"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 something," 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."
There may be stout-hearted people in the world who could resist an
appeal like this, but I am certainly 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 meeting 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 previous 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
itself; 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." Besides,
if I met him now I should probably be unable to resist the desire to
kick him, which would certainly complicate matters to a most
unfortunate extent.
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 dear.
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 appearance.
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, I climbed over and dropped down into the main
road.
I recognised the place instantly. I was within a few yards of the
very identical spot where Ross and I had so nearly run into de Roda,
and I could not help regarding the fact as a favorable omen. Anyhow,
it gave me a sort of renewed faith in my good luck, and, pushing
forward as far as the end of the road, I peered cautiously round the
corner.
It was all I could do to stop shouting out "Tally Ho!" A couple of
hundred yards below me a solitary figure was crossing the village
green, and even at that distance I could see plainly enough that it
was Manning. He was walking rapidly in the opposite direction,
evidently making for the Shalston road, which turned out of the
village just above Mrs. Summers' shop.
I could feel my heart beginning to beat a shade quicker as I stared
down at him. There was already an account between us which I had
every intention of settling up in full, but it was not entirely the
prospect of punching his head that was responsible for my sensations.
I had a steadily growing conviction that for some sinister reason of
his own Dr. Manning was playing a very active part in the mystery
that surrounded me. Everything I knew about the man filled me with
suspicion. Why had he been so anxious to get hold of the island, why
had he tried to put a doubt in my mind with regard to Bascomb's
honesty, and how in the name of goodness did he come to be on
intimate terms with the de Rodas? In spite of his apparent
friendliness I had mistrusted him from the first, and now, as I 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 return
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 receive it, stepped out on
to the causeway. One glimpse of those broad shoulders was all that I
needed. I had crouched down behind them too often in a smother of
North Sea spray to be in any doubt about whom they belonged to. In a
flash the roast duck and Manning and everything else went clean out
of my head, and with a half suppressed whoop of joy I hastened
forward along the roadway.
Jimmy was the only member of the group who noticed my approach. He
looked round just as I set foot on the jetty, but before he could
give the alarm I had marched straight up to Bobby and banged him
heartily on the back.
"Hullo, Robert!" I said. "Fancy meeting you!"
It takes a good deal to surprise Bobby, but for once in a way I
certainly caught him bending. He spun round as if he had been struck
by lightning, and the expression on his face was about the funniest
thing I have ever seen in my life.
"Dryden!" he gasped. "Jack Dryden!"
"That's right," I said. "What a memory you've got for faces."
He seized my hand and crushed it with a vigour that nearly broke my
fingers.
"Good Lord!" he cried. "Where on earth did you spring from? I
thought you were chasing about the Atlantic in a million-ton liner."
"You are quite out of date, Bobby," I said. "I am not a common
sailor any longer. I have given up the sea and become a gentleman."
Grinning all over his face, he took a fresh look, and surveyed me
affectionately from head to foot.
"I don't see any difference," he announced. "You 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."
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 possession of the wheel. The next moment we were backing
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 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."