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 watchful 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 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.
"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 unexpected 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 Manning. "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 of his way to make himself civil when I was
here looking after your uncle. I expect it's my profession 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, and by the
time we were again alone the conversation had wandered off into a
different channel.
Whatever one's personal feelings towards Manning 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 suggestion that we should
move into the hall. Manning had declined a cigar, saying that he
preferred to stick to his Egyptian cigarettes, so, taking the whisky
and liqueurs with us, we established ourselves 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 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 improvement 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 encouraging 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 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 reserved 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."
He launched out into an interesting description of the craft in
question, bringing in several stories about local regattas, all of
which he related with point and humour. As far as I was concerned he
could hardly have pitched upon a more congenial topic. Although I
have never been able to indulge in it to any great extent, small boat
sailing has always been a particular hobby of mine, and a very few
minutes were enough to convince me that I was listening to a man who
was an expert at the game. Lying back lazily in his chair, and
smoking cigarette after cigarette, he continued to hold forth in such
an entertaining fashion that I paid little or no attention to the
time. Indeed, it was quite a surprise to me when I suddenly heard
Bascomb shutting and bolting the back door, and, glancing at my
watch, found that it was nearly half-past ten.
Manning, who had copied my action, sat up and stretched his arms.
"If it's all the same to you, Dryden," he said, "I think I'll turn
in. The fact is I've had rather a strenuous day. I have been
painting and overhauling gear ever since six o'clock this morning."
"Well, you deserve a good night's rest," I said, getting up from my
chair. "Stop in bed as long as you feel like it; we have breakfast
here any time it's convenient."
"You won't be too early for me," he returned. "I was never much of a
hand at sleeping, and as a rule the more tired I am the sooner I wake
up."
I poured out a generous tot of whisky, into which I splashed about
the same amount of soda.
"That's my prescription," I said "Take it to your room and drink it
off as soon as you get into bed. If you don't sleep then there must
be something seriously wrong with you."
He accepted the tumbler with a laugh, and, having lit two candles,
which Bascomb had placed upon a side table, I accompanied him up the
staircase.
"What happens to our friend Satan?" he asked, as we paused for a
moment at his door. "Do you still turn him out in that hard-hearted
way your uncle used to?"
"Just the same," I answered. "He has got so accustomed to prowling
about at night, I don't suppose he would be happy in the house.
Besides," I added, "he's a useful guard against poachers and chicken
thieves."
Manning put down his candle on the corner of the chest of drawers.
"Yes," he remarked drily, "I shouldn't think that strolling round the
island in the dark was a very healthy form of amusement. At least I
should be precious sorry to try anything of the sort myself." He
held out his hand, which I again accepted with the same inward
reluctance.
"Good night," I said. "Don't forget to take my prescription. I will
give you a look up in the morning and see how it's worked."
I retraced my steps to the hall, where I latched the windows and
fastened the front door. I was just taking a final look round when
Bascomb came in from the back regions.
"What have you done with Satan?" I asked him.
"Let 'im out," was the answer, "same as ye told me to. I can fetch
'im in again easy enough if you'd rather 'ave 'im in the 'ouse."
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 standing.
"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 feelings
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 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 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 blackness 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
constantly 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 of bed. A glance
at my watch on the table beside me showed me that it was close on
half-past four--a time at which no respectable passage board has any
right to indulge in such antics. My long vigil had not been useless,
and, standing there in bare feet and pyjamas, I felt that pleasant
glow of rewarded virtue which comes occasionally to the least
deserving of us.
I made no attempt to rush things, however. Looking round the room,
my eyes fell on the poker, which was leaning up invitingly alongside
the fireplace. It struck me as being a nice, companionable sort of
object, and, having tiptoed across the room and taken possession of
it, I returned in the same stealthy fashion to the door.
With my hand on the knob I again paused to listen. My ears are
pretty sharp, and, although extreme care was evidently being taken
over the performance, I felt absolutely certain that somebody was
descending the staircase.
Very gently I turned back the handle. It yielded to my pressure
without making the slightest noise; and then, opening the door inch
by inch until the gap was just wide enough, I stepped out warily into
the passage.
A quick glance up and down showed me nothing more exciting than
Manning's boots. They were standing neatly on the mat outside his
room, where he had evidently deposited them before getting into bed.
Somehow or other this tidiness of his filled me with an increased
respect for him, and, taking a still firmer grip on the poker, I set
off noiselessly for the head of the stairs.
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 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 remaining steps as I spoke, and walked
across the carpet 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
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 off him then and there. The feeling that I
might be running Christine into danger still kept me in check,
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.