"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 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 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 b&
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 fills me with terrible fear for your
safety. If I knew what it was I would tell you; I believe it
must be connected with Dr. Manning's visit to the island, but
that is only what I think, and I may be wrong.
"I am _absolutely sure_, however, that at any moment you may be
in the greatest possible danger. Please don't think that I am
silly or fanciful in writing to you like this. You must know by
now the kind of people you have to deal with, and surely you will
understand that I shouldn't have sent you this second warning
without some very real and serious reason for it.
"Whatever happens, don't under any circumstances allow yourself
to be alone on the island. I believe that your man Bascomb is
honest, but it would be better if you were to have your naval
friend with you as well. _Above all, be careful of Dr. Manning_.
Pay no attention to any suggestion he makes, and mistrust
everything he says or does.
"If there is any further way in which I can help you I will do
so. Should you want to send me a message, give it to the boy at
the inn. My uncle has gone away for two days, so I shall have no
difficulty in getting down to the quay in the evening.
"You are not to worry about me. I am in no danger myself, and I
implore you to think only of your own safety.
"CHRISTINE DE RODA."
I read it hurriedly to the end, and then with a strange pleasure I
turned back and went through it a 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 seriously 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 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 unpleasant 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 operations, 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 communication 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 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 uncommonly 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."
He spoke as though the prospect of being continually 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, stepping 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 boathouse, where, by gently
coaxing the rusty lock, I managed to open the door without making any
unnecessary 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 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 approaching 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 circumstance 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 pulling 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. Notwithstanding my fears, Christine might be in no need of
my assistance, and if that were the case my sudden appearance on the
scene would be about the most embarrassing ordeal I could possible
inflict on her. This was an unfortunate fact that had to be faced,
however; the only question was how to make certain that she was safe
without giving away the whole affair.
My strongest card was the one which had been thoughtfully provided by
Manning himself. His last words had been a pressing invitation that
I would come and see him on the barge as soon as I got back from
London, and he could hardly blame me if I happened to select a
particularly awkward moment for calling. Much as he might object to
my visit, he would find it uncommonly difficult to invent any
reasonable excuse for not asking me on board.
What I chiefly dreaded was the possibility that Christine might
betray herself before she could recover from her surprise. In that
event any further pretence on my part would be useless; Manning would
at once guess the truth, or something very near it, and what the
consequences might be God alone knew. Was I asking too much in
making such a demand upon a girl's courage and coolness? It was a
trial from which very few people would emerge successfully, but then
I had had ample proof in Leixoes harbour that Christine's nerve was
of no ordinary quality. Her self-possession on that occasion had
been truly delightful, and though she would now be up against a much
more severe test I had a kind of inward conviction that I could still
depend upon her. Anyhow, there was no way of 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
getting 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 head, and, gliding round the big blunt bow, I
came quietly alongside an empty dinghy which was bobbing about on its
painter at the foot of the accommodation 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 provide
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 appearance. 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 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, revealing 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 confused 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 considerably 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 debris 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
herself, he was pressing fierce kisses upon her face and neck.
Beside them on the carpet sprawled an overturned tea-table, with one
leg sticking up grotesquely in the air.
I had only the briefest glimpse of what was happening, 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 unexpected 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, Manning," 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 unfortunate time," he replied.
"If you would care to come back in half an hour I should be charmed.
At present 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 dangerously.
"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 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."