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...

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 off

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

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 ta

I am a pretty good swimmer as people go, but when one is fully clothed and three parts dazed, a sudden plunge into a dirty dock is apt to prove a trifle disconcerting. I went under completely, and, although I struck out at once with the blind instinct of self-preservation, it was several moments before I managed to struggle back to the surface. Fortunately for me my hat had come off in the fall, and, treading water with frantic energy, I was able to take a hasty survey of my position. Everything

"By Jove!" exclaimed Ross enviously. "You are a lucky ruffian!" We had halted the car at the top of a gently rising slope, and there, stretched out below us, lay the shining expanse of the Danewell Estuary. For a couple of miles in either direction a winding belt of silver gleamed and sparkled in the bright morning sunshine. On the left it narrowed gradually towards the small tidal haven of Barham Lock, from which point one could just trace the placid course of the river Shell, meandering along

I helped myself to a glass of port, and, sitting back in my big arm-chair, looked contentedly round the dining-room. It was the third evening I had spent in my new quarters, and the refreshing air of novelty had not yet quite worn off. So far things had been moving with admirable smoothness. I had come down on the Thursday following my first visit, and I had been happily surprised at the improvements which Bascomb had effected in the interval. He must have worked hard, for the house was as neat

"I think I shall go over to Pen Mill this morning," I said. Bascomb, who was clearing away the breakfast things, paused in the middle of his operations. "Will you be back to lunch, sir?" he enquired. "I got a nice duck I was thinkin' o' cookin'." "In that case," I said, "I shall certainly be back. Better make it one-thirty though, and then we shan't run the risk of spoiling it." "Very good, sir," he replied, picking up the tray. "I'll 'ave it ready for yer, and I reckon you'll find it'll be all

It was in circumstances such as these that the late Mr. Sherlock Holmes always aroused my keenest admiration. No matter how puzzling the situation might be, he invariably knew what was the right line to take and exactly how to set about it. I suppose he must have been blessed with some inner sense which is denied to lesser mortals, for I know that in my own case no sudden inspiration came to help me. I just stood there gazing at the inscription with a kind of vague satisfaction, and wondering wh

It cannot be said that Bascomb received the news of my expected guest with anything resembling enthusiasm. I broached the subject while he was clearing away the dinner things, and for a moment he stood at the table without replying—a study in sullen disapproval. "Well, you knows your own business best, sir," he observed at last. "If you wants to 'ave 'im 'ere you must 'ave 'im 'ere, an' that's all there is to it." "I am not asking him for the charm of his society, Bascomb," I said. "The fact is,

I have an idea that Bascomb's reply was intended to be ironical, but it certainly summed up the tableau that met my eyes as I came down the staircase. Lolling back in an easy chair, with his legs crossed and looking supremely at home, was the neatly dressed figure of Dr. Manning. Satan was standing on the hearthrug a few feet away. Every muscle in his great body was tense and rigid, and his whole soul seemed to be concentrated in the stare of watchful suspicion with which he was surveying the in

"Just gorn 'aff-past eight, sir." I opened my eyes with some resentment, and found Bascomb standing beside me, a cup of tea in his hand. I blinked at him for a moment and then sat up in bed. "Might it be you as got up in the night and let Satan in?" he enquired surlily. For a second I hesitated, wondering how much he knew. "Were you awake?" I asked. He shook his head. "No, I didn't 'ear nothin', but when I come through this mornin', danged if 'e wasn't sitting there on the mat." He placed the cu

For several seconds I remained still, without speaking. The wave of grief and anger that swept through me left me sick and shaken; I could only stand there with clenched hands waiting until I could control my voice. "Who did it, Bascomb?" I said at last. He came up to me, and, bad as I felt myself, I was almost shocked by the sight of his face. It was like a horrible grey mask, twisted and distorted with passion. "Who d'yer think?" he demanded hoarsely. "There's only one devil in the world who'd

I found Christine standing on the deck at the head of the companion-way. She looked terribly pale, and as I approached she started towards me with a little sob of relief. "Oh, thank God!" she whispered. "Thank God you're safe!" She took my hands, and a low cry escaped her at the sight of their scarred and bleeding knuckles. "It's nothing, darling," I said reassuringly. "That's only a little blood from Manning's nose. He's got plenty left to go on with." With something between a laugh and another

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 i

Although I was half prepared for what he said, the announcement left me momentarily dumb. "Dead!" I repeated at last. "Bascomb dead! How in God's name was he killed?" The Sergeant looked at me with a certain sympathy in his stolid features. "We reckon he must have run into the jetty in the fog last night, and upset his boat. As like as not he stunned himself at the same time; anyhow, he was found lying on the mud this morning with a gash in his head that you could shove a couple of fingers into.

By a great effort of will I remained exactly as I was. I had to decide what to do, and I had to decide in a hurry, but it was obviously one of those situations in which one could not afford to make the least mistake. If I called out, the answer, for all I knew, might take the shape of a Mills bomb. On the other hand, if I kept silent, how could I discover the identity of my visitor? Tap, tap, tap. Once again came the mysterious summons—this time more imperative than before. As the last knock die

SILENCE! Silence so complete that I could almost hear the beating of my own heart as I stared across the room at the little cone of flame which burned away steadily amongst the tumbled pile of newspapers. Five minutes had passed since Manning had left me—five ghastly, interminable minutes that had seared themselves for ever into the very fibre of my being. Twice I had tried to close my eyes, but on each occasion the hideous fascination of that ever-shortening stump of candle had proved far stron