate accuracy. There


126 GREENSEA ISLAND
was a strong suggestion of a sick bird of prey in
de Roda's yellow face, and, though I had no inten-
tion of becoming a carcase if I could possibly avoid
it, the parallel was too close to be anything but dis-
tinctly unpleasant.
The one point in my favour was the fact that, if
trouble were coming, I was at least fully prepared
for it. After the way they had bungled things in
the docks my enemies would no doubt have the
sense to guess that I must be on my guard, but of
the extra and private warning that I had received
from Christine they were, I felt sure, happily in
ignorance. If only I had had the least inkling of
what it was all about I don't think I should have
worried in the slightest. It was this fighting in the
dark that was so upsetting—this horrible ignorance
as to where the next blow might come from, and
why the devil de Roda himself or anyone else should
be so anxious to accelerate my funeral.
For the hundreth time I turned over in my mind
the few actual facts of which I was really certain,
only to pull up baffled before the same blank wall
of profitless conjecture. All the guessing in the
world was no use until I had something more to go
on, and the sooner I acquired that “something” the
rosier would be my prospects of remaining on this
planet.
I was just pouring myself out a second glass of
port when an idea occurred to me. Why not sum-
mon Bascomb and have things out with him straight
away? Up to now I had made no attempt to ques-
tion him. We were bound to come to an under-
standing sooner or later, and from every point of


GREENSEA. ISLAND 127
view the present seemed to be as good a time as any
other.
Acting promptly on my impulse, I walked across
to the fireplace and rang the bell. A few moments
elapsed; then the door opened and the taciturn face
of my retainer appeared on the threshold.
“Are you busy, Bascomb?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Well, come in then,” I said. “There are one or
two things I want to talk to you about.”
Still keeping silent, he closed the door behind him
and advanced to the centre of the room.
“Sit down and have a glass of port,” I added.
“I don't know where my uncle got it from, but it's
a first-class wine.”
He hesitated for a second; then in a slightly awk-
ward fashion he took the chair opposite mine, and
accepted the decanter which I pushed across.
“Thank you, sir,” he said gruffly. “I reckon it
ought to be all right—same as everything else in
the cellar. Mr. Jannaway was very partic'lar about
'is liquor.”
“He seems to have been a good judge of most
things,” I said, holding my glass up to the light.
“I never met him myself, as you probably know.
He went abroad to America when I was quite young,
and except for Mr. Drayton you're the only person
who can tell me anything about him.”
For a moment Bascomb stared at the table with-
out speaking.
“I dunno wot Mr. Drayton may 'ave said,” he
began in a half-defiant voice, “but if anyone wants
to run down the guv'nor, they won't do it while I'm


I28 GREENSEA. ISLAND
around. I don't say 'e was a bloomin' saint; 'e
weren't made that way, no more'n I am. All the
same, 'e treated me proper, 'e did, and I ain't goin'
back on 'im now 'e's dead and gorn.”
There was a rough eloquence about the man's
outburst which I felt would have convinced even
Ross of his good faith.
“I’m glad to hear you speak like that,” I said
heartily. “I believe in sticking up through thick
and thin for anybody who has been kind to me,
especially when they can't defend themselves.”
The gleam of passion died out of Bascomb's face
almost as suddenly as it had appeared.
“I didn't mean nothin’ against you, sir,” he began
with a kind of clumsy apology in his voice. “I
reckon you'd deal fair with anyone till you 'ad rea-
sons for the contrary. All I feels is that mebbe you've
'eard things about the guv'nor which makes yer
think a sight worse of 'im than there's any call for.”
“It isn't so much what I've heard,” I said, looking
him straight in the face. “It's the queer way my
uncle behaved that seems to me to want some sort
of explanation. Why did he suddenly shut himself
up on this island and treat the place as if it were a
kind of fortress? At least, that's the only descrip-
tion that fits in with what Dr. Manning and even
you yourself have told me.”
Bascomb met my glance without wavering.
“As far as that goes, sir,” he said stolidly, “I
dunno much more about it than wot you do. Wot-
ever the guv'nor did 'e 'ad good reasons for, but 'e
weren't the sort to talk about 'is own affairs, not
even to me.”


GREENSEA. ISLAND 129
“Do you think he was afraid of somebody?” I
asked. “That's what Mr. Drayton believes.”
Bascomb hesitated for a moment. “Yes, sir,” he
said slowly, “I reckon that's about the size of it.
'E'd got it into 'is 'ead that there was some party
after 'im, an' 'e bought this 'ere island so as 'e'd be
out of their way.”
“When did it start?” I demanded. “When did
you first notice anything wrong?”
“Well, sir, it's my belief that 'e always 'ad some
notion of that sort at the back of 'is mind. When
I come to 'im in London, almost the first thing 'e
says to me was that no strangers was to be allowed
into the flat, not under no circumstances wotever.
Still, 'e didn't seem to worry 'isself not to anything
like the same extent. 'E used to go to the races an’
the music 'alls, an’ as often as not 'e'd stop out till
two or three in the morning.”
“But something must have happened,” I per-
sisted. “Can't you remember when he began to
change?”
Bascomb nodded. “It was one mornin’,” he said
slowly, “gettin' on towards the end of October. I
'eard 'is bell ring after breakfast, and when I goes
in, there 'e was sittin' at the table, lookin' as if 'e'd
bin took ill. 'E'd bin reading the paper, I could
see that, an' I remember thinkin' as mebbe 'e'd
found something in it as 'ad upset 'im. “Bascomb,'
'e says to me, “d'you know any place where you can
get me a dawg?” “Wot sort of a dawg, sir?' I asks,
an' 'e laughs in that queer way 'e 'ad which was
enough to give a bloke the creeps. ‘A savage dawg,
Bascomb,' 'e says, “a big savage dawg as'll look after
9.


I 30 GREENSEA ISLAND
you an’ me, an' tear the guts outer any silly devil
who tries to shove 'isself in where 'e ain't wanted.’
'E always spoke as if 'e was 'alf jokin', the guv'nor
did, but this time I could see as 'e meant business.
So I tells 'im I knows a cove in Whitechapel who
could probably let 'im 'ave wot 'e wanted, an’ that
very afternoon I goes down there and gets 'old of
Satan.” He paused and glanced at me with a sudden
trace of apprehension. “Not as there's anything
wrong with Satan, sir,” he hastened to add. “’E's
as gentle as a lamb with people 'e knows, but, as the
bloke who sold 'im to me says, 'e ain't got no fancy
for strangers, an' you see, sir, that's just the sorter
dawg Mr. Jannaway was askin' for.”
“And it's just the sort of dog I'm very glad he
found,” I remarked thankfully.
Bascomb paused to finish his port and then care-
fully wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“After that,” he continued, “the guv'nor was
wot you might call a different man. 'E didn't go
out no more, 'cept in the middle of the day, and
although 'e says nothin' to me, I could see as 'e was
busy fixin' up some plan of 'is own. It didn't take
long before it come out neither. ‘Bascomb,' 'e
says to me one mornin', ‘I think we've 'ad enough
o' London. It ain't good for the 'ealth livin' too
much in a town, so I’ve took a nice little island
where we can be quiet and comfortable—just the
three of us. We shan't want no furniture,' 'e says,
“but pack up everything else in the flat, and we'll go
down there to-morrow.’”
“Rather a short notice, wasn't it?” I suggested
gravely.


GREENSEA ISLAND I31
“It didn't make no difference to me,” returned
Bascomb. “Where the guv'nor went I went, and
as it so 'appens I’ve always 'ad a fancy for the
country, ever since me first visit to 'Ampstead
'Eath.”
“And you took over this place just as it stands?”
I said.
“More or less, sir. The furniture was 'ere right
enough, but there was one or two things the guv'nor
wanted to 'ave done, such as puttin' on extra bolts
and locks, an’ shovin' in that there fireplace in the
'all.”
“You had the workmen staying in the house,
didn't you?” I asked.
“Yes, sir. A queer lot they was too. Dutchmen,
every mother's son of 'em. Couldn't speak a word
o' English, or any other Christian language.”
I stared at him in frank astonishment. “Dutch-
men " I repeated. “What on earth made him en-
gage Dutchmen?”
“Gawd knows,” observed Bascomb indifferently,
“but Dutch blokes they was, and that's a fact.
Come over from Rotterdam, and brought all their
clobber with them.”
“How long did they stay?” I asked curiously.
Bascomb scratched his head. “Mebbe a matter
o' four or five days. I didn't take no partic'lar notice
of 'em myself, 'avin' plenty to do gettin' things
straight in the kitchen. The guv'nor kep' an eye
on 'em, though, and I reckon 'e seed they done their
job proper.”
“They must have got through a good bit if they
were here for five days,” I said.


I32 GREENSEA ISLAND
“I dunno about that,” returned my companion
rather contemptuously. “Them furrin' blokes ain't
much use at work, even when there's someone
lookin' after them. They was messin' about with
the fireplace pretty nigh all the time.”
“Why did he want a new grate?” I enquired.
“Was there anything the matter with the old one?”
“It weren't big enough,” explained Bascomb.
“You see, sir, 'avin' spent most of 'is time in 'ot
places, the guv'nor felt the cold somethin' crool.
Always blindin' at the weather, 'e was. I've 'eard
'im say it was made up outer the scraps and leavin's
wot other countries 'adn't got no use for.”
“Then I suppose he lived chiefly in the hall?” I
remarked.
“That's right, sir. 'E never went outside the
'ouse, not after it was dark. I used to make 'im up
a big fire, an' there 'e'd sit all the evenin', with Satan
lyin' on the floor alongside of 'im.”
“It sounds a cheerful sort of existence,” I said.
“How did he amuse himself? Had he got any
books or papers?”
“I don't think 'e laid much store by readin’,” re-
plied Bascomb. “We 'ad the Daily Mail come over
every mornin', but as often as not 'e wouldn't trouble
'isself to open it.” He hesitated for a moment, and
then seemed to decide to take me into his confidence.
“You see, sir, the guv'nor'e began shiftin' a good
deal o' liquor after we come down 'ere. 'E was
never drunk, not wot you might call proper drunk,
but most evenin's 'e'd be a bit muzzy like, an' 'e'd
just sit there mutterin' to 'isself or talkin' to Satan.
I reckon 'e'd fixed it up in 'is mind that someone was


GREENSEA ISLAND 133
tryin' to do 'im in, an' when a party gets 'old of a
notion like that, drink's about the only thing as'Il
cheer 'em up.”
“And what happened?” I asked. “Did anyone
put a bullet through the window or anything excit-
ing of that sort?”
Once more Bascomb shook his head. “They
didn't 'ave the chance,” he observed grimly. “Be-
fore I goes to bed I always use ter slip Satan out
through the back door, and I’d like to see the bloke
as'd set foot on the island with 'im prowlin' around
in the dark.”
There was a short pause.
“Tell me about my uncle's illness,” I said. “How
was it he went off so quickly?”
“It was through gettin' wet, sir. 'E was out with
'is gun one mornin', an’ it come on to rain sudden.
Before 'e could get back to the 'ouse 'e was fair
soaked to the skin. ‘This cursed place 'as done for
me at last, Bascomb,' 'e says. “I shouldn't wonder
if I was a corpse inside of a week.” With that, sir,
'e goes straight off to 'is bed, and when it come to
five o'clock 'e was tremblin' all over an' beginning
to talk wild. I reckoned 'e was pretty bad, an’’avin'
'eard as this cove Manning was a doctor, I rows
across to the barge and asks 'im to come over. I
didn't like 'im, not from the moment I put me eyes
on 'im, but, seein’ there weren't no one else 'andy,
I 'ad to make the best of it. By the time we gets
back the guv'nor was worse. 'E 'adn't no notion
who I was, an' 'e was throwin' 'isself about an’
talkin' all sorts of foolishness. “You’d better find
me somethin' to sleep on,’ says the doctor. ‘If I


I34 GREENSEA. ISLAND
don't stay and look after 'im 'e'll peg out in the
night as likely as not.’ Well, I makes 'im up a bed
in the guv'nor's room, an' nex’ mornin' I goes over
to Pen Mill an' telegraphs to Mr. Drayton. After
that the 'ole thing was out of my 'ands, so to speak.
I done everything they tells me, but as you knows,
sir, the guv'nor never got no better, an' two days
later 'e goes off sudden early in the mornin’.” He
paused. “I wish 'e'd come to again, if it 'ad only
been for a minute,” he added huskily. “E'd been
good to me, the guv'nor 'ad, and I'd like to 'ave said
good-bye to 'im.”
I could not help feeling that it was probably a
better epitaph than my uncle really deserved, but,
all the same, there was something curiously affecting
in the rough fellow's evident distress.
“What was the matter with the doctor?” I asked,
after a moment's pause. “How was it you couldn't
get on with him?”
Bascomb's face hardened again immediately. “I
don't trust 'im, sir. It's my belief 'e's a wrong 'un.”
Allowing for a slight difference in expression,
they were the very identical sentiments that Man-
ning had confided to me about the speaker, and it
was all I could do to stop myself from smiling.
“Why do you think that?” I persisted.
“Well, if 'e was straight an’ above-board wot
made 'im carry on like 'e did? Always askin' ques-
tions and shovin' 'is nose into everything, same as
if it was 'is own 'ouse.” He stopped to take a long,
indignant breath. “Some game of 'is own on, that's
wot 'e 'ad, or else 'e wouldn't 'ave bin so blarsted
curious.”


GREENSEA ISLAND I35
“What sort of questions did he ask?" I enquired.
“Hall sorts,” replied Bascomb resentfully. “Try-
in’ to jump me about the guv'nor mornin', noon,
and night, an’ as for the way 'e used to mess
about, it was fair sickening. Why, after the funeral,
blessed if 'e didn't come back 'ere twice an' want
to look over the 'ouse again.”
“Did you let him?” I asked.
“Not me! I says to 'im I'd strict orders from
Mr. Drayton that no one was to come inside the
place. 'E offered me a couple o' quid the second
time, but I told 'im wot 'e could do with it, and after
that I reckon we understood each other. Any'ow, 'e
didn't show up no more, not till 'e seed you an' the
other gen’leman.”
“There's a fairly simple explanation of all this,”
I said. “He wants to get hold of the island and turn
it into a yachting club. He had made an offer to
Mr. Drayton before I arrived.”
Bascomb looked a little sceptical. “I ain't
'eard nothin’ about that,” he observed. “Anyway,
'e's a wrong 'un, sir; you can take my word for
it.”
“I daresay you're right,” I said, lighting myself a
cigar. “It doesn't make much difference, because
I haven't the faintest intention of letting the place
and I’ve told him so straight out. If that's all he's
after we shan't be troubled with much more of his
company.” I got up from the table. “I think I'll
have a stroll round before I turn in,” I added. “You
needn't bother about the front door; I'll lock that
myself when I come back.”
I walked through into the hall, where I found


136 GREENSEA. ISLAND
Satan stretched out luxuriously on the mat in front
of the fireplace. He cocked an eye at me as I passed,
and, seeing me pick up my cap from the table, rose
slowly to his feet.
“Come along then,” I said. “We'll take the air
together if you feel that way.”
The suggestion evidently appealed to him, for he
followed me out through the porch, and side by side
we sauntered down the gravel path which led to the
landing-stage.
It was a beautiful night, with a half moon low
down in the sky, and one or two large stars shining
away in isolated splendour. As I came out from
the shadow of the trees the loveliness of my sur-
roundings filled me with a kind of enchantment,
and, drawing in a deep breath, I stood for a moment
in absolute stillness. Everything was silent, except
for the faint whisper of the reeds. A dancing path-
way of silver stretched away up the centre of the
estuary, and beyond it, on either side, lay the black,
irregular outline of the shore.
Crossing the open with Satan at my heels, I slowly
made my way down to the edge of the water. My
mind was full of my conversation with Bascomb,
and, coming to a halt in the warm darkness, I stood
there puffing meditatively at my cigar.
Everything I had just heard had merely gone to
confirm my previous ideas. There could be no doubt
that, whether he had been right or wrong, my uncle
had been firmly convinced that his life was in im-
minent danger, and in this opinion Bascomb him-
self seemed strongly inclined to share. I attached
considerable importance to the latter point, because


138 GREENSEA. ISLAND
ter evenings in that lonely room, with the half-
empty whisky bottle beside him, and who knows
what grim memories gnawing at his conscience. I
could almost see him turning uneasily in his chair
as the rain and wind swept up the estuary, beating
on the French windows and whispering of the im-
placable vengeance that was lurking somewhere in
the darkness outside.
It is possible that my compassion for him may
have been stimulated by the fact that I seemed to
be in a more or less similar predicament myself.
My prospects of a long and peaceful life appeared
to be quite as hazy as his own, while I laboured
under the additional handicap of being entirely
ignorant as to the reason for my unpopularity. I
only knew that the same danger which had haunted
him was now closing in on me, and that at any mo-
ment it might make itself manifest in a peculiarly
abrupt and unpleasant form.
With a feeling of irritation at my own helpless-
ness I stood staring out over the moonlit water.
Except for a solitary lamp on the jetty opposite,
all the long stretch of coastline on either side was
wrapped in complete darkness. It looked a very
suitable background for anyone with homicidal ten-
dencies, and I was just wondering which point of
the compass seemed the most promising when some-
thing attracted my attention.
Away to the left, in the direction of Barham
Lock, a tiny point of light had broken out into the
night. I gazed at it curiously, wondering what it
could be. There was no house or cottage on that
part of the coast, and in view of the shallowness of


GREENSEA ISLAND I39
the water it was a very unlikely spot at which any
vessel would have come to anchor.
For several moments I puzzled vainly over the
problem; and then quite suddenly the explanation
Came to me.
It was the riding lamp from Dr. Manning's barge,
which was moored up there in the blackness under
the shadow of the trees.


CHAPTER SEVEN
“I THINK I shall go over to Pen Mill this morn-
ing,” I said.
Bascomb, who was clearing away the breakfast
things, paused in the middle of his operations.
“Will you be back to lunch, sir?” he enquired.
“I got a nice duck I was thinkin' o' cookin'.”
“In that case,” I said, “I shall certainly be back.
Better make it one-thirty though, and then we shan't
run the risk of spoiling it.”
“Very good, sir,” he replied, picking up the tray.
“I’ll 'ave it ready for yer, and I reckon you'll find
it'll be all right. I cooked many a one for Mr.
Jannaway when 'e was alive. Very partial to roast
duck the guv'nor was.”
“It runs in the family evidently,” I observed.
Bascomb retired with his burden, and, throwing
aside the Daily Mail, which was exceedingly dull, I
got up and looked out of the window. Two days
had drifted by since our conversation in the dining-
room, and so far nothing had occurred to mar the
picture of rustic felicity which Ross had sketched
out as my probable future. Being still fresh to my
surroundings, I had found the time pass away
pleasantly enough. I had gone through my uncle's
papers, put in some honest work in the garden, and
140


GREENSEA ISLAND I4I
had a very jolly cruise or two up and down the
estuary in the small sailing dinghy which I had dis-
covered stowed away in the boathouse.
This morning, however, for some reason or other,
I had woken up in a more adventurous mood. This
tranquil existence was all very well in its way, but
there are some luxuries for which one can pay too
dearly. I am a firm believer in the doctrine that
heaven helps those who help themselves, and I had
no intention of sitting down and doing nothing,
while my enemies quietly completed their plans for
a second and more successful attempt at blotting me
Out.
Thinking things over while I was dressing, I had
decided that something in the nature of a scouting
expedition to the mainland was distinctly advisable.
It would have to be done tactfully, of course, for, if
my theories were right, any movement of mine was
probably being watched with the closest attention.
Still, that only made the idea more attractive, and
I felt a cheerful little tingle of excitement in my
heart as I stared out of the window and pondered
over my undertaking.
The first thing to do was obviously to try and find
out whether de Roda was anywhere in the neigh-
bourhood. This ought not to be a very difficult
matter, for the presence of a stranger in such a
sparsely inhabited place as Pen Mill would be sure
to have aroused a considerable amount of curiosity.
It would be discussed and canvassed with the utmost
relish, especially in the bar parlour of the Gunner's
Arms, which I knew from old experience to be the
rallying-point for all the busybodies in the district.


I42 GREENSEA ISLAND
One had only to drop in there for a drink, and any
local gossip that was floating around was almost
certain to be brought before one's notice.
After that—well, my future proceedings would
necessarily depend upon how much or how little I
had managed to pick up. If I found out that de
Roda was really on the spot I was determined to
follow the trail as promptly and thoroughly as possi-
ble. It might be a dangerous amusement, but that
was an objection which would apply equally to any
course I chose to adopt, and, after all, it is better
to run risks when there is a decent chance of getting
something for one's pains.
Besides, at the back of everything else there lurked
another and much more compelling motive. Should
de Roda be anywhere around, it was quite on the
cards that Christine would be with him. The mere
thought of this pleasing possibility was amply suffi-
cient to outweigh all other considerations, and it
was in a very contented mood that I turned away
from the window and went upstairs to get ready for
my trip.
A quarter of an hour later I was sitting in the
dinghy, sculling across in a leisurely fashion towards
the opposite shore. Except for a couple of brown-
sailed barges, which were stealing out from Pen Mill
to take advantage of the rising tide, I appeared to
have the whole estuary to myself. I dodged in be-
tween the pair of them, and came up alongside the
jetty, where two or three tousled-headed urchins
were waiting my arrival.
Amongst the latter I recognised the somewhat
soiled features of my friend Jimmy.


GREENSEA. ISLAND I43
“Here you are, James,” I said, tossing him the
painter. “I’ll be back about one o'clock. Don't let
anyone sneak the sculls.”
“I’ll watch it, sir,” he replied, with shrill confi-
dence, and, elbowing the others officially aside, he
proceeded to tow the boat along the wall and make
her fast to a convenient post.
I stopped for a moment at the end of the cause-
way, and, under cover of filling my pipe, took a
careful survey of the village green. It looked very
peaceful and innocent, its only inhabitants being a
small child and an ancient donkey, neither of whom
seemed to threaten any immediate danger. Having
struck a match and lighted my tobacco, I sauntered
off across the grass, and a minute later I was mount-
ing the steps that led up to the inn.
When I entered the bar parlour I found two other
customers already in possession. One was a short,
ferrety-faced man, dressed in black, with a strag-
gling red moustache and a bowler hat on the back
of his head. The second was a grizzled and elderly
boatman, who was puffing away contentedly at a
much used cutty. Both were seated in chairs in
front of the bar, and had evidently been carrying
on a conversation with the landlord, who was lean-
ing over the counter polishing a tankard.
“Good morning,” I said, with a general nod which
included everybody.
I was subjected to a quick inspection, but all three
of them returned my greeting civilly enough.
“I think I'll have a bottle of Bass,” I said, ad-
dressing myself to the landlord. “That's the best
drink for this time of day.”


I44 GREENSEA. ISLAND
The little man in black blew his nose, making a
surprising amount of noise over the operation.
“I envy you, sir,” he remarked. “There's nothing
I like better than a glass of beer meself, but it goes
straight to my liver. Perhaps you aren't troubled
in that way.”
“I don't know where it goes to,” I said, “but the
result seems to be quite satisfactory.”
The landlord unscrewed a bottle and carefully
tilted its contents into a tumbler.
“You don't take enough exercise, Mr. Watson,”
he remarked. “No one can drink beer, not if they
sit in an office all day. You want to be out in the
open air, like George here.”
The old boatman nodded affirmatively. “Beer
never 'urt me,” he observed with a chuckle. “I
reckon I drunk enough of it in my time to float a
Thames barge.”
With a regretful shake of his head the little man
applied himself to his whisky. “You couldn't do
it, not if you were in the house agent line,” he re-
marked. “It would have to be spirits or nothing
then, the same as it is with me.”
I paid for my drink, and, strolling across the
room, sat down at an empty table in one of the bay-
windows. There was a paper lying in front of me—
a weekly rag called the Shalston Gagette—which
seemed to consist principally of advertisements. I
picked it up, however, and, opening it at the centre
page, made a deliberate pretence of glancing through
the local news.
For a moment or two the conversation at the
other end of the bar languished; then, as if renew-


GREENSEA. ISLAND I45
ing a former discussion, the landlord suddenly ad-
dressed himself to Mr. Watson.
“What I don't understand,” he said, “is how they
come to pitch on ‘The Laurels.” It ain't the kind
of place you'd think a gentleman would take a fancy
to.”
“It suited this party right enough,” returned the
little man with a chuckle. “All he wanted was a
house facing the water. He didn't seem particular
about anything else, provided he could get that.”
I felt my heart begin to beat a shade quicker, for
a sudden conviction that they were speaking about
de Roda had flashed instantly across my mind. The
landlord's next remark put the matter almost beyond
question. -
“Well, I suppose, being a foreigner, he ain't used
to comfort. He'll find it precious damp though, if
we happen to have another summer like the last.”
“That's his look-out,” returned the other. “He
saw the place before he took it, so I don't see that
he'll have any call to grumble. Anyhow, he's paid
us six months' rent in advance.”
“What part o' the world d'you reckon he comes
from, Mr. Watson?” enquired the boatman. “Some
says he's a Frenchy, but it seems to me he's a bit
too yaller in the face for that. More like some kind
of a Eytalian to my way o' thinkin'.”
“He’s neither,” said Mr. Watson decisively.
“He’s a Spaniard—the same as those fellers who
bring round the onions.”
“A Spaniard, is he?” ejaculated the landlord.
“Fancy that now! Could you make out what he
Said?”
10


146 GREENSEA. ISLAND
Mr. Watson sucked in his lip. “After a fashion,”
he replied. “It wasn't too easy his first visit, but
the second time he come along he brought his niece
with him, and it was she that did most of the talking.
I didn't have any trouble with her—none at all.
Speaks English as well as you or me.”
“That's a fact,” put in the boatman, nodding his
head. “She was down to my place the day before
yesterday looking after something to go on the water
in. A fine young lady she is too, and a rare 'and at
sailing a boat.”
“I don't hold with women sailing,” remarked Mr.
Watson disapprovingly. “She'll be drowning her-
self one of these days, you mark my words.”
“Not likely,” retorted the other. “She can swim
like a duck, that young lady can. She bathes off
of the bank there before breakfast, and dang me if
I didn't see'er right out in the channel when I come
round the point early this morning.”
I sat back in my chair, holding the paper in front
of me and making a desperate effort to appear quite
unconcerned. For a moment I could hardly believe
my own good luck. Without asking a single ques-
tion I had stumbled bang across the very informa-
tion I was in search of, and it was just about all I
could manage to keep my feelings under proper con-
trol.
What excited me more than anything else was the
news about Christine. The knowledge that she was
close at hand—perhaps within a few hundred yards
of where I was sitting—filled me with an indescrib-
able sense of elation. I felt like jumping up from
my seat, brandishing the Shalston Gazette round my


GREENSEA. ISLAND 147
head, and inviting all three of my garrulous ac-
quaintances to a general orgy of free drinks.
“I ain't curious,” announced the landlord, after
a short pause, “but I'd give something to know
what's brought 'em down into these here parts.”
“I can tell you that,” replied Mr. Watson, with
some importance. “It’s his doctor's orders. He's
been ill—very ill, so his niece says—and he's been
advised to take a house in a bracing climate.”
“Ah! 'E's done right in coming here then,” ob-
served the boatman patriotically. “They do say
Pen Mill's the most bracing spot in England.”
I was just thinking how thoroughly I agreed with
this statement when the outer door swung open and
two fresh customers entered the bar. One was a
big, red-faced man in gaiters, who came in talking
at the top of his voice and slapping his leg with a
riding-whip. I could have murdered him with the
utmost cheerfulness, for I felt at once that my pros-
pects of acquiring any further information were
remote in the extreme. He was one of those breezy,
would-be humorous gentlemen, who revel in the
sound of their own voices, and, true to his type, he
at once established himself with his back to the
counter, and proceeded to narrate some long and
pointless story.
Still holding the paper in front of me, I stuck
patiently to my seat, on the off-chance that the con-
versation would drift back into its former channel.
It was a vain hope, and, however, after waiting for
several minutes, I came to the conclusion that I
might as well take my departure. After all, I had
found out a good bit, and if I wanted to put my


I48 GREENSEA ISLAND
knowledge to any practical use, the sooner I set to
work the better.
In as casual a fashion as possible I got up from
my chair and sauntered across the room. The others
were all busy listening to the newcomer, and, with-
out attracting any particular attention, I passed
out through the door and made my way down the
steps.
At the bottom I paused for a moment to consider
my plan of campaign. I remembered something
about the neighbourhood, but I had no recollection
of a house called “The Laurels” or of any place that
answered to Mr. Watson's description of it. I
should have to make enquiries on this point, and at
the same time I should have to do it in such a fashion
as to avoid arousing any unnecessary gossip.
Glancing round the green, my eyes fell on the
small village shop opposite, where in bygone days
Bobby and I had been accustomed to purchase our
tobacco. If Mrs. Summers, the old lady who used
to run it, were still alive, she would probably re-
member me, and in that case it ought to be the very
place for my purpose. Anyhow, I determined to
chance it, so, knocking out my pipe, I vaulted the
wooden railings and set out over the grass.
The first person I saw when I stepped in through
the low doorway was Mrs. Summers herself. She
was sitting hunched up in a chair behind the counter,
knitting away industriously at a sock, and looking
precisely as unchanged as the rest of Pen Mill. She
stared at me for a moment in a half-puzzled, half-
doubtful sort of fashion; then suddenly her round
red face expanded into a broad smile of recognition.


GREENSEA. ISLAND I49
“Well I never!” she exclaimed. “If it isn't Mr.
Dryden "
“That's right,” I said, coming up to the counter.
“And how are you, Mrs. Summers?”
We shook hands warmly, while she beamed at
me through her gold-rimmed spectacles in a fashion
that cheered my heart.
“Well, well, well!” she repeated. “Just to think
of that now. Why, I couldn't believe my eyes when
I saw you walking in through the door.”
“I was wondering if you would know me after all
this time,” I said.
“You needn't have worried about that,” she re-
plied. “You haven't altered—not the least little
bit in the world.”
“Neither have you,” I returned gallantly. “Peo-
ple who lead sober and respectable lives always keep
their good looks.”
“Ah!” she observed. “I might have known you'd
say something like that. You were always the one
for having your little joke.” She continued to beam
at me with the same indulgent smile. “You’ve
come along to stay with Commander Dean, I sup-
pose?” she added.
I stared at her in the blankest amazement.
“Why, didn't you know he was here?” she asked,
in a surprised voice.
“Bobby Dean in Pen Mill!” I managed to jerk
Out.
“Well, not exactly in Pen Mill, though he do
come around pretty often. Martlesea's his head-
quarters—at least, that's where he lives when he
isn't in his boat.”


I50 GREENSEA. ISLAND
“D'you mean to tell me he's got a job here?” I
almost shouted.
She nodded her head. “He’s in the Coast Patrol
—the same as he was when the war was on. Fancy
your not knowing that now! Why, I made certain
you'd come down to pay him a visit, seeing as how
you were such friends.”
“I haven't had a letter from him for ages,” I
explained. “The last time he wrote he was up at
some God-forsaken place in the North of Scotland.”
I paused, while the full realisation of all that Bobby's
presence would mean filtered joyfully through my
heart. “By Jove, that's gorgeous news, Mrs. Sum-
mers!” I added. “You couldn't have told me any-
thing in the world which would have pleased me
more.”
“But if you haven't come to see him,” she de-
manded curiously, “whatever's brought you back
into these parts?”
Her question reminded me suddenly of the real
purpose of my visit.
“It's my turn to give you a little surprise,” I said,
and then, facing towards the door, I pointed out in
the direction of Greensea. “Do you know who lives
there?” I asked.
“Mr. Jannaway did,” she said, “but he's been dead
and gone a matter of two months. There's no one on
the island now, except the caretaker, Mr. Bascomb.”
“Oh, yes, there is,” I retorted. “There's a dis-
tinguished gentleman called Mr. John Dryden.”
She shook her head at me reprovingly. “Full of
your little jokes,” she repeated. “Just the same as
you always was.”


GREENSEA. ISLAND I51
“It's no joke, Mrs. Summers,” I persisted. “Mr.
Jannaway was my uncle, and he had the good sense
to die without making a will. The result is that I
scoop the lot—his money and Greensea Island and
everything else.”
Something in my manner must have convinced
her that I was speaking the truth, for she threw up
her hands in a gesture of profound astonishment.
“Well I never!” she exclaimed. “Why, I did
hear some talk that the place was to go to Mr.
Jannaway's nephew, but just to think that of
all people in the world it should happen to be
you!”
“It’s a bit of a knock-out, isn't it?” I said
sympathetically. “I haven't quite got over it myself
yet.”
She sat down again in her chair.
“It properly took my breath away for the minute,”
she declared. “Not but what I'm gladder than I
can say, Mr. Dryden, and I'm sure there's no gentle-
man in the world who deserves a bit of good luck
more than what you do.”
“Thank you very much,” I returned, with my best
bow.
“D'you mean to live on the island?” she asked.
“I hope to,” I said truthfully; and then, thinking
that this was a favourable chance for making my
enquiry, I added: “I suppose there have been all
sorts of changes since I was here—lots of fresh
people in the neighbourhood?”
She paused, as if to consider the problem. “Not
so very many, sir,” she said. “There isn't much to
bring folks here except in the summer time. Mrs.


GREENSEA ISLAND I53
“I’m glad of that,” I said gravely. “It's a great
relief to know that one's got respectable neigh-
bours.” I held out my hand. “I must be off now, Mrs.
Summers,” I added. “There are one or two little
things I have to attend to before I go back to lunch.”
“You’ll be in again before long, I suppose, sir?”
she hazarded.
“Rather,” I said, “and the next time I come I
hope I shall bring Commander Dean with me. It
will be like old days—all three of us together again.”
I gave her a parting squeeze, and, resisting the
temptation to break into a step dance, I turned round
and made my way to the door.
I certainly had good reasons for feeling a trifle
exhilarated. Not only had I picked up the informa-
tion I wanted with reference to “The Laurels,” but
I had also made the welcome and unexpected dis-
covery that I was no longer without a pal. If there
was one man I would have chosen out of all others
to take the place of Ross it was my old skipper,
Bobby Dean. For the last two years of the war he
and I had been cooped up together in a motor launch,
pleasantly engaged in strafing Fritz, and I don't
think there are many occupations in the world which
give one a better chance of finding out the character
of one's companions. I knew Bobby inside out,
from his rough, weather-beaten exterior to the
depts of his honest soul. He was one of that cheery
gang of east coast yachtsmen who had flocked into
the R.N.V.R. at the outbreak of hostilities, and had
done so much to mess up the All Highest's brilliant
idea of starving out the British Empire. So useful,
indeed, had been his record that when peace came


GREENSEA ISLAND 155
by tramping along the foreshore, and the other by
taking the narrow lane which turned away to the
left about a hundred yards above the inn. I pitched
on the latter as being the less conspicuous of the
two, and, trying hard to look as if I had come out
for a morning constitutional, I started off in a lei-
surely fashion up the hill.
I still had a sort of uneasy sensation that some-
body was spying on me, but a glance back over my
shoulder when I reached the corner gave no grounds
for this ungenerous suspicion. For all the interest
that Pen Mill appeared to be taking in my move-
ments, I might have been off the earth. The white
road stretched out behind me, sunlit and deserted,
and, feeling that nothing was to be gained by staring
at an empty landscape, I branched off without fur-
ther hesitation into the side turning. º
For a little distance the lane ran straight ahead
of me; then it curved off suddenly to the left in the
direction of the sea. I made my way cautiously
round this bend, and found myself outside a high
wooden paling, evidently the boundary of some pri-
vate residence. About twenty yards farther on I
could see a swing gate which apparently led into the
drive.
Keeping well under the fence, and feeling un-
pleasantly like a burglar, I crept forward until I
had reached the desired point. Any doubts I might
have had as to the identity of the place were at once
put to rest, for on the top bar, in faded and weather-
beaten letters, was painted the following inscription:
“THE LAURELs.”


CHAPTER EIGHT
It was in circumstances such as these that the late
Mr. Sherlock Holmes always aroused my keenest
admiration. No matter how puzzling the situation
might be, he invariably knew what was the right
line to take and exactly how to set about it. I sup-
pose he must have been blessed with some inner
sense which is denied to lesser mortals, for I know
that in my own case no sudden inspiration came to
help me. I just stood there gazing at the inscription
with a kind of vague satisfaction, and wondering
what the devil I ought to do next.
All my instincts prompted me to action, but the
question was, What sort of action was the most
advisable? I could not very well march up to the
front door and hand in my card, much as I should
have enjoyed making the experiment. There was
Christine to be considered as well as myself; indeed,
the feeling that whatever I did I must bring no sus-
picion upon her was the one predominant thought
at the back of my mind.
From where I was standing I could see nothing
of the house. The drive curved away sharply round
a huge clump of laurels, and the whole place looked
even more untidy and overgrown than my own
property. If I chose I had only to push open the
156


GREENSEA. ISLAND I57
gate and walk in, and yet, with my hand actually on
the latch, I still hesitated. Somehow or other it
seemed altogether too easy. The vision of a mouse
strolling unconcernedly into an open trap rose up
before me with unpleasant distinctness, and, aban-
doning the idea, I stepped back again on to the grass.
It struck me that another and less public mode of
entrance would be more in keeping with my part.
The paling was only about five feet high, and offered
little or no obstacle to anyone as active as myself.
I could slip over quietly, just where the trees were
thickest, and, unless the whole thing collapsed be-
neath me, the odds were that my ungentlemanly in-
trusion would probably pass unnoticed.
I was in the very act of turning away to put this
notion into practice when a sudden sound from in-
side brought me up as stiff as a ramrod. It was the
unmistakable noise of an opening door, followed
almost immediately by the voice of a man speaking
and the crunch of footsteps coming down the drive.
Thanks chiefly to my sea training, I managed to
keep my head. One glance round showed me that
the only available hiding-place was the thick hedge
on the opposite side of the road. I made for it like
a rabbit, and the next moment I had forced my
way through, and was crouching down, scratched
and panting, behind a welcome barrier of blackberry
bushes.
As luck would have it, I could not have pitched
upon a better spot. I was quite invisible myself,
and through a small gap in the hedge it was just
possible to command a glimpse of the gate. I found
that by pushing aside some leaves I was able to


158 GREENSEA ISLAND
enlarge the view still further, and with my eyes
glued to this peep-hole I waited breathlessly for the
next development.
It was not long in coming. A couple of seconds
could hardly have passed when the gate swung open
and two figures stepped out into the roadway. For
a moment I stared at them both, hardly able to be-
lieve my eyes. One was Christine, and the other—
of all people in the world—was Dr. Manning.
To say that I was knocked all of a heap would be
as near as I can get to describing my sensations. I
had thought of a good many things, but the possi-
bility of Christine and the doctor being acquainted
had never so much as crossed my mind. I could
only gaze at them in a sort of incredulous amaze-
ment, while all the theories that I had previously
built up seemed to be tumbling about like a pack of
cards.
It was Manning's voice which collected my scat-
tered wits for me.
“I will come round to-morrow about half-past
ten,” he said. “You needn't be the least worried
though. Everything's going as well as it possibly
can.”
Christine held out her hand. “I am not anxious
now,” she said simply. “Good-bye, and thank you
very much.”
He looked down at her in a way that filled me
with a sudden and peculiar resentment.
“Don’t go in for a minute,” he said. “Come as
far as the end of the road with me. I want to show
you how to get to the barge in case you ever honour
me with a visit.”


GREENSEA. ISLAND 1.59
I saw Christine hesitate; then, as if anxious not
to appear unfriendly, she made a little gesture of
aSSent.
“Oh, very well,” she said, smiling. “But I
mustn't be long. My uncle will be wondering what
has become of me.”
Manning glanced at her again with an expression
that made me long to kick him, and, moving away
from where I could see them, they strolled off to-
gether up the road.
For a moment or two I remained quite still. Then
with extreme care I got up from my crouching
position, and peered over the top of the hedge in
the direction which they had taken. There was
not much danger of their spotting me, and even
if there had been I don't suppose I could have re-
sisted the temptation.
I watched them until they reached the corner,
where I saw Christine come to a standstill, as though
she had suddenly decided not to go any farther.
From his gestures Manning appeared to be making
some sort of remonstrance, but if this were the case
his arguments evidently had no effect. At all events,
he seemed finally to abandon his attempts at per-
suading her, and they crossed the road together
towards a spot just beyond the palings, which over-
looked the water.
They stood there for several minutes, Manning
pointing away up the estuary and apparently show-
ing her the best method of reaching the barge. It
must have been a complicated route, judging from
the time he took about it, and the longer I waited
the more impatient and resentful I felt.


16o GREENSEA ISLAND
At last Christine herself seemed to have had
enough of the subject, for, stepping back from the
bank, she once more offered him her hand. He took
it in his, and then, in spite of a quite obvious at-
tempt on her part to prevent him, I saw him bend
down and press it to his lips.
My longing to kick him suddenly became so acute
that in another second I should have jumped down
into the roadway. Luckily, however, providence
just saved me from this idiocy. Pulling away her
hand, Christine turned round abruptly in the direc-
tion of the house, and, obeying a sort of auto-
matic impulse, I bobbed down again behind the
hedge.
There I stopped, listening intently. For a few
moments nothing happened; then I heard the quick
tread of footsteps in the roadway, and in the same
stealthy fashion as before, I lifted my head until I
could see over the top of the bushes.
There was no one in sight except Christine. She
was walking rapidly back towards the gate, and was
already quite close to where I was hiding. Manning
had disappeared completely, and any lingering tend-
ency to caution I still had vanished into thin air.
I leaned forward as far as I could.
“Christine!” I said softly. “Christine!”
She stopped dead. Every trace of colour had
vanished from her face, and for an instant I thought
that she was going to faint.
“Don’t be frightened,” I added quickly. “It's
perfectly safe.”
She stood there, staring up at me with wide-open,
startled eyes.


GREENSEA. ISLAND I61
“Oh, you're hurt,” she gasped. “Your face is all
bleeding.”
I put my hand up to my cheek, and it came away
stained with red.
“It's nothing,” I said. “I scratched myself a
bit getting through the hedge.”
“But why are you here?” she whispered. “What
made you come? It's madness—absolute madness.”
“I wanted to see you,” I said simply.
She gave a terrified glance round in the direction
of the house.
“I can't talk to you here. Don't you see how
impossible it is? You must go away at once.”
I shook my head. “Not till we've fixed up some-
thing,” I said. “Tell me where I can meet you, and
I'll clear out immediately.”
She answered me with a look of distress that
made me feel an absolute brute.
“Christine dear,” I whispered passionately, “I
must see you and talk to you. It's the only thing
in the world that matters the least to me.”
For a moment there was no reply. She seemed
to be making a desperate attempt to come to some
decision.
“I shall be in Shalston to-morrow,” she said at
last, in the same hurried whisper. “There is a shop
next to the station—a confectioner's shop with a
small room upstairs. If you will be there at half-
past three I will try and meet you.”
I was about to say something, but with an almost
piteous movement of her hands she interrupted me.
“No, no,” she said. “Don’t stop here. Go at
once—please—for my sake.”
11


162 GREENSEA. ISLAND
There may be stout-hearted people in the world
who could resist an appeal like this, but I am cer-
tainly not one of them. I let my eyes dwell in a
long, refreshing look on her dear up-turned face (it
was a look which had to last me for over twenty-
four hours), and then, without another word, I
slipped back noiselessly out of sight.
As a Yankee mate I once knew used to say, it
could “snow pink” for all I cared. When you love
somebody as I love Christine, the thought of meet-
ing them becomes so absorbing that it is precious
difficult to take anything else seriously. In the light
of what had just happened I felt that all my previ-
ous ideas required an immediate and thorough
spring cleaning, but for the time being such a mental
effort was hopelessly beyond me. My brain seemed
to be wholly occupied in repeating those two magic
phrases, “Half-past three” and “The shop next the
station,” which kept chasing each other through my
head like some beautiful refrain.
The only practical point which I did manage to
grasp was the important fact that I must get away
without being seen. As far as anyone in the house
was concerned this feat appeared to be simplicity it-
self; the danger was that I might run into Manning.
I was still very much in the dark about his relations
with Christine, but, whatever they were, it would be
fatal to let him suppose that I had been hanging
about in the neighbourhood of “The Laurels.” Be-
sides, if I met him now I should probably be unable
to resist the desire to kick him, which would cer-
tainly complicate matters to a most unfortunate
extent.


GREENSEA ISLAND 163
Under the circumstances, it seemed to me that my
best plan was to work my way round the hedge,
and get out into the main road at the top of the
hill. This would allow Manning a comfortable
start, and it would also give me the additional
advantage of being able to see whether the coast was
clear. -
Bending well forward, and making as little noise
as possible, I set out on my journey. At the first
corner I came across one of those small ponds which
are a usual feature in most Essex fields. I pulled
up for a moment, and, stooping down over the edge,
had a good look at myself in the water. It was no
wonder Christine had been startled when she saw
my face. The whole of my right cheek was covered
with blood, and, though the cause was nothing worse
than a superficial scratch, I must have been a pretty
ghastly object to bob up suddenly from behind a
hedge.
Fortunately my collar was still undamaged, and
with the aid of a wet handkerchief I soon managed
to remove most of the gore. Even then I looked
rather as if I had been fighting with a cat, but, after
all, I intended to go straight back to the island, and
there would only be Bascomb to criticise my appear-
ance.
Keeping the handkerchief pressed to my cheek, I
continued my journey up the hill. I had had quite
enough of scrambling through blackberry bushes,
and it was therefore with some satisfaction that, as
I drew near the top, I noticed a gate leading out of
the fields. I approached it with some care, and,
after making certain that there was no one in sight,


GREENSEA ISLAND 165
stood there gazing after his retreating figure, I felt
more certain than ever that my original instinct had
been absolutely sound.
I watched him until he reached the opposite side
of the green, where he crossed over and disappeared
down the Shalston turning. I waited for a moment,
so as to make quite sure that he had really gone;
and then, with a rather bleak feeling of reaction, I
stepped forward from my hiding-place. It seemed
to me that my adventures for the day were over.
There was a painfully unenterprising air about Pen
Mill, as it lay stretched out below me in the warm
spring sunshine. Down in the estuary a small
motor-boat was making its way rapidly towards
the jetty, but otherwise the whole place was lapped
in the same atmosphere of restful tranquillity as
when I had landed earlier in the morning.
It was at this opportune moment that I suddenly
remembered the roast duck. All my interest in life
came back with a rush, and, pulling out my watch,
I discovered that it was nearly a quarter to one. A
brief calculation showed me that by the time I had
got out my dinghy and rowed over to the island,
Bascomb's masterpiece ought to be just about ready.
To keep it waiting would be a very ungracious re-
turn for the trouble that he had taken, and,
stimulated by this thought, I started off briskly down
the hill.
As I reached the bottom I saw the motor-boat
which I had previously noticed run in alongside the
jetty. A short, sturdy figure in naval uniform rose
up in the bows, and, tossing the painter to Jimmy
and two of his companions who were waiting to


GREENSEA. ISLAND 167
look just as big and disreputable as ever.” Then
with a happy chuckle he stepped forward again and
gripped me by the arm. “Did you know I was
here?” he demanded. “I’ve never written to tell you;
I've been so devilish busy.”
“It wasn't altogether a surprise,” I admitted.
“I’ve been having a talk with Mrs. Summers, and
she gave me all the latest society gossip.”
“Ah!” he said, nodding his head; that accounts
for it. I thought you weren't half as pleased and
excited as you ought to have been.”
“Pleased " I echoed. “Why, I'm so pleased to
see you, Bobby, that I simply daren't give way to
my feelings. I should burst into tears if I did.”
“Well, don't do it here,” he retorted. “Come
along up to the pub and we'll sob comfortably on
each other's necks.”
“I can't sob comfortably in a pub,” I said. “I am
going to take you back to Greensea, and fill you up
on roast duck.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, letting go my
arm.
“That's right, Capting,” put in Jimmy, who had
been listening to our conversation with the utmost
interest. “The gen’leman lives on Greensea Island,
don't, 'e, boys?”
There was a shrill chorus of assent from the two
others.
“You live on Greensea Island?” repeated Bobby,
staring at me. Then as a sort of after-thought he
added blankly: “Well I'm damned”
“Never mind,” I said. “You’ll have lots of nice
people to keep you company.”


I68 GREENSEA. ISLAND
He took the painter from Jimmy, and jerked his
head in the direction of the boat.
“Jump in,” he commanded sternly. “I’ve got an
appointment with a fellow ashore, but he'll jolly
well have to wait. I'm going to get to the bottom
of this, if it costs me my commission.”
There was a masterly ring in his voice which woke
up all my latent sense of discipline. I drew myself
up in a mock salute, and stepped down obediently
into the stern sheets.
“Look after the dinghy for me, Jimmy,” I called
out. “I’ll come back for it this afternoon.”
Tossing the painter ahead of him, Bobby followed
me on board. He started the engine with a quick
jerk of the handle, and then, coming aft, took posses-
sion of the wheel. The next moment we were back-
ing slowly out from the jetty, and heading round
towards the mouth of the creek.
“Now, my son,” he remarked, “this is your
picnic. You give the orders, and I'll carry 'em
out.”
“Take her straight across to the island,” I said.
“You'll find my private landing-stage exactly
opposite.”
He paused for a moment with his hand on the
throttle. “You haven't gone mad by any chance,
I suppose, Jack?” he enquired casually.
I shook my head. “It's quite all right,” I said.
“I’ll explain everything when we've had some
lunch.”
With a turn of his hand Bobby set us going, and,
gliding rapidly down the creek, he ran out into the
estuary. He made no further remark until we were


GREENSEA ISLAND 169
three-quarters of the way over, when he glanced
sideways at me from under his cap.
“What have you done to your face?” he asked.
“You look as if you'd been trying to kiss somebody
and it hadn't quite come off.”
I patted my cheek tenderly to see if it were still
bleeding.
“It was nothing as exciting as that,” I said.
“Only a slight affair with a blackberry bush.”
He grunted disbelievingly, and, altering our
course a shade more down-stream, swung the head
of the boat round so that we came up nearly along-
side the landing-stage. I leaned forward and caught
hold of the chain.
“We get out here,” I said. “This is where I
live.”
He switched off the engine, and with the painter
in his hand stepped up on the planking. I followed,
and held the boat steady while he made her fast to
one of the posts.
“We seem to be doing very well so far,” he
observed cheerfully. “What happens next?”
“We go up to the house and have some lunch,” I
replied. “Then you shall hear the true and remark-
able story of how Mr. John Dryden came into his
inheritance.”
He thrust his arm through mine. “Come along,”
he said with a laugh. “That'll suit me all right.
I feel hungry enough to swallow anything to-day.”
We set off up the path, and, rounding the corner,
passed through the iron gate which led into the
garden. I was waiting eagerly to see what effect
the first sight of my residence would have upon


17o GREENSEA. ISLAND
Bobby, and it must be admitted that he rose to the
occasion. He pulled up, just as Ross had done, and
stood for a moment in silent admiration.
“By Gad! what a clipping place!” he exclaimed
at last. “Is this really yours, Jack?”
“Every stick and stone of it,” I said with some
pride.
As I spoke there was a sudden scuffle in the door-
way, and the huge figure of Satan bounded out on
to the gravel. He had evidently recognised my
voice, for with a joyful boom of welcome he came
cantering across the lawn to meet us.
Bobby received the apparition with commendable
coolness.
“You must introduce me to Fido,” he said. “I’m
very found of pet dogs.”
I performed the ceremony with due state, and in
a friendly group we all three advanced towards the
house. As we approached the doorway Bascomb
appeared on the threshold.
“I’ve brought a friend of mine, Commander
Dean, back to lunch with me,” I said. “I suppose
there'll be enough duck for two?”
He ran his eye over Bobby, as if speculating on
the latter's appetite.
“It ain't a very big 'un,” he remarked doubtfully.
“If 'e's 'ungry you'd better 'ave the cold beef as
well.”
“Bring up everything you've got,” I said. “We'll
be down as soon as it's ready.”
I piloted Bobby through the hall, and upstairs to
my bedroom, where, with a contented sigh, he tossed
his cap on the chest of drawers.


GREENSEA. ISLAND 171
“This is great,” he announced. “Who's the
sunny-looking sportsman who let us in P’’
“That's my butler,” I explained, pouring out
some water. “You mustn't mind his manners. He's
a retired prize-fighter and I took him on with the
rest of the fixings.”
Bobby broke into a sudden guffaw of laughter that
could have been heard at Pen Mill.
“Well,” he observed, “of all the giddy mystery
stunts I've ever butted into this about takes the
biscuit.”
I nodded sympathetically. “Yes,” I said, “I
felt like that at first myself. It's surprising how
soon one gets used to it, though.”
We washed our hands and proceeded downstairs
to the dining-room, where Bascomb was just bring-
ing in lunch. It was three years since we had had
our last meal together—a riotous dinner in a Har-
wich hotel on the night that peace was declared. I
was dying to know what had happened to all the
good fellows who had shared that unforgettable
banquet, and while we attacked the duck I kept ask-
ing innumerable questions that Bobby answered to
the best of his ability. In return I told him of one
or two little adventures which had helped to brighten
my own monotonous life, but it was not until we
had finished our coffee and lighted up our cigars
that we really approached the true business of the
day.
“Make yourself quite comfortable,” I said, push-
ing him across the port. “You have got to listen to
a long yarn, and I don't want any interruptions
while I'm telling it.”


172 GREENSEA. ISLAND
He filled his glass, and, getting up from his seat,
settled himself in a restful attitude on the sofa.
“I’m in no hurry,” he observed contentedly. “I
could stop here for a month if it wasn't for that
blessed appointment.”
Had it been possible, nothing would have pleased
me more than to let him hear the whole story, for I
knew well that when it came to a tight corner no one
could have a more loyal and trustworthy friend.
For the present, however, until things began to
shape themselves a little more clearly, I was still
determined that anything which concerned Christine
and her uncle should remain my own secret. By
letting out the truth, even to Bobby, I might be
running her into all sorts of danger, and no thought
of my own safety would have induced me to take
the risk.
Under the circumstances, the best plan seemed to
be to repeat the same version of my adventures that
I had given to Ross. So, starting with the arrival
of Mr. Drayton's cable at Leixoes, I plunged straight
into the story of my interview in Bedford Row, and
of my eventful journey back to the docks. I went
on to explain how Ross and I had come down to the
island, and made the acquaintance of Bascomb and
Dr. Manning. I described my first impressions of
both, and finished up by giving him a full report of
my conversation with the former and the various
details which I had been able to gather with regard
to my late uncle's peculiar habits.
Lying back, with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, he
listened to me in absolute silence. Even when I had
finished he remained for a moment in the same


GREENSEA. ISLAND I73
attitude, then, swinging himself up into a sitting
position, he reached out for his glass and drained
off the contents.
“I congratulate you, Jack,” he said. “It’s a
damned good yarn, and you told it very nicely.”
“Well, what do you make of it?” I enquired.
“That's the important point.”
He puffed thoughtfully at his cigar.
“I don't want to say anything rude about your
relations,” he observed, “but you certainly seem to
have struck a peach in the way of uncles.”
“It looks as if somebody had disliked him,” I
agreed. “All the same, I don't see why they should
work off their spite on me.”
Bobby brooded over the problem with a meditative
frown.
“I don't imagine it's spite,” he began. “People
generally have a pretty good reason when they start
committing murder. It's much more likely that
your uncle was in with some swindling crowd who
managed to bring off a big coup. He probably did
the rest out of their share of the boodle, and now
he's dead they're trying to collect it.”
“They won't get anything by slaughtering me,”
I objected.
“How do you know?” he demanded. “From
what this lawyer Johnny told you there's a whole
heap of stuff still unaccounted for. It must be
somewhere. Why shouldn't it be here?”
“Here!” I echoed.
“Yes, here on the island, stowed away—buried.
A man doesn't go and invest a lot of stolen money—
not unless he's a damned fool.”


GREENSEA ISLAND I75
“I can't stick him at any price. All the same, he's
very well in with the people down here. Quite a
leading light among the sporting crowd. He belongs
to the club at Shalston, and he's always ready to
take a hand in anything that's going on.”
“What's your objection to him?” I asked.
“Nothing much. I just think he's a wrong 'un.”
“But why?” I persisted. “You must have some
reason.”
Bobby shook his head. “Not the least necessary.
I can tell a scoundrel directly I see him.”
“Well, I've got the same sort of feeling about
him,” I admitted. “Still, that's hardly a proof that
he had anything to do with shoving me into the
dock.”
“You must try to look at it in a broad light,” said
Bobby encouragingly. “If he isn't up to some dirty
business why did he make you that offer for the
island? You can take it from me that his yarn
about starting a yachting club is all bunkum. We've
got two here already. Then there's another thing
I don't like, and that's his suggestion that you should
get rid of Bascomb. It's quite likely he's got some
blackguard up his sleeve that he hopes to land you
with.” He reached out for the decanter and filled
up his empty glass. “Besides,” he added, “there
don't seem to be any other competitors. Who the
devil else has taken the faintest interest in your
affairs?”
Not being able to answer this question, I rose from
my chair and took a pace or two up and down the
room. I found a curious comfort in the fact that
Bobby shared my views about Manning. In dealing


176 GREENSEA. ISLAND
with de Roda I felt like a man who has one hand tied
behind his back, but when it came to tackling the
doctor there were no such unfortunate restrictions.
The more suspicious his conduct appeared, the better
pleased I should be. A way had to be found by
which I could get to the bottom of the mystery with-
out injuring Christine, and, so far, this was the only
opening which suggested the least prospect of
success.
“I believe you've hit it,” I said, coming back to
my seat. “I must take steps to improve my
acquaintance with Dr. Manning. He seems to be
worth cultivating.”
“Well, go easy,” returned Bobby. “If we're
really on the right lay he's not the sort of chap to
play the fool with.”
“All the more reason for making the first move,”
I said. “‘When in doubt, lead trumps.' That was
Nelson's motto, and it's good enough for me.”
“It's a sound plan,” admitted Bobby. “The only
thing is whether you're fit to be trusted by yourself.
I think you had better lie low until I can come
around and lend you a hand.”
“I don't want to drag you in, Robert,” I said.
“You did your bit in the Great War.”
“It doesn't matter a damn what you want,” was
the crushing reply. “You don't suppose I'm going
to let you be wiped out while you've got a cellar full
of port like this?” He paused. “The worst of it
is,” he added, “I am due at Harwich to-morrow,
and they will probably keep me there for at least a
week.”
“I expect to struggle through a week,” I said


GREENSEA. ISLAND 177
hopefully. “After all, there's Bascomb and the
dog.”
He eyed me with some mistrust. “If you take
my advice,” he said slowly, “you'll be precious
careful what you do. Things look devilish ugly,
and I know what you're like when there's any chance
of a scrap about. I should hate to come back and
find you with your throat cut.”
“It would be still more annoying for me,” I
pointed out. “You needn't think I'm going to hunt
for trouble. If I see the chance of having a nice
little chat with our friend Manning I shall take it,
but I shall try to remember that mine's a valuable
life, if only for the sake of my friends.”
He nodded approvingly, and, glancing at his
watch, hoisted himself up from the sofa.
“Time I was off,” he announced. “That chap
who's waiting for me will be tearing his back hair if
I don't come along soon.”
We got our caps from the bedroom, and, leaving
the house, made our way down to the landing-stage.
Satan stalked after us with great dignity, and, fol-
lowing his usual custom, remained standing grimly
at attention while we cast off our painter and pushed
out from the bank.
“I like that dog,” said Bobby. “He looks
thoroughly efficient. I put more faith in him than
in you or the butler.”
“So do I,” I said candidly. “And I shouldn't
be a bit surprised if Dr. Manning felt the same.”
We ran rapidly across to the jetty at Pen Mill,
bringing up alongside a timber barge which had
just come in on the flood tide. Bobby's appoint-
12


178 GREENSEA ISLAND
ment was at Beddingfield, a small village half a mile
inland, and, having nothing particular to do, I said
I would walk with him as far as the top of the hill.
“Go slow,” was his parting advice, “and don't
forget to send me a wire if you find yourself in a
tight corner.”
“Where shall I send it to?” I asked.
“The Naval Office, Harwich, will always find me.
I shall be pretty busy, but you can count on my
showing up within three hours of getting a
message.”
“That's comforting,” I said, shaking his hand.
“Whatever happens you ought to be in time for the
inquest.”
I must admit, however, that, in spite of this
flippancy, there was a very real feeling of relief
inside me as I strolled back down the slope. I had
been quite ready, if necessary, to play this game out
by myself, but the knowledge that I had a friend
like Bobby just round the corner would certainly be
a huge addition to my peace of mind. In a case of
emergency he was not the sort to stick at trifles, and,
from all I could see of the matter, that was exactly
the kind of pal that I was most likely to require.
The suggestion that my uncle might have buried
the rest of his money on the island was one that
appealed to me immensely. There is always some-
thing stimulating in the idea of a hidden treasure,
and, apart from that, it fitted in beautifully with the
various other features of the situation. It explained
away that regrettable absence of capital to which
Mr. Drayton had called my attention, and it also
went far to account for the presence of de Roda


GREENSEA ISLAND 179
and for the embarrassment which Christine had
shown in trying to warn me of my danger.
As to where Manning came in, I was still puzzled.
That he had some connection with the de Rodas
was obvious, but from what I had seen of him,
I was strongly inclined to believe that he was playing
a private and separate game of his own, in which
Christine and her uncle were only partly concerned.
Anyhow, I was now convinced that the most promis-
ing place in which to hunt for the key of the mystery
was on board The Penguin, and that the quicker I
got on to the job the more likely I was to find it.
With this idea in my mind I returned to the jetty,
where the faithful Jimmy was patiently awaiting my
arrival. The fact that I was a friend of Bobby's
had evidently sent me up several pegs in his estima-
tion, for he greeted me with a respectful salute
which I was careful to acknowledge.
“I am much obliged to you, James,” I said,
presenting him with a shilling. “It’s a great thing
to have somebody that one can really depend on.”
He looked up at me gravely. -
“You can trust me, guv'nor,” he observed. “I
ain't the sort to let yer down—not if there's anything
yer wants done.”
“I am sure of that,” I said. “And what's more,
I shan't forget it.”
Settling myself in my seat, I sculled off at a
leisurely pace down the creek. My thoughts were
still busy with the owner of The Penguin, and as I
came out into the open I cast an instinctive glance
up the estuary in the direction of the barge. What
I saw pulled me up short in the middle of my stroke.


18O GREENSEA. ISLAND
A hundred yards away, and moving rapidly towards
me, was a small motor-boat containing a single
occupant. I recognised the latter instantly. It was
Manning himself, and with a queer feeling of sus-
picion at this remarkably opportune appearance of
his I swung the dinghy round and waited his
approach.
He came up alongside, and, cutting off his engine,
waved me a friendly greeting.
“I was right after all then,” he said. “I thought
I saw you going ashore about twenty minutes ago.”
“I was just seeing back a pal of mine who's been
lunching with me,” I said. “Dean, of the Coast
Patrol. I think you have met him, haven't you?”
He nodded easily. “Oh, yes—several times. An
uncommonly good fellow from all accounts. I
should like to know him better.”
I thought of Bobby's remarks on the same subject,
and it was as much as I could manage to keep a
straight face.
“He was my skipper during the war,” I explained.
“I had no idea he was down in these parts. We ran
across each other accidentally on the jetty this
morning.”
I was watching him closely while I spoke, but if
my news was in any way unwelcome he certainly
managed to conceal the fact.
“Just what you wanted,” he said, steadying the
dinghy with his hand. “It must be precious lonely
for you, tucked away on that island all by yourself.
I have been meaning to run across again and look
you up, only I thought I had better give you time
to settle in first.”


GREENSEA. ISLAND 181
I took the opening without hesitation.
“How about to-morrow night?” I said. “If
you're not doing anything else, come along and
dine.”
For a moment he appeared doubtful. “I should
like to very much indeed. The only trouble is that
I shan't have my boat. There's been something
wrong with the engine lately, and I’m taking her
round to Bridwell now to get it seen to.” He paused.
“Still, that doesn't really matter,” he continued.
“I can easily walk along to the inn, and row across
from there.”
A bold improvement on my first idea suddenly
came into my head. After all, if I hoped to be
successful, it was no good playing the game in a
half-hearted sort of fashion.
“Why not bring a bag and stay the night?” I
suggested. “It will save you a tramp in the dark,
and, as far as I'm concerned, you will be doing a
charitable act.”
Perhaps it was only my imagination, but it seemed
to me that a faint gleam of satisfaction flickered
across his face.
“You’re very kind,” he said, in that smooth voice
of his. “There's nothing I should enjoy more if I
shan't be putting you out.” -
“Just the contrary,” I returned. “I don't know
what sort of a meal you'll get, but I'll try and prod
up Bascomb into doing his best.” I pushed my
sculls forward into position. “Dinner at half-past
seven,” I added, “unless any other time would suit
you better.”
“That will do me fine,” he replied, switching


182 GREENSEA ISLAND
on his engine. “I shall look forward to it im-
mensely.”
“So shall I,” I said, and, with a firm conviction
that for once at least we were both speaking the
entire truth, I allowed the current to carry us slowly
apart.


CHAPTER NINE
It cannot be said that Bascomb recieved the news
of my expected guest with anything resembling
enthusiasm. I broached the subject while he was
clearing away the dinner things, and for a moment
he stood at the table without replying—a study in
sullen disapproval.
“Well, you knows your own business best, sir,”
he observed at last. “If you wants to 'ave 'im 'ere
you must 'ave 'im 'ere, an' that's all there is to it.”
“I am not asking him for the charm of his society,
Bascomb,” I said. “The fact is, I have been think-
ing over what you told me the other night, and I
have come to the conclusion that Dr. Manning wants
watching.”
“You're right there, sir,” was the grim answer.
“’Im an' that beauty Craill, too. You couldn't find
a better pair, not if you was to scratch 'ell with a
pocket-comb.”
“Who's Craill?” I demanded.
“Craill's the bloke wot lives with 'im, an' looks
after the barge. 'E come along 'ere one day when
the guv'nor was ill, and it was as much as I could do
to stop Satan from tearin' 'im in 'alf.”
“What was the trouble?” I asked. “Didn't he
like his looks?”
183


184 GREENSEA. ISLAND
Bascomb shook his head. “Seemingly not. An'
wot's more, I reckon 'e felt much the same way
about the doctor.”
“I'm with him there, anyhow,” I said. “There's
some dirty, underhand work going on in connection
with Greensea Island, and as far as I can see Dr.
Manning is at the bottom of it.” I paused deliber-
ately. “I mean to get to the bottom of it too,
Bascomb,” I added. “That's the reason I've fixed
up this visit.”
There was a brief silence.
“Well, I don't go so far as to say you're wrong,”
replied my retainer grudgingly. “All the same, I
wouldn't rest too easy, not with 'im sleepin’ in the
'ouse. If you take my advice, sir, you'll lock 'im
in 'is room, an' leave Satan loose outside the door.”
“I don't want to make him suspicious,” I ob-
jected. “We shan't get anything out of him by
frightening him. Our only chance is to let him feel
perfectly at home, and then it's just possible he'll
give himself away.”
“Mebbe that's so,” admitted Bascomb, after a
moment's reflection. “There's many a bloke trips
'isself up through bein’ a bit too clever.” He turned
to the table again and resumed his task of clearing
away the things. “I’ll do wot I can anyway, sir,”
he added. “It shan't be my fault, not if 'e thinks
'e ain't welcome.”
I was much relieved at getting this promise, for
without Bascomb's co-operation the scheme would
have been hopeless. It was absolutely essential to
my plan that Manning should have no idea he was
being watched or suspected. The first sign of any-


GREENSEA. ISLAND 185
thing of that sort would shut him up like a clasp-
knife; whereas, if we treated him in an apparently
open and friendly fashion, he might be led into
taking a false step out of sheer over-confidence. I
felt it would be rather a strain having to be civil to
him for a whole evening, but, after all, the object
in view was well worth a little discomfort, and I
am always ready to suffer in a good cause.
Having regard to the important day's work ahead
of me I decided that it would be a wise precaution to
turn in early. A generous allowance of sleep is
necessary to my constitution if I wish to be at my
best and brightest, a fact which the various skippers
I have served under have persistently failed to
notice. Being now my own master, however, there
seemed to be no point in running any unecessary
risks, so at ten o'clock precisely I let Satan out for
his nightly sentry-go, and, having locked up the
house, returned peacefully to bed.
As a reward for this act of virtue I woke up feel-
ing remarkably fit and cheerful. It was another
beautiful day, and as I dressed leisurely at the open
window in a blaze of sunshine I kept a watchful
gaze on the estuary in the hope that I might discover
Christine's head bobbing about somewhere in the
distance. Though vaguely disappointed by my lack
of success, I managed to complete my toilet in fairly
good spirits. I should be seeing her again, anyhow,
in a very little while, and it does not do to be too
greedy in one's demands upon providence.
A conscientious spell with the lawn-mower
enabled me to get through what would otherwise
have been a rather tiresome morning. Even so, I


I86 GREENSEA. ISLAND
was not sorry when half-past two arrived, and 1
found myself once more entering the muddy creek
which runs up to the Pen Mill landing-stage. As
usual, Jimmy had noticed my approach, and was
standing on the jetty ready to receive me. I handed
my boat over into his charge, and, telling him J
should probably be back about five o'clock, I strode
off across the green in the direction of the Shalston
road.
The distance I had to walk was about two miles
and a half. I had just left myself time to do it
comfortably, and to get to our meeting-place a few
minutes before Christine was due. This seemed to
me the most sensible arrangement, for I did not want
to be seen hanging about the town, and there was no
object in spending a lengthy vigil in the pastrycook's
shop.
About a quarter of a mile beyond the village I
passed the head of a narrow lane leading towards
the water. I could not stop to investigate, but I
felt pretty certain that this must be the road by
which Manning was accustomed to reach his barge.
I only hoped that he was safe on board, for, much
as I was looking forward to seeing him in the even-
ing, I should have found him horribly in the way if
he had happened to turn up at that particular
moment.
Fortunately no such contretemps occurred. I
tramped on, keeping a sharp look-out ahead of me,
and at twenty past three by the church clock I
entered the straggling outskirts of Shalston. A
few minutes' walk along the main street brought me
to my destination—a quaint little old-fashioned


GREENSEA. ISLAND 187
shop, with a large supply of buns, tarts, and other
delicacies piled up in the bow-window.
As I pushed open the door, a bell above my head
jangled fiercely. In answer to its summons a
pleasant-faced middle-aged woman glided out from
behind a rampart of freshly baked loaves, and gazed
at me benignly across the counter.
“Good afternoon,” I said. “I believe you have
a room upstairs where you serve tea?”
“That's right, sir,” she replied encouragingly.
“There's a nice room on the first floor. Will you
step this way, sir?”
She conducted me through a door at the back into
a linoleum-lined passage, whence a flight of stairs
led up to the landing above.
“I am expecting a friend to tea with me—a lady,”
I added. “When she arrives, would you be kind
enough to tell her I'm here?”
“To be sure I will, sir,” was the affable answer.
“And mebbe you'd rather wait till she comes before
you give your order?”
“Perhaps it would be safest,” I admitted. “She
might have a weakness for some particular kind of
jam tart.”
Proceeding upstairs, I entered the room facing
me, where a table in the centre was already set out
for tea. It was a fair-sized apartment, furnished in
that engaging style which is generally associated
with the name of the late Queen Victoria. There
was a piano, a large horse-hair sofa with an
antimacassar over its back, and two chairs of the
same material, stiffly arranged on each side of the
fireplace. The grate was filled with coloured paper,


188 GREENSEA ISLAND
and from the mantelpiece above a stuffed canary in
a glass case looked coldly across at Mr. Frith's
attractive reproduction of a busy morning at Pad-
dington Station. Two or three texts, a framed
certificate from “The Ancient Order of Buffaloes,”
and several photographs of popular watering-places
mounted on red plush, lent a finishing touch to the
general harmony.
Laying my hat down on the sofa, I took up a
defensive position in front of the hearth. I had not
very long to wait, for five minutes could hardly have
elapsed when I heard the passage door open, and a
sound of voices became audible in the hall below.
In spite of the fact that it ought to have benefited by
previous experience, I could feel my heart beginning
to beat in the most curious and uncontrollable
fashion. Then, beautiful as ever, Christine appeared
suddenly in the open doorway, and the next moment
I was holding her hands in mine.
“I can't tell you how badly I’ve wanted you,”
I said. “It seems a hundred years since yester-
day.”
She looked up at me in a kind of half-humorous,
half-protesting fashion.
“Mr. Dryden—please!” she murmured. “They
can hear everything you're saying downstairs.”
I let go her hands, and took an obedient step
backwards.
“I suppose they can,” I said. “I quite forgot
that there was anyone else in the world.”
She came forward into the room.
“Besides,” she added with a smile, “tea will be
up in one moment. They told me that you were


GREENSEA. ISLAND 189
waiting till I arrived, so I ordered it while I was in
the shop.”
“You're not going to run away again at once, are
you?” I demanded anxiously. “There are a whole
heap of things I want to talk to you about.”
The troubled expression that I had seen before
came back suddenly into her face.
“I mustn't stay very long—not more than half
an hour at the most.”
“Half an hour!” I repeated in dismay. “You
can't possibly have tea in half an hour ! Why, it's
frightfully dangerous to try and drink hot things in
a hurry.”
Before I could make any further protests I was
interrupted by the creak of footsteps laboriously
ascending the stairs. There was a chink and rattle
of cups and then, panting slightly from her exer-
tions, the lady of the shop emerged into view,
heavily burdened with an immense tray.
She set this down on the table, and surveyed us
with a motherly smile.
“If there's anything else you fancy, p'raps you'll
give me a call over the banisters,” she said. “My
sister's gone to a funeral to-day, and I'm all alone in
the shop.”
I gazed at the staggering collection of pastries
which we were apparently expected to consume, and
hazarded an opinion that they would probably see
us through.
“Well, don't be frightened of 'em, my dear,” she
said, addressing Christine. “They're all home made.
You can eat as many as you like without takin' no
harm.”


190 GREENSEA. ISLAND
She left the room again, closing the door behind
her, and, having inspected the various chairs at our
disposal, I brought forward the one which looked
the least uncomfortable.
“You pour out tea,” I said, placing it in position.
“I’m so tired of doing it for myself.”
Without saying anything, Christine seated herself
in front of the tray. She paused for a moment to
take off her gloves, while I dragged up a second
chair, and, sitting down alongside, contemplated her
with unspeakable contentment.
“I hope you're not very angry with me about
yesterday,” I said. “Spying behind hedges isn't
really a habit of mine; in fact it's the first time I
have ever tried anything of the sort.”
She finished pouring out the tea and handed me
across my cup.
“No,” she answered, “I am not angry with you;
why should I be? You have every reason for feel-
ing suspicious about us, and every right to do ex-
actly what you think best.”
She spoke almost wearily, and there was a touch
of bitterness in her voice that gave me an un-
comfortable sense of guilt.
“Christine,” I said, “I want to settle this busi-
ness once and for all. As far as you and I are con-
cerned, there must be no chance of a misunder-
standing.” I paused. “I don't know in the least
what the trouble is in connection with Greensea
Island, or what your uncle has got to do with it. It's
quite clear that there's some infernal mystery, how-
ever, and, judging by what happened in the docks,
I seem to be playing rather an important part in it.”


GREENSEA ISLAND 191
Her brown eyes, full of distress, were looking
straight back into mine.
“Yes,” she said in a low voice. “You are in great
danger. I told you so the other day.”
“I know you did,” I replied cheerfully, “and you
can be quite sure I haven't forgotten your warning.
I like this planet, and I mean to stop on it as long as
I can, but there's just one thing I want you to realise.
I would allow myself to be murdered twenty times
over rather than do anything in the world which was
the least likely to injure you.”
The distress in her face became deeper than ever.
“No, no,” she said wretchedly. “You mustn't
speak like that. If anything happened to you I
should feel that—” Her hand gripped the arm of
the chair until the skin stood out white over her
knuckles. “Oh,” she ended, almost with a sob, “I
don't know what to do. It's all so hopelessly com-
plicated and difficult.”
I fought down a sudden fierce longing to take her
in my arms.
“Don’t look so unhappy, Christine,” I said. “I
can stand a good deal, but that finishes me com-
pletely.”
With a gallant if rather wistful attempt to smile
she sat back in her chair.
“There's only one thing I want to know,” I went
on, following up my advantage, “and you needn't
tell me that if you would rather not.”
She made a slight movement of her head, as if
wishing me to continue.
“How long have you been friends with Dr. Man-
ning?”


I92 GREENSEA ISLAND
I put the question quite bluntly, and I saw the
faintest possible flush come into her face.
“I am not a friend of Dr. Manning's,” she an-
swered. “I dislike him intensely. If the choice
rested with me, I should never see him again.”
“We appear to have one taste in common at all
events,” I remarked with approval.
“What do you know about him?”
She brought out the words almost reluctantly, as
though half afraid of making some unwelcome dis-
covery.
“I know very little at present,” I admitted, “but
I hope that by to-morrow we shall be much better
acquainted. I have asked him to dinner with me this
evening, and he will probably spend the night on
the island.”
If anything, my answer seemed to increase her
misgivings.
“He is staying with you? He is going to sleep
in the house?”
“Why, yes,” I said. “There's nowhere else he
can sleep, unless I put him in the kennel. That
would certainly be the best place, but, unfortunately,
my dog has taken rather a dislike to him.”
In spite of her apparent anxiety the corners of her
lips quivered into a smile.
“If you mistrust him so much, what made you
invite him to the island?”
“I thought it would be a kind action,” I explained.
“I suppose you know that he has a special reason
for being interested in my affairs?”
She looked at me curiously.
“What do you mean? What reason?”


GREENSEA. ISLAND I93
“Well, to be quite exact, there are two of them,”
I said. “In the first place, he's the family physician.
He came over and stayed in the house when my
uncle was taken ill, and looked after him until he
died.”
“But you never told me that.”
Christine was leaning forward again, with a
queer excitement that she made no attempt to
conceal.
“We’ve had so little time for exchanging con-
fidences,” I objected. “Anyhow, he did come, and,
what's more, he seems to have fallen in love with
the place. At least, ever since then he has been
making me the most sporting and generous offers,
which Mr. Drayton says I'm a fool not to accept.”
“He is trying to buy the island?”
“That's the notion,” I said, nodding. “Accord-
ing to his own account, he wants to start a new
yachting club.” I paused. “Of course, it may be
so,” I added, “but do you know, Christine, at the
back of my mind I’ve a nasty, uncharitable feeling
that he isn't telling me the truth.”
For a moment we sat silent. There was a strange
expression upon Christine's face, as though she were
beginning to understand something which up till
then had baffled and perplexed her.
“Mr. Dryden,” she said slowly, “for your own
sake I am going to be quite honest with you. Until
we came down here I had no idea that such a person
as Dr. Manning existed.”
I was not altogether surprised at her confession,
but in spite of that it gave me a very pleasant feeling
of relief.
1g


I94 GREENSEA ISLAND
“Perhaps he is an old friend of your uncle's?”
I suggested.
She shook her head. “He was an utter stranger
to both of us. My uncle was taken ill with one of
his heart attacks the day after we arrived, and
somebody from the hotel suggested my sending for
Dr. Manning. I am quite certain that they had
never met before in their lives.”
“If that's the case,” I observed, “he needs kicking
even more than I imagined.”
Once again a faint shade of colour crept into her
face, and then died away again almost at once.
“Listen, Mr. Dryden,” she continued, “what I
want to say to you has nothing to do with anything
that you may have seen yesterday. That doesn't
matter in the least. You have got to think entirely
of your own safety. I believe that by asking Dr.
Manning to the island you are putting yourself in
the greatest possible danger.”
“It seems to be the general opinion,” I admitted.
“At least, both Bascomb and Bobby Dean—” I
paused. “By the way, I haven't told you about
Bobby Dean yet, have I?”
She shook her head.
“I have been carrying out your instructions,” I
explained. “You ordered me to dig up a friend,
and I have found the one man in the world who
exactly fits the part.”
“Who is he?” she demanded eagerly.
“Well, to give him his full title,” I said, “he's
Commander Robert Dean, V.C., of His Majesty's
Navy. To save time I generally call him Bobby.
We were serving together during the war, and, as


GREENSEA. ISLAND I95
luck would have it, he has just been shifted back
here in charge of the Coast Patrol at Harwich.”
“Oh, but that's splendid,” she exclaimed thank-
fully. “Is he going to live with you on the island?”
“I should like him to,” I said, “but I am afraid
the Admiralty might object. They are a conserva-
tive lot, and they always expect their employees to
sleep over the shop. I shall be seeing a good deal of
him though,” I added, quickly, as a sudden shadow
of disappointment again clouded her eyes. “He is
constantly round here in his boat, and if I want him
in a hurry any time I have only got to send him a
wire.”
There was a pause.
“Does he—does he know that—” She stopped,
as if not quite certain how to finish the question.
“I didn't think it necessary to tell him every-
thing,” I said. “He knows about my being chucked
into the dock, and he knows what I think of Dr.
Manning. As I look at it, the rest of the story only
concerns ourselves.”
I saw that she was on the point of interrupting
me, so I went straight on, without giving her the
chance of speaking.
“Anyhow, I am not going to talk about myself
all the time. There are several much more important
things I want to discuss, and one's the fact that you
appear to be risking your life every morning before
breakfast in a way that I strongly disapprove of.”
She looked at me for a moment in evident be-
wilderment.
“Do you mean my swimming?”
I nodded. “It would be most inconsiderate of you


196 GREENSEA ISLAND
to get drowned,” I said, “just when you've become
absolutely necessary to me.” -
I saw the corners of her mouth begin to quiver
into a smile.
“I am afraid I hadn't thought about it from that
point of view,” she replied. “In any case, you can
make your mind quite easy, Mr. Dryden. I have
swum over twenty miles in the sea before now, so
I don't suppose I am likely to get into trouble bath-
ing off a beach.” She glanced at the slim gold
watch which she was wearing on her wrist. “Why,
it's past four o'clock,” she exclaimed, with sudden
consternation. “I had no idea it was as late as that.”
She rose quickly to her feet, and I at once fol-
lowed her example.
“Christine,” I said, “you're not going like this?
Last time you rushed away before we could make
any arrangements, and I can't leave things in the
same impossible state again.”
She stood hesitating, the very picture of troubled
indecision.
“I don't know what to say,” she answered. “I
have done wrong in seeing you to-day. I only came
because—well, because you didn't give me much
choice in the matter, did you?”
Once more I took her two hands in mine.
“I hadn't any choice myself,” I said. “It's all
very well for me to make promises, but how can you
expect me to keep them? I love you so much
that—”
“Oh, don't, don't,” she broke in pitifully. “You
mustn't say that sort of thing. I am trying to help
you; I want to be your friend if I can; but wn


GREENSEA. ISLAND I97
“Forgive me, Christine,” I pleaded. “It just
slipped out before I could stop it.” I paused for a
moment to gaze hungrily into her wide-open, tear-
stained eyes. “Only for God's sake let me see you
again before long. I don't know what I shall do
unless I can look forward to that.”
“Very well,” she said, almost inaudibly. “If it's
possible I will write to you or send you a message.”
“Do you know a boy called Jimmy who is always
hanging round the quay?” I asked her. “A little
curly-haired kid of about eleven, with blue eyes and
a dirty face?”
She nodded.
“Well, he's by way of being rather a particular
friend of mine. If you just scribble a line and give
it to him, he'll bring it over to the island immedi-
ately.”
She nodded again, and made a movement as if to
release her hands.
“You must say good-bye—please, Mr. Dryden.
I oughtn't to have stayed as long as this.”
I had intended to play the game to the end, but
there are times when all the good resolutions in the
world are perfectly useless. A sudden feeling that
I was about to lose her swept over me with over-
whelming force, and then, almost before I knew
what was happening, I had drawn her close into my
arms, and was pressing a passionate kiss upon her
soft and slightly parted lips.
“Christine, Christine,” I whispered hoarsely.
“I’ve loved you from the first moment that you
came on board the Neptune.”
I felt her body tremble all over as I kissed her


198 GREENSEA. ISLAND
again, fiercely and recklessly. Then with a choking
sob she pushed me away from her, and, freeing her-
self from my arms, turned blindly towards the door.
I remained motionless where I was, a mingled
sensation of remorse and triumph rioting wildly
through my heart. I was sorry and ashamed for
what I had done, but even my self-reproaches could
not alter the glowing conviction of Christine's love
which had come to me as our lips met. It was a
revelation so intoxicating that for several seconds I
stood there like a man in a trance, the faint fragrance
of her hair still lingering deliciously in my memory.
At last, with a big effort, I managed to shake off
the spell, and, walking back to the mantelpiece,
lighted myself a cigarette. The question uppermost
in my mind was what I should do next. From every
point of view it seemed advisable to allow a few
minutes to elapse before attempting to leave the
shop. It was quite on the cards that someone who
knew Christine might have seen her come out, and
to emerge myself a moment later would be simply to
invite trouble. Besides, there was the old lady down-
stairs to be considered. She was probably under
the impression that we had had a quarrel, in which
case she would doubtless relate the circumstances to
any of her friends and neighbours who happened to
drop in for an afternoon gossip. I had to find some
way of lulling her suspicions, and I felt that I could
hardly begin better than by making my own exit in
as leisurely and cheerful a fashion as possible.
So I finished my cigarette without any attempt
at hurrying, and then, leaving the canary to brood
over his ghastly splendour, I descended the staircase


GREENSEA. ISLAND I99
and pushed open the side door which led into the
shop. The proprietress was engaged in serving out
some sweets to a youthful customer, but by the time
I had passed through into the outer department
this piece of business was successfully transacted.
“I should like to square up accounts,” I said; and,
taking out two half-crowns, I laid them down on
the counter.
The good woman pushed one of them back
towards me.
“It won't be as much as that, sir,” she replied.
“One shilling's our charge, unless the party has
eggs.”
“And very cheap too,” I said, pocketing the re-
jected coin. “I am only sorry my friend had to
run away so soon, but unfortunately she had an ap-
pointment at four o'clock.”
I was rewarded by a glance of sympathy. “Dear
me, that was a pity, sir. I hope you both enjoyed
your tea?”
“I did for one,” I said truthfully. “In fact, it
was quite the best shilling's worth I have ever had
in my life.”
With a gratified smile she handed me my sixpence
change, and, feeling that I had left exactly the im-
pression I desired, I walked to the door, and stepped
out into the street.
I was in no immediate hurry to get home, and,
apart from that, there was the chance that if I
started at once I might overtake Christine on her
way back to Pen Mill. Attractive as this prospect
was, I had a regrettable conviction that it would be
altogether against her wishes, so, strolling across


2OO GREENSEA. ISLAND
the road, I entered the open door of the White Hart
Hotel, where in bygone days Bobby and I had been
accustomed to refresh our war-worn energies with
occasional bouts of snooker.
I found a marker in attendance, a little rabbity-
faced man with an unpleasant habit of potting the
black from every conceivable angle. He beat me
handsomely in both the games we played, and, hav-
ing paid tribute to his skill in the shape of a large
tankard of beer, I set out in a chastened mood on
my return journey.
It must have been close on six o'clock by the time
I reached the harbour. For once in a way there was
no sign of Jimmy, so, going up to where my boat
was moored, I began to unfasten the painter. I was
engaged on this task when he suddenly appeared
from the back door of the inn, and came hurrying up
the jetty wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
“Sorry I weren't 'ere, guv'nor,” he began. “I’d
just gorn inside to 'ave me tea.”
As though in proof of this assertion, he gulped
down what seemed to be a large portion of the inter-
rupted banquet.
“Quite right,” I said. “One can't do really good
work without plenty of nourishment.” I handed
him his usual retaining fee, and stepped down into
the boat. “I have got a little job for you, Jimmy,”
I added. “I suppose you're the sort of boy who can
keep his mouth shut?”
A reassuring nod was the prompt answer.
“Do you know Miss de Roda by sight?” I asked
him. “The young lady who has come to live at
“The Laurels'?”


GREENSEA. ISLAND 2OI
There was a brief pause.
“Wot, 'er with the pretty faice?” he enquired.
“That's the one,” I said. “Well, some day she
may give you a note for me. If she does, will you
bring it over to the island at once?”
He nodded again. “You'll get it all right,
guv'nor; you can trust me for that.”
“And don't talk about it to anybody, will you,
Jimmy?” I added. “Not even to your own pals?”
“Not me,” he said stoutly. “There ain't no one
who can keep a secret better'n wot I can.”
There was a ring of pride in his voice which in-
spired confidence, and, under the comforting im-
pression that I had established a reliable line of
communication, I pulled off down the creek.
When I got back to the house I found a letter for
me lying on the hall table. As I picked it up the
green baize door which led down to the pantry
opened quietly, and Bascomb came in with a plate
basket on his arm.
“The postman brought that letter this afternoon,
sir. 'E'ad to call about some registration papers 'e
wanted filled in.”
. I turned the envelope over, and saw the name
of Wilmot and Drayton stamped on the flap.
“How about this evening?” I asked him. “Have
you managed to get us a decent meal?”
He nodded ungraciously. “I reckon it's good
enough—considerin' the party wot's expected. I'm
just settin' about laying the table now.”
“Well, let me know when the doctor arrives,” I
said. “I am going upstairs to change, and I don't
want him wandering round the house by himself.”


2O2 GREENSEA ISLAND
“I’ll see to that, sir,” was Bascomb's grim answer,
and without another word he resumed his inter-
rupted progress towards the dining-room.
On reaching my own apartment, I sat down on
the bed and opened Mr. Drayton's letter. It was not
typed, but written in his own handwriting, and bore
the previous day's date.
“My DEAR DRYDEN,+If you can tear yourself
away from the numerous attractions of Greensea
Island, I should be glad to see your cheery coun-
tenance in town one day this week. There are
several fresh papers I want you to sign, and one
or two details in connection with the estate which
it would be more convenient to talk over than to
write about.
“I hope that you have found things fairly
comfortable, and that Bascomb and the dog have
proved themselves to be entertaining compan-
ions.
“I saw our mutual friend, Inspector Campbell,
yesterday. He enquired affectionately after you,
and was particularly anxious to know how you
were getting on. I fancy he is still a little piqued
—professionally—over his failure to discover
anything with reference to your late uncle. At all
events he seems to be under the impression that
there is something remarkably mysterious with
regard to the whole affair, and that sooner or later
fresh developments are bound to crop up. Let us
hope that they will take the pleasant shape of a
bundle of missing securities.


GREENSEA ISLAND 2O3
“Ring me up as soon as you get to town, and
we will fix something in the way of lunch or
dinner. -
“Yours sincerely,
“GEORGE DRAYton.”
Laying this genial missive down on the dressing-
table, I began slowly to change my clothes.
I had no objection to a run up to town the next
day; indeed, on the whole, the prospect distinctly
appealed to me. I should be glad to see Mr. Dray-
ton again and find out how my affairs were pro-
gressing, while, after a week on the island, I was
quite ready for a little mild dissipation in the shape
of a good dinner or a theatre.
I promised myself, too, that I would take the
opportunity of looking up Inspector Campbell, who
had given me his address the day we lunched at the
Holborn. From the moment of my first introduc-
tion to him I had felt a curious confidence in this
big, shrewd, slow-speaking Scotsman, and I de-
rived no little comfort from the knowledge that
he was still taking a friendly interest in my wel-
fare.
There was one special matter in which his help
might prove to be invaluable. He was just the sort
of man who would probably be able to unearth a
lot of interesting facts with regard to the past career
of Dr. Manning, and if I could only persuade him
to undertake the job without any inconvenient ques-
tions, my journey to town would certainly not be
wasted.
Meditating in this fashion, I proceeded to array


204 GREENSEA. ISLAND
myself in a loose-fitting suit of tweeds, which was
the style of evening dress I usually patronised on the
island.
I was on the point of completing my toilet when
the front door bell rang loudly, and, after a short
interval, I heard Bascomb ascending the stairs.
As he advanced along the passage I opened my
door.
“’E's come,” observed my retainer, jerking his
thumb towards the banisters.
“And what have you done with him?” I
enquired.
“Left 'im in the 'all,” was the answer. “’E's
sittin' there nice and comf'table—long o' Satan.”


CHAPTER TEN
I HAVE an idea that Bascomb's reply was intended
to be ironical, but it certainly summed up the tableau
that met my eyes as I came down the staircase.
Lolling back in an easy chair, with his legs crossed
and looking supremely at home, was the neatly
dressed figure of Dr. Manning. Satan was standing
on the hearthrug a few feet away. Every muscle
in his great body was tense and rigid, and his whole
soul seemed to be concentrated in the stare of watch-
ful suspicion with which he was surveying the
intruder.
At the sound of my footsteps both of them looked
up.
“Sorry I wasn't here to welcome you,” I said,
coming forward across the hall. “I hope Satan has
been doing the honours for me.”
Manning rose lightly to his feet, and took the
hand which I somewhat reluctantly offered him.
“I expect I'm a bit early,” he answered, in that
pleasant, imperturbable voice of his. “The fact is,
I wasn't quite sure what time you said you had
dinner.”
“Well, it's a movable feast,” I returned, “but
seven-thirty is the usual hour.” I took hold of his
205


206 GREENSEA. ISLAND
bag, which was lying on the floor beside him.
“Come along up and see your quarters,” I added.
“Then we shall just have time for a cigarette and
a cocktail. I hate rushing at food without any
preparation.”
“It's an uncivilised practice,” he admitted,
“though I'm afraid I'm often guilty of it myself.
One gets into bad habits living on a barge.”
I was quite prepared to believe his last statement,
but thinking it wiser to keep my opinion to myself
I led the way upstairs to his bedroom, which was
two doors down the passage from mine.
Having seen that he was provided with hot water
and soap, I left him to his ablutions, telling him to
rejoin me in the hall as soon as he was ready.
He sauntered down again about ten minutes later,
by which time I had concocted a couple of alluring
stimulants that even a Buenos Aires bar-tender
would have been proud to father.
“By Jove, it's a treat to taste a real drink again!”
he said, smacking his lips over my effort. “The
English are a fine people, but they don't know much
about mixing liquors.”
He put down his glass, and, lighting a couple of
cigarettes, we strolled towards one of the French
widows, which was partly open.
“Still, there are compensations,” I said, looking
out into the garden. “An evening like this makes
up for a lot of indifferent cocktails.”
He leaned back against the lintel and gazed
deliberately round the sky—a roof of cloudless blue,
tinged towards the west with the saffron after-glow
of a perfect sunset.


GREENSEA ISLAND 207
“Yes,” he admitted, “it has been wonderful
weather the last few days, but you can take my word
we shall have to pay for it. Unless the wind gets
up we shall have a sea fog that will probably hang
around for a week. It's always the way here, when
you get this sort of thing in April.”
I was about to make some reply when an unex-
pected voice behind suddenly broke into our
conversation.
“Dinner's ready,” it announced.
We both turned round abruptly, to find the sombre
figure of Bascomb silhouetted in the doorway.
“Come on in,” I said, addressing myself to Man-
ning. “However black the future is, we can at least
eat and drink.”
I conducted him across the hall to the dining-
room, which looked very snug and comfortable in
the pleasant light of two or three softly shaded
candles.
We took our places at the table, and, having
served us with soup, Bascomb noiselessly withdrew,
closing the door behind him.
“How are you getting on with that fellow of
yours?” enquired Manning, after a moment's
silence.
“Oh, well enough,” I said, pushing him across
the sherry. “He’s a queer, surly sort of beggar,
but he looks after me all right, and so far I haven't
caught him pawning any of the family silver.”
My companion laughed easily and helped himself
to the wine.
“I daresay I'm prejudiced against him,” he
observed. “The fact is, he didn't exactly go out


208 GREENSEA. ISLAND
of his way to make himself civil when I was here
looking after your uncle. I expect it's my profes-
sion that's responsible. Like most ignorant people,
he is probably convinced that all doctors are secret
poisoners.”
“I think he objects to strangers on principle,” I
replied. “My uncle evidently suffered from the
same disease, and as likely as not they infected each
other.”
“Agoraphobia,” said Manning, smiling. “Well,
I shouldn't wonder if you're right. It's a fairly
common complaint, and Mr. Jannaway certainly
seems to have been a typical case.” He paused.
“By the way,” he added carelessly, “have you
managed to find out anything more about him?”
I shook my head. “Not a thing,” I said, “except
the fact that he had a very sound taste in drink.”
It may have been my imagination, but I thought
I could detect the faintest possible expression of
relief flicker across my companion's face.
“Greensea Island's a curious place for a man of
his age to come and settle down in,” he continued.
“I have often wondered what brought him to this
part of the world.”
“So have I,” I replied truthfully. “In fact, the
more I think it over, the more it puzzles me. I can
only imagine he must have been inspired by some
happy instinct that it would suit the tastes of his
successor.”
At this point there was a pause in our mutual
confidences, owing to the re-entrance of Bascomb
with the next course. He took several minutes
clearing away and providing us with fresh plates,


GREENSEA ISLAND 209
and by the time we were again alone the conversation
had wandered off into a different channel.
Whatever one's personal feelings towards Man-
ning might be, there was no getting over the fact
that he was an excellent talker. He chatted away
easily and pleasantly on a variety of topics, and if
he had any other purpose in view beyond that of
being entertaining, he certainly managed to conceal
it with remarkable success. In spite of my prejudice
against him, I could fully believe what Bobby had
told me about his popularity in the neighbourhood.
He seemed to possess an almost hypnotic power of
making himself agreeable, though in my own case
his choicest efforts were so much waste of labour.
I had only to remind myself of a certain incident
outside “The Laurels” to feel all my old inclination
to punch his head welling up with renewed vigour.
When the time for coffee arrived I made a sug-
gestion that we should move into the hall. Man-
ning had declined a cigar, saying that he preferred
to stick to his Egyptian cigarettes, so, taking the
whisky and liqueurs with us, we established our-
selves in a couple of easy chairs in front of the big
open hearth. I put a match to the fire—more for the
sake of hearing it crackle than for anything else—
and with every outward appearance of complete
harmony we settled down to spend the evening.
“You’ve got an ideal place in its way,” said my
guest, looking round with a sort of lazy approval.
“The old chap must have spent a lot of money in
fixing it up as comfortably as this.”
“I don't think he did very much,” I replied.
“He had some workmen here, and tidied things up
14


2IO GREENSEA ISLAND
generally, but I fancy the house was in pretty good
condition before he took it over. This fireplace
was about the only new thing he put in.”
Manning's gaze wandered critically over the im-
provement in question.
“Those are Dutch tiles, aren't they?” he said,
bending forward to make a closer inspection.
“It's quite likely,” I returned. “Bascomb tells
me the work was done by a Dutch firm.”
I brought this out purposely in the hope of en-
couraging further questions, but my companion's
interest in the matter did not seem to be very acute.
He remained silent for several moments, staring in
front of him with a curiously absent expression, as
though his thoughts had suddenly taken an entirely
different direction.
At last, with something that was very like a start,
he seemed to come back to his surroundings.
“It's a nice piece of work,” he said, “and just the
thing you want here in winter. I like the old barge
well enough, but there are some advantages in living
on dry land after all.”
I poured him out a glass of my uncle's brandy
which I knew from experience to be of a remarkably
mellowing nature.
“I should think a barge was great fun,” I said,
“What put the idea into your head?”
He took an appreciative sip at the brandy, and
lit another of his eternal cigarettes.
“It was more chance than anything else,” he
replied. “I heard she was up for sale, and I wanted
some sort of a headquarters down here, so I just
stepped in and bought her straight away. The


GREENSEA. ISLAND 2II
chap she belonged to was only asking four hundred,
and she was dirt cheap at the price.”
“I wonder what our friend Drayton's opinion
would be on that point,” I said. “He nearly had a
fit when I told him I was coming to live on
Greensea.”
Manning laughed. “Oh, he thinks I’m as mad as
a hatter. He can't understand anyone being able
to exist unless they're within a taxi-drive of Bedford
Row.” He paused. “All the same, I believe it's
people like ourselves who really get the best out of
life. I would give the whole of what London and
New York have to offer for one good evening after
duck, or a stiff beat to windward round the Bridwell
buoy.”
The ring of genuine enthusiasm in his voice was
quite unmistakable, and I looked across at him with
a sudden curiosity that I did my best to hide. I have
run up against a fairly representative crowd of
blackguards in my life, but there was something
about Manning that certainly placed him in a re-
served compartment. Leaving aside his charm of
manner, it seemed almost incredible that a man
whose tastes lay along such simple, healthy lines
as duck-shooting and yacht-racing could really be
the complete scoundrel that my imagination had
gradually constructed. Still, facts were facts, and
this very incongruity only helped to make the
situation still more stimulating.
“You must get a boat and take up racing,” he
continued, finishing off his liqueur. “There's no
sport in the world to touch it, and the little six
metre class we go in for here aren't very expensive.”


2I4 GREENSEA ISLAND
I shook my head. “No,” I said, “I think we'll .
stick to the usual arrangement.” Then, pointing
to the table, I continued: “You can clear away
those drinks and lock up the dining-room. Doctor
Manning has gone to bed, and I’m turning in myself
too. I will let you know in the morning what time
we want breakfast.”
With a significant glance in the direction of the
staircase he came close up to where I was stand-
ing.”
“I dunno if I ever mentioned it before, guv'nor,
but that there bell alongside your bed rings in my
room. Mr. Jannaway 'ad it put up special. If
you should 'appen to want me any time, all you got
to do is just to give it a pull.”
“Right you are, Bascomb,” I said, and, feeling
rather surprised and more than a trifle grateful at
his evident concern for my safety, I once more made
my way up to my own quarters.
Reviewing the events of the evening while I
undressed, I could not find much cause for self-
congratulation. As far as I could tell I had managed
to avoid giving Manning any hint of my true feel-
ings towards him, but with this exception the
honours appeared to be all on the other side. He
had acted the part of the friendly neighbour in such
an easy and natural fashion that it was precious
difficult to pick any holes in his performance. His
enquiry as to whether I had found out anything
more about my uncle, and the two questions he had
asked with reference to Bascomb and Satan, were
the only incidents I could recall which appeared to
be in the least suggestive. Even these were quite


GREENSEA ISLAND 215
in keeping with the character he had assumed, and
neither of them threw a very penetrating light on
what was really passing at the back of his mind.
That he was meditating some mischief, however,
seemed to me highly probable. Not that I had much
belief in the tragic forebodings of Christine and
Bascomb, for I rated our friend's intelligence too
highly to imagine him to be capable of any such
blunder as that of trying to cut my throat while he
was a guest under my roof. I was inclined to think
that it was a thirst for information rather than a
thirst for blood which had prompted his suggestion
of an early retirement. My opinion was chiefly
based upon what Bascomb had told me about his
two previous attempts to get back into the house
after my uncle's death. This persistence could only
be explained by the theory that he wanted to make
some further investigations, and now that he was
actually on the spot he was not likely to neglect such
a favourable opportunity.
Anyhow, whichever view of the situation was
correct, I was faced with the cheerful prospect of
spending a sleepless night. It was very annoying,
especially as I had to go to town the next day; but
my painful experiences at sea have given me a
certain amount of philosophy in these matters, and
I settled down grimly to make the best of it.
Anyone who has enjoyed a similar ordeal knows
with what wearisome slowness the hours can
occasionally pass. In my case, I had not even the
consolation of a book, for I was afraid of treating
myself to a candle in case the light should be visible
under the door. I just tumbled into bed and lay


216 GREENSEA. ISLAND
there in complete darkness, keeping my eyes wide
open and listening intently for the slightest noise.
Through the open window, at amazingly long
intervals, I could hear the church clock at Pen Mill
chiming out the quarters. Nothing else broke the
silence except an occasional rustle in the shrubbery,
which told me that Satan was patrolling the garden
with his usual trustworthy thoroughness.
Midnight struck, and after a respectable foretaste
of eternity between each, one, two, and three
eventually followed suit. Very gradually the black-
ness of night began to slip into the gray twilight of
early dawn, and bit by bit the various pieces of
furniture in my room emerged into shape out of the
surrounding gloom.
Outside, a bird started twittering in the creeper,
but everything in the house still remained as quiet
as the grave. Try as I would, I found it harder
and harder to fight off the drowsiness that was con-
stantly stealing over me, and more than once I only
just roused myself in time as I was on the very point
of falling asleep.
Whether I eventually dropped off into a doze I
can't say. If I did, some important part of me
must have remained awake, for I suddenly found
myself sitting up in bed, perfectly cool and collected,
but with every nerve in my body strained to the
utmost attention.
For a moment nothing happened. Then, once
again, came the sound that I was waiting for—the
faint creak of a board in the passage outside my
door.
Turning back the clothes, I slipped noiselessly out


218 GREENSEA. ISLAND
As I crept along I debated with myself what was
the best thing to do. Should I try and get down
without being seen, or should I make a reckless
charge and leave the rest to providence? The
latter course was much more to my taste, but there
are times in life when personal pleasure has to take
a back seat, and I reluctantly decided that I must
play the game. This was the one chance I was
likely to get, and it would be madness not to take
the fullest advantage of it.
Still exercising the utmost care, I stole across the
landing and peered over the banisters. From where
I stood only the further side of the hall was visible.
Everything looked exactly as I had left it the night
before, and, except for the steady ticking of the
grandfather clock, the whole place was wrapped in
profound silence.
Unless Manning had gone through into the back
part of the house it stood to reason that he must be
down below more or less under my feet. The sooner
I found out what he was playing at the better, so,
edging my way to the head of the stairs, I very
cautiously began the descent.
I knew that from the next small landing half-way
down one could overlook the entire hall. There
were only about a dozen steps to negotiate, and for
six of them I got along very nicely indeed. The
seventh, however, proved to be my undoing. As I
put my weight on it the damned thing let off a
terrific creak, and almost simultaneously I heard a
quick movement below. It did not take me long to
realise that any more efforts in the Sherlock Holmes
line would be singularly futile. With one jump I


GREENSEA ISLAND 2I9
cleared the intervening stairs, and the next moment
I was leaning over the banisters looking straight
down into Manning's face.
He was standing on the hearthrug in front of the
fireplace. Except for a pair of bedroom slippers he
was dressed in the same scanty costume as myself,
the only other difference being the poker which I
still clutched affectionately in my right hand. He
had evidently turned round directly he heard the
noise, and, although taken by surprise, he looked
perfectly cool and self-possessed.
“Hullo, Manning!” I said cheerfully. “What
the devil are you doing here?”
For just an instant he remained motionless; then
with a sudden laugh he seated himself deliberately
on the rail of the fireguard.
“Caught in the act,” he observed. “And I took
such a lot of trouble not to wake you up.”
“That's all right,” I said. “I have been awake
for the last half-hour.” I came down the remain-
ing steps as I spoke, and walked across the car-
pet towards him. “What's the matter?” I
enquired.
He extended his hand, and I noticed for the first
time that he was holding his cigarette case.
“This is the real culprit,” he answered. “I put
the blessed thing on the mantelpiece last night and
forgot all about it. Of course at three o'clock this
morning I felt I wanted a smoke more than anything
on earth. I hung on as long as I could because I
was afraid of waking you up, but at last it got to a
point when I simply couldn't stick it. I crawled
down like a mouse, and I was just thinking I had


22O GREENSEA ISLAND
done the trick all right when you suddenly popped
up over the banisters and gave me the start of my
life.” He paused, and, helping himself to a cigarette,
held out the case. “I am frightfully sorry,” he
added. “It’s a rotten trick to drag one's host out of
bed merely because one happens to be the slave of a
bad habit.”
He made his explanation with such delightful ease
that if I had not known he was lying it would
certainly have convinced me.
“There is no need to apologise,” I said. “You
gave me a really enjoyable five minutes. I had
quite decided you were a burglar, and I was looking
forward to breaking your head.”
He eyed me and the poker with a kind of cool
appreciation.
“I am glad you found out your mistake in time,”
he said. “There's something unpleasantly primitive
about you, Dryden, especially when you're in
pyjamas.”
All the while he was speaking I had been taking
careful stock of our immediate surroundings. As
far as I could see nothing had been disturbed—
indeed, I had come down so quickly on his heels that
he had had practically no chance of getting up to
mischief. I realised now that what I ought to have
done was to have given him a few minutes' grace,
and a mortifying suspicion that I had made a hash
of the whole affair began to rankle in my mind.
For a moment I was badly tempted to take him
by the neck and see if I could shake the truth out
of him then and there. The feeling that I might be
running Christine into danger still kept me in check,


* GREENSEA. ISLAND 22 I
however, and with a masterly effort I managed to
preserve my politeness.
“We had better have a drink and go back to bed,”
I observed, “unless you'd like to stroll round the
island and admire the beauty of the dawn.”
As I spoke I moved towards the French window,
and at the same moment a huge black shape loomed
up on to the verandah outside.
“Hullo!” I added. “Here's somebody else come
to see what the matter is. Quite a family party,
isn't it?”
I unbolted and opened the window, and, waving
his tail in a kind of dignified acknowledgment,
Satan strolled slowly into the room. He pulled up
short on seeing Manning; then, apparently satisfied
that as long as I was present things must be more or
less in order, he proceeded to seat himself very
deliberately right in the middle of the hearthrug.
I refastened the bolt and turned back to my guest.
“He always sits there,” I said. “I suppose my
uncle taught him to originally, and now he thinks
it belongs to him. We shall find him in exactly the
same place when we come down to breakfast.”
Manning, who had been watching the dog's pro-
ceedings with a curious intentness, rose slowly to
his feet.
“I don't think I'll have a drink,” he remarked.
“It’s a little early and I haven't got your cast-iron
constitution. Bed seems to me the best notion.
I've a sort of feeling that after I've finished this
cigarette I shall be able to put in a couple of hours'
sleep.”
“Well, as I told you before, take it easy,” I


222 GREENSEA. ISLAND
replied. “The eggs and bacon will keep till we're
ready for them.”
We set off up the staircase, and, pausing for a
moment in the passage, Manning once more ex-
pressed his apologies.
“You’re a real sportsman, Dryden,” he said.
“I should have been horribly peevish myself if
anyone had dragged me out of bed at this unholy
hour.”
“I generally wake up in an amiable mood,” I
replied. “It’s only a matter of good health and
having the right kind of whisky.”
I watched him go into his room and close the
door, and then, feeling uncommonly thankful that I
had not got to be civil to him any longer, I proceeded
to follow his example.
I had bungled the business beyond any manner of
doubt, and I was so angry with my own stupidity
that I very nearly hurled the poker into the grate.
It was maddening to think that if I had only dis-
played an ounce of gumption I might by now have
got to the bottom of the whole infernal mystery.
Instead of doing this, I had allowed Manning to
walk clean out of the trap, and no doubt, in the
security of his own room, he was laughing to him-
self over the easy way in which he had outwitted me.
The only consolation that remained was the fact
that there was no further reason for keeping awake.
I could at least turn into bed and get a few hours'
sleep, with the comforting assurance that I was not
neglecting my job. Whatever else Manning might
have left in the hall, he would certainly manage to
do without it as long as Satan was sitting on the mat.


CHAPTER ELEVEN
“JUST gorn 'aff-past eight, sir.”
I opened my eyes with some resentment, and
found Bascomb standing beside me, a cup of tea in
his hand. I blinked at him for a moment and then
sat up in bed.
“Might it be you as got up in the night and let
Satan in P” he enquired surlily.
For a second I hesitated, wondering how much
he knew.
“Were you awake?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, I didn't 'ear nothin',
but when I come through this mornin', danged if
'e wasn't sitting there on the mat.”
He placed the cup on a small table beside me, and,
crossing the room, drew up the blind.
“I changed my mind after I had gone to bed,” I
explained. “I felt I should sleep better if I knew
that Satan was downstairs.” I took a sip of the
tea, and reaching out for my case, helped myself to
a cigarette. “You can call the doctor in about ten
minutes,” I added. “I’ll have my bath first and
get out of his way.”
Bascomb nodded and left the room without any
further remark, though from the expression on his
face I think he had a dim suspicion that I was keep-
ing something back. Perhaps I should have been
223


224 GREENSEA ISLAND
wiser to take him completely into my confidence,
but to tell the truth I was half ashamed to confess
the bungling way in which I had handled the busi-
ness. Besides, faithful as I believed him to be,
there was such a queer, sullen twist in his temper
that I never felt quite certain how far it would be
safe to trust him.
Washing and shaving are occupations which lend
themselves to reflection, and I certainly found plenty
to think about during the quarter of an hour that I
spent in the bathroom. On the whole, as a result of
my musings, I was inclined to take a slightly less
pessimistic view of the situation. Although I had
not exactly covered myself with glory as a private
detective, I had at least established the truth of my
theory that Manning possessed some strong and
urgent reason for wishing to explore the house.
Indeed, judging by the risks he had run, it looked as
if the success of his schemes depended largely upon
this particular point, and if that were the case I had
apparently shoved a pretty effective spoke in his
wheel.
All the same, I didn't quite like the way in which
he had accepted his defeat. Even allowing for his
cleverness and self-control, it was difficult to imagine
that anyone who had been balked at the last moment
in some vital enterprise could have betrayed so little
sign of feeling. Disappointed he had certainly
appeared, but it had been the disappointment of a
man who has merely lost a trick which he hoped to
gain, and who still cherishes a fond belief that he is
going to win the rubber.
I wondered very much what he thought about my


GREENSEA. ISLAND 225
part in the performance. There had been, to put it
mildly, a timeliness about my appearance on the
scene which could hardly have failed to awake his
suspicions. These were not likely to have been
lessened by the deliberate way in which I had let
Satan into the house, though in either case my action
might very well have borne the innocent interpreta-
tion that I had attempted to give it. He was
probably in a state of considerable uncertainty on
the subject, and it was pleasant to feel that I was
paying him back a small instalment of all the worry
he had caused me.
What I would have given anything for was a good
long chat with Bobby. I am all right in a straight-
forward scrap, but I knew that at this sort of busi-
ness his head was worth a dozen of mine, and that
he would most likely pounce upon some important
point which I had completely overlooked. Indeed, if
it had not been for my appointment with Mr. Dray-
ton I should have run up to Harwich to see him; as
it was, I should have to put off our talk until my
return from London.
On my way back to my room I tapped at Man-
ning's door and informed him that the bath was
ready.
He called out: “Come in,” and, accepting his
invitation, I discovered him in the act of sharpening
his razor, which he had apparently just finished
using. He greeted me with a friendly wave of the
strop.
“How goes it?” he enquired cheerily. “I hope
you managed to get off to sleep. I put in a couple
of hours, and I feel as fit as a fiddle this morning.”
15


GREENSEA. ISLAND 227
himself elaborately, followed me to the French
window, which was standing partly open. Here,
contrary to his custom, he halted, looking round
rather doubtfully, as though not quite certain
whether it was safe to leave the place unguarded.
“Perhaps you're right, my son,” I said. “We
can't be too careful. You sit here and let me know
when he comes down.”
I patted his head and stepped out on to the lawn,
where a couple of fat thrushes were hopping lazily
about in the sunshine. It was another beautiful
morning, hot and still as August, with an almost
unnaturally blue sky, unchequered by the smallest
cloud. I walked across to the border opposite, and
with some care selected myself a small buttonhole.
If I was going to play the part of country gentleman
visiting his solicitor I might as well do the thing
thoroughly.
At the very moment when I had succeeded in
fixing it in my coat there came a warning growl
from Satan. Strolling back to the window, I found
Manning in the act of descending the staircase. He
looked very cool and debonair in his grey flannels,
and, in spite of Satan's inhospitable greeting, he
seemed as usual entirely at his ease.
“You’re a good host yourself, Dryden,” he
remarked, “but I'm hanged if I can say the same
for your retainers. That dog resents my being here
quite as much as Bascomb does.”
“He is just as bad with everyone,” I returned.
“Uncle Richard evidently infected the entire staff.”
I had hardly finished speaking when the dining-
room door opened, and Bascomb himself appeared


228 GREENSEA ISLAND
on the threshold. I don't know if he had over-
heard our remarks, for his face was as impassive as
ever.
“Breakfast's ready,” he announced curtly.
We took our places at the table, where a dish of
eggs and bacon, a fresh tongue, and various other
attractive items awaited our arrival. I poured Man-
ning out a cup of coffee and told him to help him-
self to what he fancied.
“You look devilish smart to-day, Dryden,” he
remarked smilingly. “I believe I have a sort of
reputation here for being the local dandy, but now
you've come I'm afraid I shall have to take a back
seat.”
“I have to go up to town to see Drayton,” I
explained. “I always put on my best clothes when
I visit a lawyer.”
I thought it would be the safest plan to tell him the
truth, for it was more than possible he might find
it out for himself.
“That's rather a pity,” he observed. “I was going
to suggest that you should come over and have a
look at the barge.” He paused. “How long are
you likely to be away?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Goodness knows,” I
said carelessly. “I daresay I shall be back to-
morrow. I believe he only wants me to sign a few
papers.”
There was a brief pause while Manning sipped
his coffee.
“Well, as the Arabs say, ‘To-morrow is also a
day,’” he returned, putting down his cup. “Just
get in your boat and come across any afternoon


GREENSEA. ISLAND 229
you feel like it. I'll show you the barge, and then
we might go along and dine at the club afterwards.”
I thanked him with every appearance of sincerity,
though the sinister humour of the whole situation
nearly made me laugh out loud. I felt sure, too,
that under that imperturbable mask of his Manning
must be appreciating it quite as much as I did.
If such were the case, however, he kept his feel-
ings well under control, and we finished our meal
without the least suggestion on either side of any-
thing but the most perfect friendliness. After a
cigar in the garden my companion went upstairs to
pack his bag, and then, followed by Satan, we
sauntered down to the landing-stage, where he
proceeded to get out his boat.
“Thanks for a charming evening,” he said, shak-
ing my hand. “Remember me to Drayton, and mind
you come and look me up as soon as you get
back.”
I made some suitable answer, and, settling down
in his seat, he pulled off with the smooth, easy stroke
of a practised oarsman. I stood and watched him
till he reached the mouth of the creek, where he
waved his hand to me before disappearing round the
bend. Then I walked across to Satan, who was sit-
ting by himself on the edge of the jetty staring re-
sentfully after the vanished boat.
“It's no good looking like that,” I said. “If you
had been a little more civil you would probably have
been included in the invitation.”
I think he understood what I meant, for, rising to
his feet with a disdainful expression, he strolled off
ahead of me in the direction of the house. There


230 GREENSEA. ISLAND
were evidently some subjects on which he regarded
humour as being completely out of place.
When I arrived back I found Bascomb clearing
away the breakfast things.
“I am going up to town by the twelve-forty,” I
said. “I suppose I can get a trap at the inn to take
me to Torrington?”
He nodded his head.
“They'll run you over right enough,” he replied.
“Mebbe I'd better slip across an' tell 'em though;
they might be fixin' up with another party other-
wise.” He paused. “Are you comin' back to-
night?” he enquired.
“No,” I said, “I have got some business with Mr.
Drayton. I shall probably be down to-morrow, but
if not I'll let you know.”
He finished clearing up and collected the débris
on to a tray.
“'Ow about visitors?” he enquired. “I s'pose
you don't want no one on the island, not while you're
away?”
“There's one person I don't want,” I said, “and
that's Dr. Manning.” I stopped, and then, feeling
that I must at least make some appearance of taking
him into my confidence, I added: “You were per-
fectly right about him, Bascomb. He's a rascal,
only he's a damned clever one. I couldn't get any-
thing out of him last night, try as I would. All the
same, I'm more certain than ever that he's up to
some dirty business.”
A gleam of approval flickered across my com-
panion's face.
“You can trust me safe enough, guv'nor,” he re-


GREENSEA ISLAND 23.I
turned. “’E won't set foot again in this 'ouse
while I'm 'ere—not 'im nor that broken-nosed
blighter Craill neither.”
He brought out the epithet so unexpectedly that
it was all I could do to keep back a sudden exclama-
tion.
“Craill!” I repeated. “Isn't that the fellow who
looks after his barge?”
Once again Bascomb nodded sourly. “That's 'im
—an you can take it from me that 'e's the right
bloke for the job.”
A vision of that furtive, sinister figure hanging
about outside Mr. Drayton's office rose vividly in
my mind.
“Yes,” I said, with intentional carelessness, “I
should think they were a very nicely matched pair.
How did Craill manage to break his nose?”
“Someone done it for 'im, I reckon. Pity they
didn't break his neck too while they was about it.”
Lifting the tray, Bascomb marched off through
the side door, and after a moment's hesitation Satan
got up and followed him.
I crossed the room to the window and sat down
on the sill. I felt like a man who by pure accident
has suddenly picked up the very piece of a jig-saw
puzzle for which he has long been vainly hunting.
Ever since my first meeting with Manning I had had
a suspicion that in some way or other he was chiefly
responsible for that impromtu swimming exhibition
of mine in the East India Dock. Bascomb's de-
scription of Craill placed the matter beyond doubt.
Unless there was an epidemic of broken noses, the
latter was certainly the man I had seen loafing


234 GREENSEA. ISLAND
“You’d better let me run yer across,” he added.
“Then the boat'll be 'ere in case I wants it.”
“I can easily send it back by Jimmy,” I objected.
“Isn't it a bit risky for both of us to be away at the
same time?”
“I reckon there won't be no risk,” he replied
grimly. “If anyone comes messin' about 'ere the
next 'alf hour it's a certainty wot'll 'appen to
them.”
A glance at Satan's expression convinced me that
there was some truth in what he said, so without
making any further difficulties I consented to his
proposal.
He carried my bag down to the landing-stage
and rowed me across to the jetty opposite, where I
stepped out discreetly, so as to avoid soiling my new
Suit.
“Good-bye, Bascomb,” I said. “I shall tell Mr.
Drayton how well you've looked after me.”
For a moment he seemed almost embarrassed.
“That's all right, guv'nor,” he returned gruffly. “I
ain't the bloke to go back on anyone wot's treated
me fair.”
He settled down again to his oars, and, picking
up my bag, I started off in the direction of the shore.
Outside the inn a smart-looking horse and trap were
waiting my arrival. The driver, a shock-headed
youth who might have been an elder brother of
Jimmy, touched his cap to me as I clambered in,
and the next minute we were bowling off up the hill
on our way to Torrington.
During the journey to town I divided my time
between pondering fitfully over my own affairs and


GREENSEA ISLAND 235
listening to the improving conversation of my fel-
low travellers—a Baptist minister and his wife, who
were going up to London to attend their aunt's
funeral. They were a very staid and respectable
couple, and, sitting back in my corner, I could not
help wondering what they would say if I were sud-
denly to put my difficulties before them and ask them
for their advice.
Such an interesting experiment being unfortu-
nately out of the question, we reached Liverpool
Street with the problem still unsolved. A porter
from the Great Eastern Hotel came forward as I
stepped out of the carriage, and, since I had made no
arrangements to stay anywhere else, I allowed him
to take possession of my bag. He conducted me up
some stairs to the office, where, after a brief parley
with the reception clerk, I was duly accepted as a
desirable guest.
My first step, after going to my room and having
a wash, was to telephone to Mr. Drayton. I was
informed that he was still out at lunch, but had left
a message, in case I rang up, that he would be able
to see me any time between three and four. It was
then getting on for half-past two, so, having treated
myself to a glass of sherry and a sandwich, I started
off straight away for Bedford Row.
I kept a pretty sharp look-out as I turned the
corner into that respectable thoroughfare, but this
time no one seemed to be taking the least interest in
my movements. The street indeed was practically
deserted, and it was almost with a feeling of neglect
that I pushed open the front door and sought out my
aged friend in his little rabbit hutch on the right.


236 GREENSEA ISLAND
He informed me that the head of the firm had just
returned, and conducted me upstairs with impressive
formality. In his eyes I had evidently attained the
rank of a distinguished and valuable client.
There was nothing of this about the bearing of
Mr. Drayton, however, who greeted me with a
cheerful lack of ceremony that was much more to
my taste. As before, he insisted on my accepting
one of his excellent cigars, and then, having asked
me several questions as to how I was getting on, he
proceeded to explain his reasons for bringing me up
to town.
“I’ve something to tell you, Dryden,” he said,
“that I think you'll probably approve of. The fact
is, we have been getting on with your affairs a good
deal faster than I expected. For once in a way I
have actually persuaded the British law to hustle
itself, and, to cut a long story short, you can dip
your fingers into Uncle Richard's money-box just
as soon as ever you like.” He leaned back in his
chair and regarded me with a friendly twinkle. “I
know you're tired of travelling, but I thought that
this particular bit of news was worth a journey to
town.”
“I should rather think it was,” I replied, with
considerable enthusiasm. Then, jumping from my
seat, I gripped his hand heartily in mine. “I’m
blessed if I know how to thank you,” I added. “I
am no good at making pretty speeches, so you must
take the will for the deed.”
Mr. Drayton extricated his fingers, and examined
them with a rather rueful smile.
“There's no need to apologise,” he said, “Your


GREENSEA. ISLAND 237
gratitude's quite pressing enough for me.” He rose
to his feet and, turning towards the table, pulled
forward a bundle of papers. “There are one or two
things here that want signing, and then I think I had
better take you round to the bank, before they shut,
and introduce you to the manager. It's only just
across the road in Holborn.”
I sat down at the table, and scribbled my name in
the spaces he pointed out. I suppose I ought really
to have read the documents through, but so complete
was my confidence in his good faith that I made no
attempt at this elementary precaution.
“You have got a delightfully trustful nature,
Dryden,” he said with a sigh. “I wish I inspired the
same sort of feeling in all my clients.”
He rang the bell for his clerk, and, having in-
formed the latter that he would be out for the next
quarter of an hour, he picked up his hat and led the
way downstairs.
“Are you staying in town to-night?” he enquired
as we emerged into Bedford Row. “If so, and you
have nothing better to do, come and dine with me at
my club. It's very dull, but you're not likely to
notice that after a fortnight at Greensea Island.”
Had I chosen I think I might have been able to
disillusion him on the subject of Greensea's dullness,
but for the present at all events I still thought it
wiser to keep my own counsel. So with a perfectly
truthful remark that I was never bored in good com-
pany, I laughingly accepted his invitation, and with-
out further discussion we turned down a narrow
passage into the roar and bustle of Holborn.
Our interview with the bank was not a very


238 GREENSEA ISLAND
formidable affair. We were shown into a private
room, where a brisk, bald-headed little man with
gold-rimmed eye-glasses was seated at a table several
sizes too large for him.
Mr. Drayton introduced me as the heir to the
Jannaway fortunes, and the manager—for such the
bald-headed gentleman proved to be—congratulated
me cordially on what he termed my “romantic inheri-
tance.” He announced that a sum of eleven thou-
sand and forty-five pounds seven shillings and six-
pence was lying in the office awaiting my attention
—a statement which I tried to receive with becom-
ing nonchalance. At his request I wrote out a speci-
men of my signature, receiving in return a
useful-looking cheque-book. He then informed me
that if at any time I needed expert financial advice
he would be delighted to place himself at my dis-
posal; after which he again shook hands with us
both, and escorted us in state to the door of the bank.
“I like being a capitalist,” I observed, as we stood
for a moment on the step. “It's a much more restful
life than the sea, and everybody one meets is so ex-
traordinarily obliging.”
Mr. Drayton chuckled appreciatively. “Wait till
I've sent you in my bill,” he retorted. “You’ll have
some excuse for feeling cynical then.” He dived
into his pocket and produced a card-case. “Here's
the address of my club,” he added, “in case you for-
get it. I must be off now, but I'll expect you at
seven-thirty. Don't dress up and make yourself
beautiful—come along just as you are.”
With a friendly wave he disappeared amongst the
traffic, while almost at the same moment a prowling


GREENSEA ISLAND 239
taxi pulled up in the gutter. I moved forward and
accosted the driver.
“Have you ever heard of a place called Angel
Court, somewhere off Fleet Street?” I asked him.
He eyed me critically.
“Are you wantin' Inspector Campbell's office?”
he enquired.
“Yes,” I said. “Do you know him?”
He leaned across and opened the door. “Know
'im,” he repeated rather scornfully. “Why, 'e
pinched a bloke outer this very cab last March
twelve-months. There ain't a taxi driver in London
as don't know “Foxy' Campbell.”
Considerably impressed with this unexpected
tribute to the Inspector's reputation, I climbed in-
side the vehicle. We sped away rapidly through a
number of side turnings, coming out at last within a
few yards of the bottom of Fleet Street. A moment
later the taxi pulled up, and as I stepped out the
driver jerked his thumb in the direction of a narrow
archway.
“That's Hangel Court,” he said. “You'll find the
party you're looking for the second door on the
right.”
I thanked him, and, passing through the opening,
entered a kind of paved yard, on three sides of which
were quaint narrow little houses with old-fashioned
window-panes. The second doorway bore a care-
fully polished brass plate, with the inscription
“James Campbell. Private Enquiry Agent.”
I was just hunting around for a bell when sud-
denly the door swung back, and, looking up, I found
myself face to face with the Inspector himself. He


240 GREENSEA ISLAND
was evidently on the point of going out, for he was
wearing a bowler hat and carrying a walking-stick.
Directly he saw me his big square-jawed face lit
up in a smile of welcome.
“Why, it's Mr. Dryden,” he exclaimed, holding
out his hand. “Well, this is a bit of luck. If you
had been a moment later you'd just have missed
me.”
“It's my lucky day,” I said. “But, all the same,
I mustn't keep you if you've got an appointment.”
“It's nothing very important,” he replied. “Come
along inside. I can spare a minute or two any-
how.”
He led the way into a comfortably furnished office
on the right, and, pulling forward a chair, seated
himself exactly opposite me. His large and very
wide-awake blue eyes scanned me with friendly in-
terest.
“I’d better start by apologising,” he began. “You
mustn't think I've forgotten your invitation to come
down and have a bit of shooting, but the fact is I've
been so busy I've had no time to write. People have
been misbehaving themselves the last three weeks
in a way you wouldn't believe; I suppose it's the
hot weather.”
“I shouldn't wonder,” I said. “I’ve felt a little
vicious myself once or twice.” I tossed away the
stump of the cigar I was holding and helped myself
to another from the case which he offered me. “As
far as the invitation goes,” I added, “it’s open per-
manently. I am not the sort of a person who wants
a lot of notice. Just send along a wire as soon as
the crime wave subsides.”


242 GREENSEA ISLAND
ticular way in which I can be of assistance you can
count on me from this minute.”
“Well, there is,” I confessed. “You remember a
chap called Dr. Manning—the fellow who looked
after my uncle when he was dying?”
Once again the Inspector nodded. “Yes,” he
answered. “I remember him very distinctly. He
lived on a barge about three hundred yards above
the island.” -
“That's the gentleman,” I said. “He’s living
there still; in fact, to all intents and purposes he's
my next-door neighbour. What I want you to do,
if you can possibly spare the time, is to get me a little
accurate information about his past life.”
If my companion felt any surprise or curiosity he
certainly didn't show it.
“That oughtn't to be very difficult,” was his reply.
“Doctors are fairly easy to trace as a rule.” He
reached across to the table and picked up a half
sheet of notepaper. “Has he ever mentioned a par-
ticular town, or given you any idea of what hospital
he was at?”
“He once told me he had been a ship's surgeon,”
I said. “It was probably a lie, so I shouldn't attach
much importance to it.”
The Inspector made a brief note. “One never
knows,” he observed hopefully. “People sometimes
tell the truth by accident. They generally regret it
afterwards.” f
A telephone bell tinkled sharply in the corner of
the room, and with a word of excuse he rose from
his seat and walked across to the instrument.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m Campbell—speaking.”


244 GREENSEA ISLAND
ferreting it out. Apart from that, the knowledge
that in a tight corner I should have him as well as
Bobby at my back was the kind of encouraging
thought that would have put heart into a rabbit.
My good spirits were in no way damped by one or
two drops of rain, which at that moment, much to
my surprise, began to dot the pavement. Looking
up, I noticed for the first time that a change was
taking place in the weather. A great bank of cloud
was creeping slowly up from the east, and spreading
in a black, threatening line all across the sky.
Manning's prophecy at once came into my mind,
but, not being particularly anxious for a ducking, I
wasted no time in further reflections. Hailing a
passing taxi, I instructed the man to take me back
to the Great Eastern Hotel, which I reached in com-
fort and dryness just as the rain began to descend
in a steady drizzle.
There was nothing to do under the circumstances
but to make the best of things indoors. I am never
at a loss how to amuse myself if I can get a game of
billiards, and I soon discovered that the hotel pos-
sessed a couple of excellent tables, presided over
by a red-headed marker, who spoke Scotch and
looked as if he drank it.
We played several hundred up with varying suc-
cess; and at six-thirty, feeling quite ready to face
a good dinner, I set out for Mr. Drayton's club.
As an additional encouragement to my appetite I
walked the whole way to St. James's Street, for by
this time, although the pavements were still wet, the
rain itself had practically ceased falling.
The club proved to be a big, sombre establishment,


GREENSEA ISLAND 245
inhabited chiefly by middle-aged gentlemen of a dis-
tinctly morose aspect. What they had to be morose
about I can't imagine, for a better meal than the
one put before us I never wish to eat. Mr. Dray-
ton, who was waiting for me in the hall and con-
ducted me straight into the dining-room, confessed
frankly that he had joined the place purely for the
sake of its excellent cooking, and the respect which
I already had for his judgment rose steadily with
each succeeding course.
After dinner we made our way to the smoking-
room upstairs, where, with the assistance of a couple
of leather arm-chairs and a plentiful supply of
whisky and soda, the time passed away so pleasantly
that it was close on midnight before I got back to
my own bed at the hotel.
The whisky must have been of the same high
quality as the rest of the food, for in spite of the
amount that I had put away, I woke up next morn-
ing feeling remarkably fit and cheerful. One of the
first things I did was to pull aside the blind and have
a look at the weather. The result was not encour-
aging, for my window faced on to a blank wall of
dirty white brick, and in the intervening space a thin
grey drizzle was coming down with monotonous
persistence.
Once more Manning's predictions about a sudden
change in the weather came back to my memory.
If it were like this in London, the odds were that
Greensea Island would be wrapped in a regular sea
fog, which I knew from experience might last for
several days. However, I consoled myself with the
comforting reflection that it would save me a deal


246 GREENSEA ISLAND
of hard work with the watering can, and that, after
all, I was no longer compelled to tramp up and
down a dripping bridge with a miniature trout
stream trickling down the back of my neck.
I had made up my mind to go back by the mid-
day train, which gets into Torrington somewhere
about two o'clock. There were several things I still
wanted to buy, and, now that I was actually in town,
it seemed a pity to waste such a favourable oppor-
tunity. I had no wish to get soaked through, how-
ever, so on my way down to the dining-room I gave
the hall porter a sovereign and told him to go out
and buy me an umbrella. He returned with a sport-
ing-looking affair, the handle of which terminated
in a bull-dog's head. Though a trifle spectacular, it
was a sound article for the money, and, armed with
this and my cheque book, I set off after breakfast,
pleasantly determined to make a good opening in
Uncle Richard's life savings.
As intentions go, it must be admitted that I was
fairly successful. In addition to half a dozen things
I bought for myself, I discovered in a Bond Street
jeweller's a perfectly charming little emerald pen-
dant, which struck me at once as having been
obviously designed for Christine. Under the circum-
stances twenty-five pounds seemed to be a ridicu-
lously cheap price, but I felt that it was unnecessary
to point this out to the shopman, who appeared quite
satisfied with the transaction.
Returning to the hotel with my purchases, I made
an early but excellent lunch off cold duck and salad,
and at a quarter to one I was steaming out through
the damp squalor of East London, comfortably


GREENSEA. ISLAND 247
established in the corner seat of a first-class
smoker.
It was a cheerless journey, for all the way down
a driving rain beat incessantly upon the windows,
and most of the landscape was blotted out by drift-
ing clouds of mist.
At Torrington things were not much better. It
was not actually raining, but the little cobble-paved
market-place reeked with wet, and a depressing air
of forlorn moisture brooded over the entire place.
Packing myself and my belongings into a solitary
growler which was standing in the gutter, I in-
structed the man to take me as far as the Gunner's
Arms. We plodded off, and, after half an hour's
drive between dripping hedgerows, came out at last
over the brow of the long slope that overlooks the
estuary. I lowered the sash, and, putting my head
out of the window, inspected the prospect. Down
below, the roof of the inn was just visible, but the
harbour itself and everything beyond was hidden
under a pall of fog, which stretched like a grey
shroud over the whole length of the estuary. There
was something singularly sinister and desolate about
the whole scene, and for a moment I felt a pang of
regret for the comfortable billiard-room which I
had so recently quitted.
We came to a halt on the quay in front of the inn,
deserted for once by its usual sprinkling of boatmen
and barge hands. Our arrival had been observed,
however, for scarcely had we pulled up when I saw
the small figure of Jimmy emerge from the stable
door and come hurrying down the yard towards us.


248 GREENSEA ISLAND
He touched his damp curls with a cheerful grin of
welcome.
“I reckoned it was you, guv'nor,” he remarked.
“You ain't bin away long, an' that's a fact.”
“Quite long enough, Jimmy,” I returned. “At
all events, you've had time to mess up the weather.”
He took the bag which I handed out, and at the
same time cast a rather disgusted glance into the
surrounding gloom.
“It's a treat, ain't it!” he observed. “Come on
like this yes'day afternoon.” Then, drawing a little
nearer, he added in a lowered voice: “There's a
letter for you at the 'ouse, guv'nor. The young
laidy give it me laite las' night, an' I took it across
at once—saime as you told me.”
I tried to cover my unseemly elation by lighting
a cigarette. “Where did you meet her?” I enquired.
“She come down to the quay. I see 'er standin'
there in the dark, an' I says to meself, As like as not
she's wantin' me. So I just slips over alongside of
'er, an' without sayin' nothin' she shoves the letter
in my 'and and orf she goes.”
I looked at him gratefully. “You're a stout fel-
low, James,” I said. “I knew I could depend on
you directly I saw you.”
He waited until I had paid the cabman, and then,
shouldering my bag, accompanied me to the boat.
“I seen 'er again since then,” he continued con-
fidentially. “I was comin' along Duke's Laine about
'alf an hour ago, an’ she was waitin' to go aboard
the doctor's barge.”
I stopped short with a very distinct shock.
“Are you sure about that?” I demanded.


GREENSEA. ISLAND 249
He nodded a little scornfully. “Dead certain,
guv'nor. There ain't no one else you'd mistake for
'er—not round these parts.”
“But how do you know she was waiting to go on
the barge?” I persisted.
“Why, I 'eard 'er call out, and I seed the doctor
comin' orf to fetch 'er. I reckon she's there now—
that's to say, if 'e ain't put 'er ashore again.”
I said nothing further, but walked on to the boat
in anything but a happy state of mind. The thought
of Christine boxed up alone in the fog with those
two scoundrels filled me with a horrible sense of
uneasiness. Knowing her mistrust for Manning,
and having seen something of the relations between
them, I felt that only the strongest reasons would
have induced her to take such a step.
It was possible, of course, that she had explained
her action in the letter which she had given to
Jimmy. If that were the case, the quicker I got back
to the house the sooner my anxiety would be relieved,
so without wasting any time I unshipped the oars
and started off on my journey down the creek.
The tide was slack when we reached the mouth;
and trusting to luck, for one could see only a few
feet ahead, I cut straight across the estuary, and
came out triumphantly almost exactly alongside the
landing-stage.
Before stepping ashore I handed Jimmy a well-
earned ten bob in return for his services. Then,
with my bag in my hand, I strode forward through
the mist and entered the narrow path which ran up
through the shrubbery to the garden.
As I crossed the lawn and approached the house


CHAPTER TWELVE
For several seconds I remained still, without
speaking. The wave of grief and anger that swept
through me left me sick and shaken; I could only
stand there with clenched hands waiting until I
could control my voice.
“Who did it, Bascomb?” I said at last.
He came up to me, and, bad as I felt myself, I
was almost shocked by the sight of his face. It
was like a horrible grey mask, twisted and distorted
with passion.
“Who d'yer think?” he demanded hoarsely.
“There's only one devil in the world who'd go fur
to do a thing like that.” He sank down on his knees
beside the body, and, sliding his hand under the big
head, lifted it tenderly from the grass.
“You mean Manning?” The words came out
mechanically. I knew the answer before I uttered
them.
“Aye!” he muttered savagely; “that's who I
mean. It was Mannin’ right enough—the blarsted,
poisonin' 'ound.” Very slowly he laid down his
burden and got up again on to his feet. “I’ll be
even with 'im for this,” he added in a choking voice.
“You mark my words. I'll be even with 'im for this
or my name ain't John Bascomb.”
*
251


252 GREENSEA ISLAND
“When did it happen?” I asked.
He stared at me, as if only half understanding the
question.
“When did it 'appen?” he repeated. “Why, las'
night 'about eleven o'clock. 'E were alive an' well
at the 'alf hour—that I can swear to. I was in
the kitchen, an' I seen 'im pass the window—seen
'im with me own eyes. I can't say exac'ly 'ow long
arter it was when I went to the back door; mebbe a
matter o' five an' twenty minutes. Any'ow, there
'e was, stretched out on the path, too bad even to
make a sound. Crawled back 'ome to die, 'e 'ad,
pore beggar, an' me inside not knowin' nothin’ about
it.”
His voice trembled, and, raising the back of his
hand, he brushed it roughly across his eyes.
I wetted my lips, which were dry as leather.
“If Manning did this—” I began.
Bascomb turned on me with glowing eyes.
“You'll leave 'im to me,” he said. “This is my
job, this is; an' no one ain't comin' in between us
—not till I’ve finished with 'im.”
I saw that the man was half off his head with
rage, and I felt that for the present the best thing
was to leave him to himself. In the mood we were
both in any further discussion would probably only
end in an explosion.
“We must bury the body at all events,” I said
shortly. “If you want any help in digging the
grave you will find me in the house.”
I walked towards the back door, my mind still
in a turmoil of emotion, and, crossing the kitchen,
made my way through into the hall. The place


GREENSEA ISLAND 253
was dark and cheerless, and in a mechanical fashion
I struck a match and set a light to the fire. Then,
pulling up an easy chair, I flung myself down, and
stared at the crackling sticks.
I suppose it ought to have been obvious from the
first that an attempt might be made to poison Satan,
but somehow or other the possibility had never
entered my mind. The dastardly act had come on
me as a complete surprise, and in the first rush of
anger and indignation I found it difficult to collect
my thoughts. That Bascomb was right in his
suspicions, however, I felt convinced, though I had
no more evidence than he had in support of my
belief. There was a cold-blooded ruthlessness about
the whole thing which pointed clearly to Manning,
and such a passion of hatred for him swept through
me that for a moment I felt almost stifled.
What new threat, I asked myself, lurked behind
this apparently wanton piece of spite? It was
utterly unlike Manning to show his hand so clearly,
unless driven to it by the most urgent reasons. He
must have realised that, however easily deceived I
might be, Bascomb would at once pitch on him as
the author of the crime. I might or might not accept
the latter's opinion, but it was at least probable
that my suspicions would be aroused and that I
should take prompt steps to try and find out the
truth.
That he would run such a risk through sheer
malice was a thing that I declined to believe. It was
much more likely that he was fixing up some new and
devilish plan, in which the removal of Satan was the
first and perhaps the most essential step. Now that


254 GREENSEA. ISLAND
this was accomplished he was not likely to waste
time, for every hour that he delayed would only add
to the danger of discovery. I felt that I must act,
and act quickly, but what the deuce I ought to do
was another and more baffling question.
In my perplexity I suddenly remembered Bobby.
A letter to Harwich would reach him first post in
the morning, and unless he was up to his neck in
work he would probably be with me by mid-day.
I didn't want to bother him unnecessarily, but things
seemed to be approaching a crisis, and if that were
the case his advice and help would be simply
invaluable.
I jumped up from my chair with the intention of
writing him a note at once. As I turned towards
the desk, my eyes fell upon a letter which was lying
on the further side of the centre table. Even at
that distance I recognised Christine's hand, and at
the same instant the recollection of my talk with
Jimmy rushed back into my mind.
In a second I had crossed the room and picked
up the envelope. Carrying it to the window, I tore
open the flap, and with feverish haste pulled out
its contents. There was a single sheet of notepaper,
closely covered on both sides with small but very
legible writing.
“I know that you have gone to London, but I
am not sure how long you intend to stay, or when
you will get this letter. Anyhow, it will be waiting
for you as soon as you reach the house.
“I had to write to you or see you. I feel certain
that something has happened—something that


256 GREENSEA ISLAND
second time. It was just such a letter as I should
have expected her to write. Mysterious and reticent
as it was, there shone through every line an honesty
and personal courage which confirmed all I had felt
about her ever since our adventure at Leixoes.
Of one thing there could be no doubt. Whatever
had prompted her to send me this note, she had
evidently been ignorant of the brutal plan to poison
Satan. Had she known she would certainly have
given me some warning, even if de Roda himself had
been a party to the scheme.
On that point, however, I had already and perhaps
quite unreasonably made up my mind. Nothing
but the clearest evidence would shake my belief that
it was Manning's work, and that in all probability
he had arranged and carried out the whole thing for
some purpose of his own. More than ever I felt
convinced that he was playing a double part; that
de Roda, though no doubt originally the moving
spirit, was now merely a tool in the hands of a much
cleverer man than himself.
Once more I glanced at Christine's letter. Her
urgent pleading that I would take the matter seri-
ously was not really needed; I should have done that
even if the dead body of Satan had not been lying
on the grass outside. I knew well that it was no
vague or imaginary peril which had led a girl of her
sense to send me this additional warning—a step,
which, for anything she might say to the contrary,
must have been fraught with considerable personal
danger.
The last consideration, indeed, was much the most
disturbing factor as far as I was concerned. I was


GREENSEA. ISLAND 257
in no mood to worry about my own safety when it
was more than possible that, owing to her efforts to
help me, Christine might be exposing herself to all
sorts of horrible risks. People who don't hesitate to
attempt murder are apt to take a particularly un-
pleasant view of anything which they regard as
treachery. Of course de Roda was her uncle, but he
looked the kind of fanatic who would attach precious
little importance to family affection if it began to
interfere with the success of his schemes. Besides,
according to the letter, de Roda was away. In his
absence Manning was presumably in charge of opera-
tions, and the mere thought of Christine finding
herself in the power of that gentleman was sufficient
to send a chill down the small of my back.
Suppose he had discovered that she was in com-
munication with me! It was unlikely, but unlikely
things do happen in this world, and, in spite of all
our precautions, the secret might have leaked out.
In view of what I had seen outside “The Laurels”
my feelings can be easily understood, for he was just
the sort of devil to make use of a chance like this
without compunction and without mercy.
I crumpled the letter in my hand, and thrust it
into my pocket. Whatever had induced Christine
to visit the barge, the idea of her shut up in that
lonely cabin with no one else but Manning on board
was utterly unbearable. A frantic longing to do
something rose up inside me, and, walking to the
window, I stared out into the drifting mist.
I had stood there for perhaps thirty seconds when
a really inspired notion suddenly dawned on me. In
a fog like this nothing would be visible on the water
17


258 GREENSEA. ISLAND
more than a few yards away. If I were careful about
it there was no earthly reason why I should not
get into my boat and row up as far as the barge in
perfect security. No matter how sharp a look-out
was kept, I should be practically alongside before
anyone could give the alarm.
Almost as soon as the idea came into my head I
had made up my mind. So strongly, indeed, did it
attract me that I did not even stop to consider what
I should do when I reached my destination. I could
think about that while I was in the boat. The main
thing was to get started without wasting any more
valuable time.
In spite of my eagerness to be off, I first of all sat
down at my desk and scribbled a note to Bobby.
It had to be posted at Pen Mill before six o'clock or
else it would not be delivered in Harwich until mid-
day, and in that case he would very probably be
out of the office. I made no attempt to explain
things, however; I merely told him that I was in
need of his help, and that if he could manage to get
down to Greensea the next day I should be uncom-
monly glad to see him.
I was just fastening up the envelope when I saw
Bascomb go past the window. I called out to him
from where I was sitting, and he stepped in through
the open doorway. He was carrying a heavy garden
spade. -
“Where are you going to dig the grave?” I asked
him.
He jerked his head toward the back of the house.
“'Longside o' the shed,” he answered. “I can see
it there from the kitchen window.”


GREENSEA. ISLAND 259
He spoke as though the prospect of being continu-
ally reminded of the crime afforded him a kind of
sullen satisfaction.
“I am going ashore to post a letter,” I said. “I
mean to get to the bottom of this infernal business,
and I've asked Commander Dean to come here to-
morrow. I think he may be able to help us.”
Bascomb looked at me more strangely than ever.
“It's likely enough,” he remarked. “That's to
say, if there's any 'elp wanted.”
He shouldered the spade as he spoke, and, step-
ping out on to the path, walked off silently round the
corner of the house. His manner was so peculiar
that for a moment I felt an uncomfortable doubt as
to whether he were in his right senses. I was too
anxious about Christine to worry over anything else,
however, and, following him to the door, I hastily
secured the bolts and made sure that the windows
were properly fastened. Then, snatching up a cap
from my travelling bag, I left the house by the back
door.
The mist seemed thicker than ever when I came
out into the garden. I climbed the wet rail which
led into the shrubbery, and, having groped my way
through the bushes, I struck off down the path in
the direction of the water.
A few minutes' walk brought me to the boat-
house, where, by gently coaxing the rusty lock, I
managed to open the door without making any un-
necessary noise.
The next job was to find something with which to
muffle the oars. A glance round showed me exactly
what I needed—a large piece of cotton waste that


26o GREENSEA ISLAND
was hanging from a nail just inside the threshold.
I tore this in two, and with the aid of some string
soon accomplished my purpose. Then, pushing off
quietly, I drifted out into the mist.
It was just low water, and the young tide was
already running up the estuary. I knew its strength
from bitter experience, so, keeping the nose of my
boat well into the current, I set off hopefully on what
I imagined to be the right course.
I was not far out in my reckoning, for, after about
ten minutes' steady rowing, I found myself ap-
proaching a mud flat, which I recognised at once
as being slightly to the east of the creek. I allowed
the current to carry me down as far as the entrance,
and a few moments later the rough wall of the jetty
loomed into view on my left-hand side.
There was no sign of anyone about, a circum-
stance that was hardly surprising in view of the
close proximity of the Gunner's Arms. I ferried
along till I reached the nearest post, where I shipped
my oars and made the boat fast. Then, climbing
ashore, I started off carefully down the slippery
causeway.
I got to the pillar-box, which was just alongside
the inn, without meeting a soul. The knowledge
that my letter was safely posted gave me a distinct
feeling of relief, and, retracing my steps as quickly
as possible, I was soon back in the dinghy and pull-
ing off again down the creek.
So far all was well, but as I drifted round the
point into the open water, I began to realize what a
difficult job I had in front of me. In the first place,
it was quite conceivable that I was on a fool's errand.


262 GREENSEA. ISLAND
avoiding the risk unless I abandoned my purpose, an
alternative on which I declined to waste even a
moment's consideration.
All this time the tide was carrying me steadily up
the estuary, my own efforts being confined to keeping
the boat as near the shore as possible without losing
the drift of the current. I made no attempt at
rowing, for, anxious as I was to reach the barge, I
was afraid that if Craill happened to be on deck the
muffled creak of my rowlocks would probably attract
his attention. I wanted my arrival to be absolutely
unexpected, so that I could seize the chance of get-
ting on board before anyone was prepared to dispute
my purpose.
Now that the critical moment was approaching I
felt as cool as a cucumber. Nothing steadies me
like the prospect of immediate action, and, although
my hatred of Manning was as bitter as ever, it no
longer clouded or distorted my mind. It had, indeed,
precisely the opposite effect, bracing all my faculties
to their clearest and sharpest pitch.
I drifted along, listening intently, and keeping a
constant look-out over my shoulder. I knew by the
curve of the shore that I must be getting pretty near
my goal, for just below where the barge lay the
estuary made a slight turn to the north.
Suddenly, a few feet ahead of me, I caught sight
of a shadowy anchor chain, rising from the water
and stretching away into the gloom. I was so close
that in another second I should have been on top of
it, but a timely dig with my left-hand scull just saved
me from this calamity. Almost simultaneously the
black outline of the barge towered up above my


GREENSEA. ISLAND 263
head, and, gliding round the big blunt bow, I came
quietly alongside an empty dinghy which was bob-
bing about on its painter at the foot of the accom-
modation ladder.
For a couple of seconds I remained perfectly still,
gripping tight hold of the dinghy's gunwale, and
staring up at the railing above me. I half expected
to see Craill's ugly face come peering over the top,
for if he were on deck he must have heard the splash
which I had made in trying to avoid the chain. No
such apparition materialised, however, and with a
slight pull at the painter I drew into the side and
rapidly hitched up my boat. The next moment I
had mounted the ladder and was safely on board.
As far as I could see, I appeared to have the whole
place to myself. It was very unlike an ordinary
barge, for both fore and aft a high “coach-house”
roof had been built up above the deck, so as to pro-
vide the cabins below with further light and head
room. Between the two, and right in front of where
I was standing, a broad companion-way led down to
the interior.
I advanced on tiptoe, keeping a watchful eye on
the fo'c'sle, from which quarter I still feared that at
any moment Craill might make an inconvenient ap-
pearance. I had taken about three steps when a
sudden and unexpected noise brought me to a dead
stop. It was a queer sound, as though a small but
heavily laden table had been violently overturned.
I stood quite still, listening intently; then, faint but
clear enough to send the blood racing through my
heart, came the half-stifled cry of a woman's voice.
One stride forward brought me to the edge of the


264 GREENSEA ISLAND
companion-way, and, clearing the short flight of
steps with a single leap, I found myself facing a
closed door which apparently led through into the
cabins. It swung open as I turned the handle, re-
vealing a narrow passage, with another door at the
end. On the farther side of this a scuffle of some
sort seemed to be taking place, and a voice which I
recognised as Manning's rose plainly above the con-
fused jumble of sounds.
If there were a championship for sprinting up
corridors, I think I should have some claim to be the
holder. Anyhow, I covered the distance in consider-
ably less time than it takes to write the words, and,
wrenching round the brass knob with a savage jerk,
applied the full force of my shoulder to the panel.
Instead of being locked, as I expected, the door flew
back suddenly on its hinges. How I saved myself
from falling I don't know; I can only imagine that
the sight which met my eyes momentarily stiffened
every muscle and sinew in my body.
Amid a débris of broken cups and plates Christine
and Manning were struggling together in the centre
of the cabin. He had gripped her in his arms, and,
in spite of the efforts she was making to free her-
self, he was pressing fierce kisses upon her face and
neck. Beside them on the carpet sprawled an over-
turned tea-table, with one leg sticking up grotesquely
in the air.
I had only the briefest glimpse of what was hap-
pening, for at the noise of my entrance the tableau
broke up abruptly. Manning raised his head with a
swift, astonished glance; and then, releasing his
hold, took a step backwards. Freed in this unex-


GREENSEA ISLAND 265
pected fashion, Christine for an instant seemed to
be on the point of collapsing. By a great effort of
will she was just able to reach the arm of the sofa,
where she stood panting and exhausted, her eyes
fixed on me in a kind of half-incredulous fear.
“You must forgive me if I am intruding, Man-
ning,” I said. “You asked me to look you up, and
I have taken you at your word.”
Even at that moment the man's extraordinary
coolness never deserted him. Whatever thoughts
and emotions were passing through his mind, he
seemed, after that first glance of surprise, to accept
the situation with perfect composure.
“I am afraid you have chosen rather an unfo:tu-
nate time,” he replied. “If you would care to come
back in half an hour I should be charmed. At pres-
ent I have another visitor.”
“So I see,” was my answer. “And, if you want
to know, that is precisely the reason why I intend
to stop.”
Manning's curious blue eyes narrowed danger-
ously.
“I don't quite understand,” he observed in his
silkiest voice.
“It's very simple,” I assured him. “This lady,
whoever she is, seems to have mistaken you for a
gentleman.” I turned to Christine. “I hope I am
not being officious,” I added, “but if there is any
way in which I can be of use, please consider me
entirely at your service.”
She rose to the occasion with all the quickness and
courage that I had expected.
“If it's not troubling you too much,” she said


266 GREENSEA ISLAND
quietly, “I should certainly be obliged if you would
row me to the shore.”
Manning stepped forward, addressing himself
directly to her. His manner was politeness itself,
but there was no misunderstanding the veiled threat
behind his words.
“For various reasons,” he said, “I think you had
better allow me that privilege.”
I saw that Christine was hesitating, so I gave her
no chance to reply.
“I expect you know your way up on to the deck,”
I remarked. “If you will excuse me I will be with
you almost immediately.”
For a second she still wavered. Then with the
slightest possible bow she crossed the cabin, and
passed out silently into the passage. I closed the
door behind her.
Only once before in my life, when Bobby and I
sighted our first German submarine, have I felt the
same peculiar sensation with which I turned round
and faced Manning. He stood where he was, an
amused and half-mocking smile playing round the
corners of his mouth.
“You mustn't let me detain you, Mr. Dryden,”
he said. “I am sure you are full of the noblest
sentiments, but it would be a pity to keep the lady
waiting.”
If his intention was to make me lose my temper it
went woefully astray.
“I shan't be long,” I replied. “I am only going
to give you a damned good hiding.”
I was looking straight at him as I spoke, and I saw
the lightning glance with which he measured his


GREENSEA. ISLAND 267
distance from a small oak sideboard that was
clamped against the wall.
“That's the worst of you primitive people,” he
drawled slowly, “you always—” Then suddenly
his eyes travelled past me to the door, and a harsh,
exulting cry broke from his lips.
“Go on, Craill,” he shouted; “let him have it.”
With most men the trick would probably have
succeeded, but I was too old a hand to be caught in
that time-honoured fashion. As he sprang for the
sideboard I hurled myself after him, and at the very
second that he wrenched open the drawer my fist
crashed home full in his face. He lurched wildly
backwards, and, stumbling over the corner of the
mat, fetched up against the wall with a thud that
shook the cabin.
Of the next two minutes I have a glorious but
slightly confused recollection. All the rage which I
had been bottling up inside me seemed to break loose
at that first blow, and with a red mist in front of
my eyes I leaped in to finish the business.
Whatever else Manning might be, he was game to
the last inch. Hopelessly cornered, with blood
streaming down his face, he yet fought back at me
like a trapped and maddened wolf. He fought, too,
with all the skill of a trained boxer, but science and
courage were little use against the mad fury which
had suddenly taken possession of me.
Keeping him pinned against the wall, I smashed
home punch after punch without even troubling to
guard myself. No one could stand up long under
such a hail of punishment, and although he managed
to land one or two blows there was not sufficient


268 GREENSEA ISLAND
force in them to have any effect on me. At last, with
a terrific right-hand jolt just below the heart, I sent
him staggering sideways. He made a desperate
attempt to recover, but, seizing the chance, I let
him have my left bang on the point of the jaw, and
down he went on to the carpet—a sprawling bundle
of arms and legs.
For a moment I stood there breathing heavily, my
whole being aflame with savage satisfaction.
Stretched out motionless on his back, Manning
presented a pretty ghastly spectacle, but there was
not a spark of pity for him in my heart as I stared
down into his battered and bleeding face. Christine's
cry for help, and the thought of poor Satan creep-
ing back alone to die in the darkness, were still
vividly in my mind, and, turning away, I strode
across towards the open drawer in the oak sideboard.
As I expected, the first thing I saw on looking
inside was a revolver. It was a Smith and Wesson
of the heaviest service pattern, and on taking it out
I found that every chamber was loaded. I won-
dered grimly what my fate would have been if Man-
ning had succeeded in reaching the drawer a second
earlier. Possibly he had only meant to protect him-
self, but in any case the weapon would certainly be
safer in my possession than in his, so, slipping it
into my pocket, I strolled back to where I had left
him.
Just as I came up he gave a deep groan and opened
his eyes.
“Oh,” I said, “you're recovering, are you?”
He gazed at me vaguely, as if only half under-
standing my words; then in a sudden rush the full


GREENSEA ISLAND 269
memory of what had happened seemed to return to
him, and with a painful effort he raised himself up
on one elbow.
“Next time you want to insult a girl,” I suggested,
“you had better see that the cabin door is properly
locked.”
Lifting his sleeve, he tried to wipe away some of
the blood which was trickling down his face.
“I always thought you were a fool, Dryden,” he
said in a faint voice. “Now I am sure of it.” With
great difficulty he struggled up a little farther, and
sank back against the wall.
“I know a damned cad when I see one, anyhow,”
I replied. “Not that it needed much intelligence
in the present case.” I walked to the door, and,
pausing on the threshold, took out the revolver.
“You will forgive my borrowing this,” I added. “I
don't want to be shot in the back as I leave the
barge.”
His blue eyes fixed themselves on mine with a
cat-like malevolence.
“You might have a worse ending,” he said softly.
“I am not a very safe person to quarrel with.”
There was a venom in his tone which spoke
volumes as to his sincerity, but unless it was intended
to frighten me the warning was a little superfluous.
“I shan't grumble at the bill,” I replied. “I am
always ready to pay well, especially when I have
really enjoyed myself.”
Then, turning the handle, I stepped out into the
passage, and closed the door behind me.


GREENSEA ISLAND 271
reluctance. “What's happened to that ruffian
Craill P”
“He went off in the other boat just after I arrived.
He might come back at any moment.”
“Well, I want to see him,” I said; “but I don't
think I'll wait now. It's a pity to cram all one's
pleasures into one afternoon.”
She laid her hands pleadingly on my sleeve. “Do
what I ask,” she begged. “Promise me you will go
straight back to the island as soon as you have taken
me ashore?”
“I am not going to take you ashore,” I said.
“You are coming home with me.”
She made a quick gesture of protest, but I went on
without giving her time to answer.
“There's no other way out of it,” I said, speak-
ing with the utmost seriousness. “After what's
happened this afternoon you have simply got to
tell me the truth. Don't you see, dear, you and I
are in this together, and unless I know > *
“Yes, yes,” she interrupted breathlessly, “I must
tell you; I had already made up my mind to do it.”
She paused in piteous hesitation. “I daren't come to
the island, though,” she added; “if anyone saw
us—”
“No one can possibly see us,” I objected. “It's
a hundred times safer than any other place. We
can talk comfortably there, and I can row you ashore
afterwards and land you wherever you like. This
fog's not going to lift for another twenty-four
hours.”
I don't think I really convinced her; she seemed
to give in to my will through utter weariness.


272 GREENSEA ISLAND
“Perhaps you're right,” she faltered. “I can't
argue with you anyhow. I—I'm too tired.” -
With a sudden remorse for my lack of considera-
tion, I helped her tenderly down the ladder. Every-
thing in the dinghy was soaking, and, in spite of her
remonstrances, I insisted on removing my coat and
spreading it on the wet seat.
“I won't try and talk to you while I’m rowing,”
I said. “There's a pretty stiff stream running, and
I shall want all my energy to get back to the island.
Besides, the quieter we keep the better.”
She nodded her head to show that she understood,
and, having cast off the painter, I took my place at
the oars. -
The first few strokes were a bit painful on account
of my damaged knuckles, which started bleeding
afresh the moment I closed my hands. They soon
ceased to smart, however; and, keeping the same
course as before, I plugged steadily along, until the
mouth of the creek opened up dimly on my left-hand
side. A short but strenuous battle with the current
brought me safely across to the landing-stage, where
I grabbed hold of the chain and waved a triumphant
greeting to Christine.
“Welcome!” I said. “Welcome to Greensea
Island!”
She smiled back at me, such a wan, pathetic little
smile that I impulsively leaned over and pressed her
hand.
“My own dear,” I whispered, “you have just got
to be happy. Remember, you are coming home for
the first time.”
I felt her fingers squeeze mine gently in return;


274 GREENSEA ISLAND
sophically. “After all, if it wasn't for the fog you
wouldn't be here.”
We set out across the grass, and, just as we were
approaching the verandah, I suddenly remembered
that I had bolted the front door on the inside. I
did not want to take Christine to the back entrance,
for fear that she might catch sight of Bascomb
digging the grave. It would be a gruesome discovery
to run up against unexpectedly, especially for anyone
whose nerves were already strained almost beyond
the point of endurance.
“If you don't mind waiting here a couple of
seconds,” I said, “I’ll slip round and let you in.
The place is locked up, and my man will probably be
out in the garden.”
“I shall be all right,” she said. “It was only the
trees that made me feel a little creepy.”
Leaving her where she was, I hurried along the
verandah, and turned off down the side walk which
led past the kitchen window. Directly I got round
the corner I heard the sound of Bascomb's spade,
but it was not until I was within a few feet of him
that his figure suddenly emerged from the mist. He
was standing beside a large hole, peering forward in
the direction of the path.
“How are you getting on?” I asked, pulling up
short.
“It's pretty nigh finished,” he answered slowly.
“I’ve put 'im down deep, so as 'e can lie quiet with-
out bein’ shifted.”
I looked over into the grave, which was already
partly filled in.
“Well, there's no need to hurry,” I said. “I’ve


278 GREENSEA ISLAND
“They're a little muddled, because I can't quite fit
in our friend Dr. Manning. For a comparative
stranger he appears to have rather an important
part in the show.”
With the shadow of a smile on her lips she leaned
forward.
“If you tell me what you know,” she said, “the
rest will be easier for me to explain.”
“Well, from what I've gathered one way and
another,” I began, “I should say that it was the
late lamented Mr. Richard Jannaway who was
responsible for the whole trouble. He was always
a bad hat; in fact, the only decent thing he ever
did in his life was to die without making a will. I
know he was in South America for years, and it
looks to me as if he'd managed to run up pretty
badly against your uncle. He probably played the
old boy some dog's trick, and Señor de Roda, being
a gentleman of spirit, naturally determined to get
level with him. Unless I'm much mistaken, that's
how it is that you come to be sitting here at the
present moment.”
She nodded encouragingly.
“Now I begin to lose my bearings,” I confessed.
“How Manning shoved himself in is a point that's
been worrying me ever since I saw you together
outside ‘The Laurels.' I made certain at first that
he must be working for your uncle, but when you
told me that neither of you had met him until you
arrived in England I didn't know what on earth to
think. I've turned it over pretty thoroughly since
then, and I've come to the conclusion that there
must be some secret about Greensea which is dis-


GREENSEA. ISLAND 279
tinctly worth knowing. It's my belief that Manning
got on to the track of it while he was staying on the
island. He probably discovered that you were mixed
up with it too, and for reasons of his own he decided
to join forces. I've no doubt that he's playing a
double game, and I shouldn't wonder if you both
shared my opinion. It was probably a case of your
having no choice in the matter. When you found
out how much he knew you had to take him into
partnership, whether you liked it or not.”
Christine pushed the hair off her forehead, and
looked at me with a curious expression.
“It's really rather extraordinary,” she said slowly.
“If you were a wizard or a fortune teller or some-
thing of that sort, you could hardly have got nearer
the truth.”
I acknowledged her compliment with a slight
bow.
“Thank you,” I said; “you've restored my self-
respect. Dr. Manning told me I was a fool, and
I should have been horribly depressed if I thought
you shared his opinion.”
“Dr. Manning thinks everyone is a fool except
himself,” she answered. “It's the only mistake I
have ever known him to make.”
“Most clever scoundrels have the same delusion,”
I assured her. “That's what keeps half the criminal
barristers in practice.”
Christine lit another cigarette, and sat for a
moment staring into the fire, as if trying to arrange
her thoughts. At last she turned towards me.
“Do you know that your uncle once went under
the name of Stephen Gardiner?” she asked.


28o GREENSEA ISLAND
“No,” I said, “I didn't know, but I can quite
believe it. I should think he was the sort of
gentleman who had probably had half a dozen
names.” I paused. “Where did you come across
him first?” I asked.
“At Rio, two years before the war,” she answered.
“What, Rio in Brazil?” I asked.
She nodded. “We were living there then. My
uncle had a big ranch about twenty miles outside
the town, and of course he knew nearly everybody.
At that time the whole of Brazil was in a frightful
state of dissatisfaction. There was a great deal of
feeling against the President, Gomez, who had been
in for years and years, and Uncle Philip was one
of the leading people who were trying to turn him
out. It was through this that he and your uncle
became friends.”
“But what on earth had my uncle got to do with
it?” I demanded. “He was an Englishman and
a stranger, and I should think he must have had a
pretty rotten reputation even then.”
“I can't tell you that,” she said. “I was only
sixteen, and naturally they didn't talk about things
in front of me. I suppose that somehow or other
he had managed to make himself useful to them;
anyhow, I know they all trusted him absolutely.”
“They seem to have been a nice confiding lot,” I
observed. “I wouldn't mind betting they paid for
it too.”
She smiled mirthlessly. “Yes,” she said, “they
paid for it. I daresay you remember what hap-
pened; there must have been some account in the
English papers.”


GREENSEA. ISLAND 281
I shook my head. “I wasn't reading the papers
just then,” I explained. “I was chasing about the
Pacific learning to be a sailor.”
“Everything that we had planned was betrayed
to the Government,” she said fiercely. “There was
to be a general rising in Rio early one morning while
the soldiers were asleep in their barracks. It was
almost certain that if our people could seize the
public buildings and capture the President the whole
thing would be practically over. A great many of
the troops were friendly, and the rest would have
been quiet enough as soon as they heard that Gomez
was a prisoner. That was only part of the plot,
however. About a hundred miles up the Amazon
there's a place called Cinatti. It's close to two or
three big diamond mines which belong to the
Government, and all the stones are collected and
sorted there before they come down to Rio. Our
people had found out through one of the sorters
that a specially valuable lot would be sent off on the
very morning that was fixed for the revolution. We
wanted money badly, and Uncle Philip and several
of the others decided that the best plan was to attack
the train before it reached the capital. They knew
that it would mean some terrible fighting, because
the stones are always sent down under a strong
military guard, but there was no difficulty in finding
dozens of men who were quite ready to risk their
lives. One of the first people chosen was Stephen
Gardiner. He was appointed second in command,
so that if anything happened to Uncle Philip he
would be in charge of the party.”
She paused, and drew in a deep breath.


282 GREENSEA. ISLAND
“There were twenty-five of them altogether,”
she went on quietly. “They met just before mid-
night at the place which had been agreed upon.
It was where the train had to cross a bridge over a
deep gully. They blew away part of the bridge with
dynamite, and hid themselves as well as they could
on both sides of the line. When the train came
along of course the driver saw what had happened.
He pulled up, and directly the engine stopped Uncle
Philip gave the signal. He was badly wounded
himself almost as soon as he jumped out of the
bushes, but about twenty of the others managed to
reach the cars. There was a dreadful fight for a
minute or two; then the officer in command of the
guard was killed by a bullet, and after that the
soldiers must have lost their heads. Anyhow, half
of them threw down their guns, and the rest gave in
to save their own lives.” *
“They would,” I said; “it’s a habit with all South'
American regulars.” I pushed away the tray, and
leaned forward with my arms on the table. “What
about the diamonds?” I asked.
“Oh, the diamonds were there,” she answered,
in the same curiously level voice. “They were
packed in two sealed boxes, and they were a
magnificent lot of stones. One of the men who knew
something about jewels put their value at a hundred
thousand pounds. As a matter of fact, he was
altogether wrong. They were worth double that
amount.”
I whistled gently. “And de Roda being knocked
out,” I said, “Mr. Stephen Gardiner was in charge
of the proceedings?”


GREENSEA ISLAND 283
i
She made a gesture of assent.
“Go on,” I added grimly. “Tell me what
happened.”
“By the time the soldiers had surrendered,” she
said, “Uncle Philip had lost consciousness. Three
of the others were dead and six or seven badly
wounded. This man, Gardiner, divided the party
into two. He left ten of them behind to look after
their friends, and rode off towards Rio with the
other five, taking the diamonds with him. No one
dreamed that there was anything wrong. Gardiner
had fought as bravely as anybody, and they all
imagined that when they got to Rio they would find
our people in control of the town.”
Her voice shook, and for just an instant she
seemed to be on the point of breaking down.
“As a matter of fact,” she continued, with a kind
of desperate calmness, “they were riding straight
to their death. At the last moment everything we
had planned had been betrayed to Gomez. He
had brought troops secretly into all the public build-
ings, and when our people came out into the streets
they were shot down like dogs before they could
move a step. Six hundred of them were killed in
less than ten minutes. Gomez had given orders
that there should be no prisoners, and the soldiers
went on firing at the wounded until there wasn't a
soul left alive.”
“And I suppose my infernal uncle was at the
bottom of the whole business?” I broke in.
“You can judge for yourself,” she answered.
“When he and the other five reached the town they
found troops everywhere. In the very first street


GREENSEA. ISLAND 285
ing. Then, feeling that an apology would be rather
futile, I leaned across and took her hand, which was
resting on the corner of the chair. “And de Roda
and the others, Christine,” I said. “What happened
to them?”
“Three of them were shot the next day,” she
answered. “They were the lucky ones. Uncle
Philip and the rest were flung into prison at Rio.
You can probably guess how they were treated.
When Gomez died six years later Uncle Philip was
the only one left alive. Almost the first thing the
new President did was to release him, but it was
too late to be of much service. He came out so
terribly changed that none of his friends recognised
him. He had been starved and tortured until his
brain and body had almost given way. He had one
idea only—one idea that had been burning into
his mind night and day for all those six dreadful
years—revenge on the man who had betrayed
him.”
“I can imagine his feelings,” I said with consider-
able sympathy. “But how the dickens did he find
out where my uncle had hidden himself?”
“It wasn't easy,” she admitted. “Gomez had
offered an enormous reward to anyone who could
arrest him and get back the stones, but although the
police in Europe had been on the look-out, they had
never been able to discover the slightest trace of him.
In the end it was just pure chance. A few of our
friends had escaped after the revolution, and
amongst them was a man called da Silva. He had
settled down in London, and one day, when he was
out walking, he saw your uncle on the other side of


286 GREENSEA ISLAND
the street. Although it was nearly seven years since
they had met he recognised him at once.
“Some people, I suppose, would have given him
up to the police, in the hope of getting part of the
reward which was still on offer. Da Silva was not
that sort of man. He followed your uncle back to
where he was living, and then very secretly and
carefully he set about making enquiries. When he
had found out everything he wanted, he wrote and
told Uncle Philip.”
“I wonder if the old ruffian guessed that he'd
been spotted,” I said. “If he did, that would explain
why he shut himself up here.”
She shook her head. “He was already trying to
buy the island. I think he must have seen in the
paper that Uncle Philip had been let out of
prison.”
I suddenly remembered what Bascomb had told
me the night we talked together in the hall.
“You're right, Christine,” I said. “That's what
happened beyond a doubt, and I don't wonder he
got the wind up. It must have been rather like
reading one's own death-warrant.” -
“I hope it was,” she said mercilessly. “I should
like to be sure that he suffered before he died. When
I think of the way he escaped us I sometimes feel
that there's no justice in the world.”
“But surely you knew he was dead before you
started from Brazil?” I interrupted. “Your friend
da Silva had plenty of time to write to you.”
“We never heard from da Silva again,” she said.
“Three weeks after he sent his first letter he was
killed in that big railway accident at Croydon. Un-


GREENSEA ISLAND 287
til you spoke to me on the boat we both believed that
Gardiner was alive.”
“Good Lord!” I exclaimed. “No wonder you
were a bit flabbergasted.”
“It was the thought of Uncle Philip that upset
me most. You see, it was impossible for me to tell
him then, and I felt certain that he would never get
over the shock and disappointment when he found
out for himself.”
“But how about you?” I asked curiously.
“Wasn't it rather a relief to know that you were too
late? You can't take the law into your own hands
in this country without paying for it pretty heavily.”
“Do you suppose that mattered?” she demanded.
“Do you think I cared what happened to me as
long as Gardiner was punished? Why, rather than
see him escape I would have killed him myself "
“I believe you would,” I said, with genuine ad-
miration. Then, lighting another cigarette, I added:
“How long was it before de Roda discovered the
truth?’”
“It was two days after we landed. Directly we
came ashore he left me at an hotel and went straight
to da Silva's address. He had been very puzzled at
not hearing again and getting no answer to his let-
ters, but of course when he found out what had
happened it explained everything. Da Silva had told
us about Greensea Island in his first letter, however,
so the next morning Uncle Phillip motored down
here to make enquiries. The first thing he learned
was that Gardiner was dead.”
“How did he take it?” I enquired.
“He seemed almost stunned when he came back.


288 GREENSEA ISLAND
He sat all the evening without saying a word, and,
although I did my best to comfort him, I don't think
he even heard what I said. It was not until the next
morning that he told me he had taken a lease of
“The Laurels.' I didn't bother him with any ques-
tions, but from the way he spoke I felt sure he be-
lieved that the diamonds, or what was left of them,
were still hidden on the island. By this time he had
got a kind of half-insane conviction that they were
his own property.”
“I am inclined to agree with him,” I said. “Any-
how, I’d a jolly sight rather he had them than the
Brazilian Government.” I paused. “Had he tum-
bled across the fact of my existence?” I asked.
“Not then,” she replied. “Nobody down here
had any idea of what would happen to the property.
I was the only one who knew, and that was why I
asked you to meet me that day in Bond Street. I
was afraid that directly Uncle Philip learned the
truth he would suspect you of having the stones.
You were Gardiner's nephew too, and in the queer
state he was in that alone was quite enough to put
your life in danger.”
“You’ve acted like a brick all through, Christine,”
I said gratefully.
“I only did what anyone else would have done,”
she went on hurriedly. “I felt you ought to be
warned, but at the time I little guessed the real state
of affairs.” She stopped, with a queer expression
in her brown eyes. “You see, it was not until two
days later that I first met Dr. Manning.”
“Ah!” I said softly. “Now we're getting to the
part in which I take a rather particular interest.”


290 GREENSEA ISLAND
“He suspected it certainly,” she replied. “Your
uncle must have mentioned the name, and no doubt
he had put two and two together. He was only
waiting his time. If I hadn't sent for him that night
he would probably have come to see us next day.”
“But what was his object?” I demanded. “From
what I've seen of him I should have thought his one
idea would have been to get in first and cut you
out.”
“So it was,” she said. “Thanks chiefly to you,
however, he was up against a blank wall. He had
had no chance of searching the place properly while
he was there, because Bascomb was always watching
him, and when you refused to sell the island that
finished everything.”
“It certainly came very near to finishing me,” I
observed grimly. “I suppose there's no doubt that
it was either he or Craill who shoved me into the
dock.”
“It was Craill,” she observed. “He is only half-
witted, but he's horribly cunning and dangerous, and
absolutely under Manning's influence.”
“A jolly sort of pair to have as next-door neigh-
bours,” I remarked. “And what was the doctor's
actual proposition? He must have been counting on
some pretty effectual help from you if he was ready
to go shares.”
“I think he had an idea that we knew where the
stones were,” she replied. “When he discovered he
was wrong it was too late for him to draw back.
Besides, he had no wish to then. He saw that he
could do just as he pleased with Uncle Philip, and—
and—” She hesitated as if half unwilling to go on.
--


GREENSEA. ISLAND 291
“You needn't explain, Christine,” I said. “I’ve
seen something of what you've had to put up with.”
“Oh, it was horrible,” she whispered, “but what
could I do? My uncle seemed to have no will of his
own left. He believed everything that Manning told
him, and in a few days he hated you quite as bitterly
as he had ever hated Gardiner. I felt sure they
intended to kill you, and the only way in which I
could be of any help was by trying to keep on
friendly terms with both of them. Even as it was,
Manning never trusted me altogether.”
“What are their present plans, as far as you
know?” I asked.
“Unless I am wrong,” she said slowly, “they mean
to attack the house at once, while you and Bascomb
are alone here. I believe that on the night Manning
stayed with you he found out, or thinks he found
out, exactly where the diamonds are hidden. He
came to see us the next day, and I could tell from his
manner that he was extraordinarily pleased and ex-
cited about something. After a long talk Uncle
Philip went away to Harwich the same evening.
He told me he would probably send me a wire, and
that if he did I was to take it over to Dr. Manning at
once. It arrived about twelve o'clock this morning.”
“What on earth took your uncle to Harwich?”
I enquired curiously.
“I don't know for certain. I think, from one or
two things I overheard, that he wanted to buy a
boat. The telegram was probably to say that he had
got it.”
“That looks like business, anyhow,” I remarked.
“I suppose that if they find the stones they mean to


292 GREENSEA. ISLAND
make a straight line for the Continent.” I paused.
“When do you think I can expect the honour of a
visit?” I asked. “To-night?”
“It will be very soon, anyhow,” she answered.
“I believe they are only waiting until my uncle comes
back. Unless everything had been arranged, Man-
ning would never have behaved as he did this after-
noon.”
“He wouldn't have poisoned Satan either,” I
added. “It would have been a mad thing to do if
he wasn't prepared to follow it up at once.” I rose
from my chair and took two or three paces up and
down the room. Then I halted just in front of her.
“Christine,” I said desperately, “there's only one
way out of this infernal mess. Stay with me, and
let them do just what they like. I am expecting
Bobby Dean here to-morrow, and he and Bascomb
can take charge of the place while we go up to Lon-
don and get married. After that I don't care a damn
what happens. De Roda can have all the diamonds
in the world as far as I'm concerned.”
Her lips moved, but before she could speak I went
down on my knees and put my arms round her.
“I love you, darling,” I whispered. “I have loved
you with all my heart and soul ever since you came
on board the Neptune. There isn't—”
“Ah, no, no,” she interrupted. “Don't—please!
You make it so much harder.” Then with a little
heart-broken sob she suddenly pressed her face
against mine, and I felt both our cheeks wet with
her tears.
“Why not, Christine?” I pleaded. “You have
done everything you can.”


GREENSEA. ISLAND 293
“It's my uncle,” she said pitifully. “He has no
one in the world except me.”
“But you can't go back after what has happened
to-day?” I exclaimed. “Even if Manning believes
that my coming to the barge was pure chance, he
knows that I took you away in my boat, and he's
simply bound to suspect you. He is sure to tell
your uncle, and with a madman like de Roda—”
“I am not afraid,” she broke in. “However mad
Uncle Philip is, he would never hurt me. Oh, my
dear, I would stay if I could, I would stay with you
so gladly, but when I think of all he has suffered,
how can I leave him now just when he needs me
most?”
“You think of everyone except yourself,” I cried
hotly. “I wish to God I'd killed Manning on the
barge. To feel that you may be alone in the house
with that devil ->
She placed her hand softly on my shoulder. “I
shall be quite safe,” she said. “Most likely Uncle
Philip will come back this evening, and in any case
there is always Marie. She is kind to me in her way.
If I couldn't leave the house I am sure she would
take a note for me to Jimmy, so you see there's really
no need for you to be anxious or worried on my
account. It's you who are in such dreadful danger.”
“What, with Bascomb here and Bobby Dean turn-
ing up in the morning?” I exclaimed. “Why, if I
can't take care of my own skin with the help of a
prize-fighter and a V.C.—” I stopped short, as a
sudden difficulty occurred to me. “How about
Bobby?” I added. “So far I haven't even mentioned
your name to him. He is under the impression


294 GREENSEA. ISLAND
that the whole affair is a little private speculation of
Dr. Manning's.”
“You will have to tell him the truth,” she said.
“It's too late to keep anything back.” She glanced
up at the clock above the fireplace; then, bending
forward, she took my face between her hands, and
looked long and tenderly into my eyes. “I must go,
dear,” she whispered; “you must take me back to
Pen Mill and put me ashore. I daren't stay any
longer, in case my uncle comes back unexpectedly.”
Every instinct I possessed rose up in revolt, but,
all the same, I saw that any further protest would be
useless. For a moment I knelt there, holding her
in my arms, and studying every curve of her beauti-
ful face. Then, hungry with love, I crushed her still
closer to my heart, and once again our lips met in a
long, passionate kiss,


296 GREENSEA ISLAND
place, and, thrusting an empty pipe between my
teeth, dropped down again into my customary chair.
There I sat, thinking over Christine's story. She
had told it so simply and naturally that even at the
time I had felt a curious absence of surprise.
Strange as the truth was, it had, too, only confirmed
my own belief that somewhere far back in Mr.
Richard Jannaway's chequered past lay the real
source of all my present troubles. And yet, judged
by any conceivable standard of the quiet English
countryside about us, what an amazing tale it was
That bloody massacre in the sunlit streets of Rio, the
long untiring search for vengeance, the death of my
uncle at the very moment when an implacable fate
was closing in about him—it all seemed more like the
plot of some fantastic drama than a real sequence of
actual events in which I was intimately and urgently
concerned.
For de Roda himself I felt nothing but the most
profound pity. I knew something of South Ameri-
can prisons, and I could well imagine the horrors of
that six years' purgatory. To have come through
it alive, and then at the last hour to have been
cheated out of his revenge, was, in my eyes at least,
quite sufficient to excuse the slight trace of homici-
dal mania with which he appeared to be afflicted.
It was no doubt chiefly due to the diabolical
prompting of Manning that he had begun to confuse
me with the original object of his hatred. The more
I learned about things the more I became convinced
that under the easy manner and smiling face of my
next-door neighbour there lurked one of the cleverest
and most ruthless criminal brains that was ever


GREENSEA ISLAND 297
destined for a medical museum. His popularity in
the district, and the entire absence of suspicion with
which everyone seemed to regard him, only served
to strengthen my belief. I wondered much what
his past history had really been, and whether Inspec-
tor Campbell's researches would have any practical
result. There had been an air of quiet assurance
about that stolid Scotsman which had inspired me
with considerable hope, and as the memory of his
determined chin and his shrewd grey eyes rose up in
my mind, I suddenly realised that the time had come
when I should be well advised to take him fully into
my confidence. After all, de Roda had committed no
crime against the laws of England. If we could
get him out of Manning's clutches he might yet be
made to realise that instead of seeking to rob him
I was only too anxious to lend him a helping hand.
Of course he could not be allowed to walk off with
the diamonds, much as I sympathised with his view
on the subject. Still, if what Christine had told me
were correct, the present Brazilian Government
would doubtless be prepared to fork out a handsome
reward for their recovery, and that would at least
provide some compensation for all the shabby tricks
that fate had played him.
For my part, I wanted nothing in the world except
Christine. Some men are so constituted that they are
able to fall in love half a dozen times, while with
others every emotional capacity seems to store itself
up for one supreme experience. It had been so in
my own case. Until then the remarkable state of
ecstasy, in which at various times I had seen several
of my friends engulfed, had always struck me as


GREENSEA. ISLAND 299
the boat-house I could not imagine where on earth
he had got to, for if he were anywhere close at hand
he must certainly have heard me calling. It was so
unlike him, however, to disappear in this fashion,
just when he ought to have been preparing dinner,
that all my former doubts as to whether he was quite
in his right senses came back to me with renewed
vigour.
Having pondered over the situation for a few
moments, I decided that the best thing to do was
to go out at once and have a look for him. It was
not a particularly inviting prospect, but, on the other
hand, the evening was closing in rapidly, and it
would soon be too dark to see one's way about. So,
stepping back into the house, I picked up a cap
from the hall table, and then, after carefully closing
and locking the back door, I once more climbed
over the railings, and started off to grope my way
along the shrubbery path.
By the time I reached the small iron gate which
lead out on to the foreshore I was beginning to feel
uncommonly anxious. I passed through this, letting
it clang noisily behind me, and before I had taken
another half dozen paces the low roof of the boat-
house suddenly loomed into view.
The first thing that caught my attention was the
door. Instead of being shut, as I had left it, it was
now wide open, and, naturally concluding that Bas-
comb must be inside, I walked towards it with a con-
siderable feeling of relief.
A moment later I was standing on the threshold
staring blankly in front of me. The place was as
empty as a barn. Not only was there no trace of


300 GREENSEA ISLAND
Bascomb, but in addition to that the dinghy itself
was also missing.
I don't know why it had not occurred to me till
then that he might have gone ashore, but somehow
or other the discovery took me utterly by surprise.
During the whole time that I had been on the island
he had never yet left me alone without first coming
to ask my permission, and I suppose I had begun
to regard this as a kind of inevitable rite. At least
I can think of no other way to account for the sensa-
tion of aggrieved astonishment with which I re-
mained there gazing round the deserted shed.
Being eventually struck by the futility of my pro-
ceedings, I came out on to the landing-stage, and
stepped forward to the very edge of the water. In
all directions a solid blanket of grey mist stretched
before my eyes, while, except for the sound of my
own footsteps, everything was as silent as the grave.
That Bascomb should have deserted me in this
extraordinary fashion was a thing which even now
I found it hard to believe. There was only one con-
clusion to be drawn from the evidence, however,
and that was that as soon as he had heard me return
he had slipped away quietly with the extra key of
the boat-house and had gone off alone in the dinghy.
Why he should have chosen my dinner-time for his
excursion was a mystery, but, queer as he might be,
I felt convinced that he must have had some very
definite purpose at the back of his mind.
I tried to put myself in his place, and all of a sud-
den a startling but far from impossible idea sug-
gested itself. Supposing he had gone to the barge!
Supposing that, in his mad fury at the death of


GREENSEA ISLAND 3OI
Satan, he had set off single-handed to try to wreak
his vengeance upon Manning and Craill!
Straining my eyes, I stared vainly through the
mist in the direction he would have taken. If I
were right there was no saying what cheerful work
might even now be in full swing, for I knew enough
of all the three principal actors to be quite certain
that none of them would stick at trifles, and yet,
without a boat, I was powerless to interfere. Until
Bascomb returned or somebody else came over from
Pen Mill I was as much a prisoner as Napoleon on
St. Helena.
At the very moment when this unpleasant truth
was forcing itself into my mind the almost uncanny
stillness was broken by a low whistle. I turned
round sharply, and then six times in quick succes-
sion the same sound repeated itself from somewhere
close about me. It was the call of a whimbrel—that
queer, mournful note which, according to every
fisherman along the east coast, is the sure herald of
death or disaster.
For a sailor I don't think I am particularly super-
stitious. All the same, there was something so
weird and ominous in that unexpected cry that just
for an instant I felt as if a cold hand had suddenly
been placed against my heart. Then, by a big
effort, I managed to pull myself together. With a
kind of impatient anger at my own idiocy I stepped
down off the landing-stage, and, walking back to
the boat-house, had another look at the interior.
There was nothing further to be learned there.
Bascomb and the dinghy had both vanished beyond
a doubt, and the only thing I could do was to await


302 GREENSEA. ISLAND
their return with such philosophy as I had at my
command. After all, it was just possible that he
had crossed over to Pen Mill. In view of his some-
what distracting day, he might have overlooked the
fact that we were short of food, and have hurried
off to remedy the deficiency at the last possible mo-
ment. I can't say I had very much faith in this
conjecture, but it did at least provide me with a
gleam of hope. Anyhow, having once more closed
the door, I abandoned the shed to its own desolation,
and set off in a shade better spirits on my return
journey to the house.
The first thing I did on getting back into the
hall was to go to the sideboard and mix myself a
drink. I have always found that I can bear suspense
better with the aid of a good stiff whisky and soda—
a peculiarity which I share with Bobby Dean and
most of my naval acquaintances. Carrying the
tumbler to the hearth, I placed it within convenient
reach upon a neighbouring table, and then, having
thrown another log upon the fire, I sat down de-
liberately to wait upon events.
For the best part of an hour I maintained my
solitary vigil, the only interruption being the chim-
ing of the clock, which hammered out every quarter
with what sounded to me like a kind of malicious
amusement. I bore it doggedly until close on half-
past eight, by which time I had begun to feel so
devilish empty that my stock of patience was rapidly
exhausting itself. It was long past my usual dinner
hour, and the experiences I had been through that
afternoon were scarcely the sort to blunt the edge
of a naturally healthy appetite.


GREENSEA ISLAND 305
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,
20


306 GREENSEA. ISLAND
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 man-
aged 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 oppo-
site trees. One or two birds were chirping away in
the shubbery, 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,


308 GREENSEA ISLAND
“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 com-
fortable 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.”


GREENSEA ISLAND 309
“I am afraid we are a trifle disorganized,” I con-
fessed. “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 2 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 with-
out 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 atten-
tion, and, stepping forward, I picked up the teapot.


3Io GREENSEA. ISLAND
“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 ex-
pression 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 pro-
found 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 an-
nounced 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.


3I2 GREENSEA. ISLAND
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? Any-
thing I can do for you?”
Sergeant Humphries cleared his throat.
“I'm afraid I come on rather an unpleasant busi-
ness, 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 re-
turned.”
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.”


3I4 GREENSEA ISLAND
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
shu x *
“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 Com-
mander Dean first; we are just settling up some
rather important business.” I crossed to the side-
board and fetched a couple of glasses. “Help your-
selves to a whisky,” I added. “I shan't keep you
more than two or three minutes.”
They both murmured their thanks, and, motion-
ing Bobby to follow me, I walked into the dining-
room and closed the door behind me.
I couldn't have controlled myself much longer.
*


GREENSEA ISLAND 3I5
“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; other-
wise I'm at your disposal for the next three days.”


316 GREENSEA ISLAND
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 land-
lord 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,


32O GREENSEA. ISLAND
been at daggers drawn with the entire neighbour-
hood.”
“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.”


3I2 GREENSEA. ISLAND
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? Any-
thing I can do for you?”
Sergeant Humphries cleared his throat.
“I'm afraid I come on rather an unpleasant busi-
ness, 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 re-
turned.”
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.”


322 GREENSEA. ISLAND
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 fas-
cinated 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 ask-
ing for trouble. If he felt the least suspicious about


324 GREENSEA. ISLAND
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 every-
thing, 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 philosophi-
cally. “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


GREENSEA ISLAND 327
“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 con-
trived 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 innumer-
able 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 convinc-
ing 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


334 GREENSEA ISLAND
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 de-
tective'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.


336 GREENSEA. ISLAND
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


GREENSEA ISLAND 337
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 sup-
pose 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
2-


338 GREENSEA ISLAND
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 P”
“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 clear-


340 GREENSEA ISLAND
watching the panorama of East London slip by the
carriage window, with Fortnum and Mason's ham-
per 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. Pack-
ing 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 P” 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 doubt-


GREENSEA. ISLAND 34I
fully. “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 un-
common 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


342 GREENSEA. ISLAND
rather an undignified business—barricading oneself
in one's own house in broad daylight—but, as some-
body says in the Bible, “there's a time for every-
thing,” 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 Man-
ning'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


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 situa-
tions 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 iden-
tity 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 re-
connaissance 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
344


GREENSEA ISLAND 347
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 7" I asked.
He nodded his head. “That's a fact,” he an-
swered 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 shrub-
bery, 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 ac-
count 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


348 GREENSEA. ISLAND
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 lock-
ing her in her own room, so that she should have
no possible opportunity of communicating their de-
signs to me.
The one weak point in their otherwise excellent
scheme had been the old French servant. Her af-
fection 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 arrange-
ments. 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 im-
mediately 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.


GREENSEA. ISLAND 349
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 Man-
ning 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 con-
tained in Christine's letter I could hardly have
resisted the temptation of starting out for the land-
ing-stage. Her instructions had been too definite,
however, to admit of any doubt as to their import-
ance, and I felt that it would be madness to run the


350 GREENSEA. ISLAND
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 rustle 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 in-
tently, 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 in-
structions, 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 re-
volver 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


GREENSEA ISLAND 351
had no chance of recovering my balance. The re-
volver 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.”


GREENSEA. ISLAND 353
most mockingly, “Quite a dramatic moment, isn't it,
de Roda P”
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 uninter-
rupted 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, Man-
gº


GREENSEA. ISLAND 355
“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 gloat-
ing 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


356 GREENSEA. ISLAND
no difference to my own fate. Manning would cer-
tainly 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 wait-
ing,” 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 be-
came his chances of escape.
“Go ahead, doctor,” I said cheerfully. “Your
conversation is always stimulating.”
Provoking as my attitude must have been, he man-
aged to control himself admirably.
“In the first place,” he began, “it may amuse you
to learn that the letter which brought you blunder-
ing 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


360 GREENSEA ISLAND
“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 imper-
turbable 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


GREENSEA ISLAND 361
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, turn-
ing 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 with-
out any further remark from either of them the two
men passed out into the darkness.


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 inter-
fere until it was too late.
363


366 GREENSEA. ISLAND
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 involun-
tary 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,


374 GREENSEA. ISLAND
hand in his huge brown fist. “I told Jack he'd got
a prize-packet, and, by God! it's the truth.”
Campbell's greeting was a shade more formal.
“You’re a very gallant young lady, miss, and I’m
proud and honoured to make your acquaint-
ance.”
With shining eyes Christine looked from one to
the other of them.
“I knew that you wouldn't fail us,” she said.
Then, coming towards me, she added eagerly: “But
what are we waiting for? Why don't we start at
once?”
I got up from my chair.
“Christine's right,” I cried. “How about your
launch, Bobby? Has anything gone wrong with
her?”
“Gone wrong with her!” he echoed indignantly.
“Of course it hasn't.”
“Then why were you late?” I demanded.
“I was kept for an hour at that cursed office.
There was some Admiralty business that had to be
attended to.”
Christine turned to him, her face alight with ex-
citement.
“We have still time,” she said. “If we can catch
them up before they get to Holland—”
She was interrupted by Campbell.
“She's talking sense, the young lady,” he ex-
claimed. “They can't be very far ahead of us, and
there's twenty thousand pounds reward if we get the
stones.”
“It's my uncle's life I’m thinking of,” declared
Christine passionately.


376 GREENSEA ISLAND
have you drop that lass, not for a twenty pound
note.”
He produced an electric torch from his pocket,
and switching on the current, led the way out into
the garden. Bobby followed, with Christine on his
back, and, just waiting to close the door, I hur-
ried after them and ranged myself alongside of
Campbell.
There was very little mist left, and the moon,
although occasionally obscured by clouds, was now
shining brightly. We passed through the iron gate
and entered the shrubbery, where I showed them
the broken wire which had been the cause of my
downfall. Then, step by step, we moved cautiously
forward along the winding path, until a glimmer of
light in front of us showed that the trees were com-
ing to an end.
As we emerged on to the saltings Christine slipped
lightly to her feet.
We could see the launch lying out in the tideway,
and a dark figure, silhouetted sharply against the
water, standing on guard over a small dinghy.
“There's Jenkins!” said Bobby, in a relieved
whisper.
At the sound of his voice the sailor wheeled round
quickly; and then, seeing us advancing across the
grass, drew himself up to the salute.
“Anything happened?” enquired Bobby.
“All quiet, sir,” came the curt answer.
“In you get,” continued Bobby, motioning us
towards the dinghy. -
He turned to Jenkins, who was moving away to
unhitch the painter.


378 GREENSEA ISLAND
useful-looking revolvers, and thus equipped I
crawled back to the cockpit.
I found Christine and the Inspector sitting side
by side, apparently on the most friendly terms.
“Here you are, Campbell,” I said, offering him his
choice. “I promised you a bit of shooting, and the
odds are that you'll get it.”
With a significant gesture the detective tapped his
hip.
“Not for me, thank you,” he replied. “If Dr.
Manning wants to argue I've got an old friend here
who'll do all the talking that's necessary.”
Christine stretched out her hand.
“I’ll take the other one,” she announced.
Campbell made an attempt to interfere, but he
was too late to be effective.
“You needn't worry about me,” said Christine
reassuringly. “I know how to use a revolver.”
“I’m not surprised to hear it, miss,” was the
answer. “All the same, if it comes to a shooting
match, the proper place for you is in the cabin.”
“He’s right, Christine,” I added. “For heaven's
sake keep under cover when we run alongside.”
She looked up at me eagerly.
“You think we shall catch them, then?”
“Of course we shall,” I answered. “It’s not likely
that they can do more than twenty, and Bobby can
knock nearly forty out of this old jigger.” I
squeezed her hand comfortingly in the darkness.
“I’m going up forward now to keep a look-out for
them,” I continued. “As soon as you hear me let
off a yell you'll know that they're in sight.”
With surprising tact Campbell turned away his


GEENSEA ISLAND 383
“The doctor will be here in a minute. Hadn't
we better wait?”
“No, no,” I protested. “I must hear what hap-
pened.”
She glanced across at Bobby.
“Very well, then,” she said quietly, “you tell
him.”
“I don't know if Manning saw you fall,” con-
tinued Bobby, “but if so it was the last thing he did
see on this earth. We all fired directly he raised
his hand. He got three bullets, one from Christine,
one from Campbell, and one from me. It will be a
very interesting point as to which of us killed him.”
“And Craill?” I asked.
“You laid Crail out all right. At the present
moment he's in the Pen Mill Police Station nursing
a sick elbow.”
For an instant I hesitated. Christine must have
guessed my unspoken question, for when I looked
up at her her eyes were wet with tears.
“We found my uncle lying dead on the deck,” she
whispered. “Dr. Ross had always told me that any
great shock or excitement—”
Her voice faltered, and, breaking into a pitiful
little sob, she buried her face in her hands.
“My poor darling,” I said hoarsely. “I'd have
given anything in the worl ->
With a brave effort she raised her head and
brushed away the tears which were running down
her cheeks.
“I know,” she said, “I know how you feel. I
can't help crying, it's all so sad and terrible, but even
if it were possible I don't think I would wish him to





THE BIG YEAR
By Meade Minnigerode
Author of “Laughing House,” etc.
You'll find “The Big Year” a
corking college story — and then
some! The breath of youth ripples
through it. It's genuinely alive and
real.
You'll love Jimmie, the very
human little newsboy, and Curly
Corliss, his football-playing hero.
The echoes of Angel Benson's
songs will linger long. And as for
Doris Ramsdell—well, the Senior
Table crowd who called her “the
free-stone peach" were right! And
then there's Dandy Baxter and
Sparrow, and Champ, the bull pup,
who grew up and drank beer.
Also, of course, the Girl in the
Car who ran over Jimmie and—
well, you'll like her best of all.
New York G. P. Putnam's Sons London


The Cruise
of the Scandal
And Other Stories
By
Victor Bridges
Author of “A Rogue by Compulsion,”
“The Lady from Long Acre,” etc.
12°.
Here are more riotous tales of
fantastic adventure, by a past-
master of fiction—amazing stories
told with keen-edged satire—ex-
uberant, humorous, and thrilling.
sº
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York London