GREENSEA ISLAND

A MYSTERY OF THE ESSEX COAST

BY

VICTOR BRIDGES

AUTHOR OF "A ROGUE BY COMPULSION,"
"THE CRUISE OF THE SCANDAL," ETC.

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
1922

Copyright, 1921
by
Victor Bridges

Made in the United States of America

To
MARGARET

GREENSEA ISLAND

CHAPTER ONE

I was leaning over the starboard railing, waiting for a boat, when Ross, the ship's doctor, came sauntering 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 expecting 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."

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 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. A minute later we were moving rapidly across the harbour towards the long stone jetty.

All the way in, despite the chatting of my companions, 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 Señor 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 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 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 afternoons 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 attitude 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 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 mediæval 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 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 kindness 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, including 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. 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 understand 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 shameless 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!"

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 expression, 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, handicapped 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.

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 impression 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 company, 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.

"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 appeared 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 summoned 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.

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 arm.

"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.

"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 standing 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.

"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 Newfoundland 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 instructions, 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 said, in a delightfully tranquil voice. "In future I shall attach more importance to first impressions."

"I hope you didn't mind," I answered apologetically. "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 objection 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 exclaimed. "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 hesitation, 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 atmosphere. If anybody imagines they saw anything, I shall let them know that they were making a mistake."

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 recognised 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 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. 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 Señor de Roda, for she continued a little hastily: "You mustn't imagine that he is unkind or disagreeable. 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."

"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 put 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 returned. "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 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 dropping 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 Señor 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 de Roda in the tram coming down from Oporto. There wasn't much time for private enquiry work, even if I had felt like it."

"You didn't do so badly," returned Ross, wagging his head. "There is nothing women like so much as a little display of primitive brutality. It's just your luck to have had the chance. That sort of thing never comes my way." He finished his drink and put down the tumbler. "Aren't you going to open your wire?" he asked. "There it is on the table."

"By Jove!" I exclaimed. "I'd forgotten all about it."

I crossed the cabin, and, slitting the flap of the little blue envelope, pulled out the flimsy sheet of paper inside. It was headed "London, May 26th," and underneath was the following message:

"Regret inform you your uncle, Richard Jannaway, died 17th inst. As next of kin you inherit. Please call 117 Bedford Row as soon as you reach England.—Wilmot and Drayton, solicitors."

For several seconds I stood there contemplating this document, in such complete surprise that at last Ross got up a little anxiously from where he was sitting.

"Nothing wrong, I hope?" he asked.

Without a word I handed him the slip, and he in turn read through its contents.

"My sainted aunt!" he exclaimed. "Have you come into a fortune or what?"

"I haven't the faintest notion," I said.

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."

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 stimulating 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 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 determined. When one is twenty-six, and as fit as a fiddle, the world contains so many delightful openings, 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 ordinary cheerful commonplaces suitable to the situation—but once more I seemed to catch that faint, tantalising atmosphere of reserve and mystery 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 contentment 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 expressionless face of the first officer was wreathed in a 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 looking 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 somebody else." I paused. "How is Señor de Roda this morning?" I asked. "I hope he hasn't heard anything about our adventures in the harbour?"

She shook her head. "Not a word apparently. 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 information 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. "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?"

By a tremendous effort of will she managed to pull herself together.

"It's nothing," she answered, with amazing coolness. "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——"

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 regained 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."

"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 companion, 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 abruptness, 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 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, therefore, convinced that it must have taken some very real and urgent sense of danger to upset so completely 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 possible 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 suggested 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 tatter's history.

The most likely people to be able to gratify this curiosity appeared to be Messrs. Wilmot and Drayton. 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 conversation 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 certain 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.

It is one thing to come to a sound decision, however, and quite another to get the chance of carrying 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 unnecessarily 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.

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 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 me.

"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 excitement which always accompanies the process of coming 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 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 passengers, 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 business 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 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 consideration 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 stoppages. At last, however, we managed to worm a passage across Holborn, and a few minutes later we 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 respectability. 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 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 staircase 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, beginning 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 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.

"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. "Anybody 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 happened 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 Bascomb—a professional boxer. Bascomb had had a fight in the street with another fellow, whom he accused of cheating him, and, according to the doctor'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 Bascomb'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 employment 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. Jannaway, so far as you are concerned, began last 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 November 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 implanted 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 practice. To find a life-long wish like this suddenly and unexpectedly gratified was such a startling experience 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 remotest notion. There is nothing on the island except the house, and even at low water it's cut off completely 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.