It was in a far from enviable state of mind that I pulled back alone
across the estuary after parting with Christine at Pen Mill.
By her own wish I had landed her at the extreme point of the jetty,
where, with a whispered farewell, she had climbed ashore and
disappeared silently into the mist, leaving me the prey of all sorts
of conflicting emotions.
My chief feeling was one of anger with myself for not having
prevented her from carrying out her reckless determination. How I
could have done so it was difficult to see, but if there was any
comfort to be drawn from that fact I certainly failed to discover it.
Once more she was beyond the reach of my help, and, in spite of all
her efforts to make light of the danger, I knew that the horrible
misgivings which assailed my heart were only too well grounded.
Locking up the dinghy in its shed, I made my way back through the
shrubbery and let myself into the house. A good fire was still
burning away brightly on the hearth, and our teacups and plates were
scattered about the table just as we had left them. I thought of
ringing for Bascomb and telling him to clear away, but a sudden
disinclination to see anyone checked my purpose. I walked across to
the fireplace, 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 American 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 homicidal 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 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
Inspector 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 being a little difficult to account for. I was no
longer troubled by this apparent problem. My heart thrilled with a
strange, inexpressible happiness, which not even my anxiety for
Christine's safety was able to destroy. Everything which had been
missing in life seemed suddenly to have come to me, and, almost
forgetting the danger in which we still stood, I allowed my fancies
to drift out into that golden future where lovers have wandered from
the very dawn of time.
How long I lay there day-dreaming I really cannot say. I know that I
was brought back to earth by the fall of a burned-out log, and,
looking up at the clock, I saw to my surprise that the time was close
on a quarter to seven. It struck me as curious that Bascomb had not
yet been in to clear away the tea things, for such an oversight was
altogether contrary to his usual methodical habits. Wondering what
he was doing, I roused myself out of my chair and crossed the hall to
the baize door. I called his name twice, and then, as he failed to
answer, I walked along the passage as far as the kitchen. There was
no sign of him there, nor did my investigations in the scullery and
pantry produce any better result.
With a vague feeling of uneasiness I made my way to the back
entrance, which I found unlocked, and stepped out into the garden.
"Bascomb!" I shouted. "Bascomb!"
Once more a complete silence was my only reply.
Puzzled, and not a little upset, I stood peering out into the fog,
which still shrouded everything in impenetrable gloom. Unless he had
gone down to 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 boathouse 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 Bascomb must be inside, I walked towards it with a
considerable 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 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 sensation of aggrieved astonishment with which I remained there
gazing round the deserted shed.
Being eventually struck by the futility of my proceedings, 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 conclusion 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 sudden a startling
but far from impossible idea suggested itself. Supposing he had gone
to the barge! Supposing that, in his mad fury at the death of 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 succession 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 superstitious. 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 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 somewhat 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 moment. 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 deliberately to wait
upon events.
For the best part of an hour I maintained my solitary vigil, the only
interruption being the chiming 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.
A tour of inspection to the larder resulted in the discovery of half
a cold chicken which had apparently been left over from my last meal.
In addition to this I also succeeded in routing out a stale loaf and
a promising-looking Cheddar cheese. Though not quite up to my usual
standard, it was a good enough banquet for a really hungry man, so
without bothering about a table-cloth or any other superfluous
details, I carried the whole lot back to the hall, and settled down
to repair my wasted energies.
By the time I had finished nine o'clock had already struck. Except
for the flickering gleam of the fire I should long ago have been in
complete darkness, and, feeling that a little extra illumination
would not be amiss, I got up to light the lamp. Before doing so,
however, I took the precaution of closing the shutters. In the
absence of Satan anyone could steal up to the verandah without being
detected, and it would be a sideways sort of ending to be shot
through the window just when my affairs seemed to be approaching a
really interesting climax.
Having guarded against the possibility of this disaster, I proceeded
to make myself comfortable for the evening. Tired as I was, I had no
intention of going to bed as long as there was any reasonable chance
of Bascomb's return. Even if I did so, I should certainly be unable
to sleep, and I should probably have the additional joy of being
hauled out in the middle of the night in order to unbolt the door and
let him into the house.
So, providing myself with one of Uncle Richard's biggest cigars, I
refilled my glass again, and wheeled the sofa round in front of the
fire. Then, taking Manning's revolver out of my pocket, I laid it
carefully on the table beside my tumbler. Although its original
owner might still be too indisposed to threaten any immediate danger,
there were always Craill and de Roda to be considered. Either of
them might take it into his head to pay me a surprise call, and,
mentally afflicted as I believed them both to be, they were the sort
of visitors for whom it was just as well to be fully prepared.
The warmth and stillness of the room soon began to affect me with
such a pleasant sense of drowsiness that I found some difficulty in
keeping myself awake. In order to assist in the process, I started
going over again in my own mind the whole tangled skein of events
which had led up to the present crisis. It was an interesting
exercise, and, apart from that, it served a double purpose. I was
determined to make a clean breast of everything to Bobby the next
morning, and, if his advice was to be of any value, it was highly
essential that the version I gave him should be an absolutely correct
and unprejudiced one.
Ten, eleven, and twelve all struck in turn, but outside the house the
silence of the night remained unbroken by the faintest sound or
movement. Towards one o'clock my desire for sleep became positively
overwhelming. By this time any hope I had ever had of Bascomb's
putting in an appearance had practically ceased to exist, and it
seemed worse than useless to tire myself out to no purpose just when
I might need every ounce of energy and intelligence that I could
possibly rake together.
I debated for a moment as to whether I should go upstairs and get
into bed. The prospect had its attractions, but, on the other hand,
I felt extremely comfortable where I was, and from a strategic point
of view the position could hardly be improved upon. As long as I
remained in the hall no one could break into the house without waking
me. If I were fast asleep upstairs in my bedroom the odds would be
altogether in favour of the visitor, and since the safety of my
throat appeared to be the stake at issue, this consideration was
quite enough to turn the scale.
By an heroic effort I roused myself sufficiently to make a final
inspection of the back premises, in order to be quite certain that
all the window fastenings were properly hasped. Satisfied on this
point I returned to my couch, and, taking off my collar and tie (the
only form of undressing that I attempted), I dropped back on to the
cushions with a little grunt of contentment. I just remember seeing
the gleam of the lamp reflected on Manning's revolver, and then, as
far as I was concerned, that weapon and all the remaining troubles of
life were suddenly and completely blotted out of existence.
When I woke up again it was to find myself in semi-darkness. The
lamp had gone out, and the only light there was filtered in dimly
through the cracks in the shutters. Everything looked very cold and
depressing and for a minute or two I lay there staring vaguely round
the room, and wondering how long I had been asleep.
At last, with considerable reluctance, I sat up and pulled out my
watch.
I expected the time to be between six and seven, but to my utter
amazement the hands, which were just visible pointed distinctly to a
quarter past ten. I thought at first that the damned thing must have
stopped, but on putting it to my ear I found that it was ticking away
merrily.
Thoroughly roused now, I scrambled to my feet, and, crossing to the
window, unbolted one of the shutters. As I threw it back a flood of
daylight poured into the room, and an instinctive glance up at the
clock merely helped to confirm the previous verdict.
Under the circumstances the fact that I had managed to oversleep
myself was not without its comic side. It was the sort of thing that
would tickle Bobby immensely, but, as far as I was concerned, there
were too many other pressing considerations to give my own sense of
humour a sporting chance.
Opening the window, I stepped out on to the verandah. Though still
leaving a good deal to be desired, the weather had actually improved
during the night. In place of the fog there was now only a thin
drifting mist, which barely obscured the opposite trees. One or two
birds were chirping away in the shrubbery, while overhead a
lemon-coloured, watery-looking sun was striving bravely to make its
belated appearance.
Slightly cheered by these discoveries, I walked back into the hall.
Unless things were very much worse out at sea there was nothing to
prevent Bobby from running down the coast in his motor-launch. It
would be necessary for him to go a bit carefully, of course. Even
under such conditions, however, the passage was a comparatively short
one, and, provided he had been able to get away in good time, any
moment might bring him to the island.
Knowing Robert, it seemed to me that the sooner I fixed up something
in the way of breakfast the better. He would probably have contented
himself with a cup of coffee before starting, and I could hardly
expect him to listen intelligently to a long story until he had
backed it up with a little solid nourishment.
As a first step towards this desired end I set about lighting the
fire. It proved an evasive job, but, having at last persuaded it to
burn, I opened the remainder of the shutters and carted away the
debris of my previous night's feast. Leaving this on the kitchen
table, I prowled off once more to the larder, where I had noticed a
basin of eggs during my former investigations.
Heaven knew how long they had been there, but it was no time for
indulging in any false delicacy. I brought them into the hall,
together with a pot of marmalade and what was left of the bread and
butter, and then, after laying the table and putting on a kettle to
boil, I began to think with some favour of a well-earned wash and
shave.
I had actually reached the foot of the staircase when a sound from
outside pulled me up short. It was the unmistakable clang of the
garden gate, and, hurrying towards the verandah, I saw to my delight
a sturdy figure in naval uniform advancing across the grass.
With a joyous shout I flung back the window and stepped forward to
meet him.
"This is splendid, Bobby," I said. "You're just in time for
breakfast."
He came up to me, grinning cheerfully, and wrung my hand in a
double-fisted grip.
"I'm glad to hear it, my lad," he said, "and I'm still more glad to
see you looking so devilish well. After your alarming note I
expected to find nothing but a nasty mess on the carpet."
"You were always an optimist," I remarked. "Come along inside and
make yourself useful. You can attend to the tea while I run upstairs
and have a wash and shave."
He followed me over the threshold, and, tossing his cap on to the
sofa, established himself in a comfortable position in front of the
fire.
"Where's that sunny-faced butler of yours?" he enquired. "Doesn't he
like early rising?"
"For the time being," I replied, "Bascomb is off the map. You shall
hear everything if you'll wait a minute, but it's a long yarn, and I
don't want to start telling you in bits and pieces."
"Right you are," he drawled. "You bung along off and wash your face.
I'll look after the kettle and answer the front door."
Leaving him in the act of lighting a cigarette, I retired upstairs to
the bathroom, where with the aid of a cold swill and a hasty shave I
managed to make myself a little more presentable.
I got back to the hall just in time to catch Bobby emerging through
the baize door with a saucepan in his hand.
"You must excuse the liberty," he remarked, "but I couldn't find
anything to boil the eggs in."
"I am afraid we are a trifle disorganized," I confessed. "The fact
is we have had a lot of trouble in the family in the last twenty-four
hours." I paused. "By the way," I added, "what have you done with
your crew? I suppose you didn't come down here single handed?"
"I brought one chap with me," was the reply. "I left him on board
down at the landing-stage. He's all right. He'll sit there on his
little behind until further orders."