The only practical point which I did manage to grasp was the important fact that I must get away without being seen. As far as anyone in the house was concerned this feat appeared to be simplicity itself; the danger was that I might run into Manning. I was still very much in the dark about his relations with Christine, but, whatever they were, it would be fatal to let him suppose that I had been hanging about in the neighbourhood of "The Laurels." Besides, if I met him now I should probably be unable to resist the desire to kick him, which would certainly complicate matters to a most unfortunate extent.
Under the circumstances, it seemed to me that my best plan was to work my way round the hedge, and get out into the main road at the top of the hill. This would allow Manning a comfortable start, and it would also give me the additional advantage of being able to see whether the coast was dear.
Bending well forward, and making as little noise as possible, I set out on my journey. At the first corner I came across one of those small ponds which are a usual feature in most Essex fields. I pulled up for a moment, and, stooping down over the edge, had a good look at myself in the water. It was no wonder Christine had been startled when she saw my face. The whole of my right cheek was covered with blood, and, though the cause was nothing worse than a superficial scratch, I must have been a pretty ghastly object to bob up suddenly from behind a hedge.
Fortunately my collar was still undamaged, and with the aid of a wet handkerchief I soon managed to remove most of the gore. Even then I looked rather as if I had been fighting with a cat, but, after all, I intended to go straight back to the island, and there would only be Bascomb to criticise my appearance.
Keeping the handkerchief pressed to my cheek, I continued my journey up the hill. I had had quite enough of scrambling through blackberry bushes, and it was therefore with some satisfaction that, as I drew near the top, I noticed a gate leading out of the fields. I approached it with some care, and, after making certain that there was no one in sight, I climbed over and dropped down into the main road.
I recognised the place instantly. I was within a few yards of the very identical spot where Ross and I had so nearly run into de Roda, and I could not help regarding the fact as a favorable omen. Anyhow, it gave me a sort of renewed faith in my good luck, and, pushing forward as far as the end of the road, I peered cautiously round the corner.
It was all I could do to stop shouting out "Tally Ho!" A couple of hundred yards below me a solitary figure was crossing the village green, and even at that distance I could see plainly enough that it was Manning. He was walking rapidly in the opposite direction, evidently making for the Shalston road, which turned out of the village just above Mrs. Summers' shop.
I could feel my heart beginning to beat a shade quicker as I stared down at him. There was already an account between us which I had every intention of settling up in full, but it was not entirely the prospect of punching his head that was responsible for my sensations. I had a steadily growing conviction that for some sinister reason of his own Dr. Manning was playing a very active part in the mystery that surrounded me. Everything I knew about the man filled me with suspicion. Why had he been so anxious to get hold of the island, why had he tried to put a doubt in my mind with regard to Bascomb's honesty, and how in the name of goodness did he come to be on intimate terms with the de Rodas? In spite of his apparent friendliness I had mistrusted him from the first, and now, as I stood there gazing after his retreating figure, I felt more certain than ever that my original instinct had been absolutely sound.
I watched him until he reached the opposite side of the green, where he crossed over and disappeared down the Shalston turning. I waited for a moment, so as to make quite sure that he had really gone; and then, with a rather bleak feeling of reaction, I stepped forward from my hiding-place. It seemed to me that my adventures for the day were over. There was a painfully unenterprising air about Pen Mill, as it lay stretched out below me in the warm spring sunshine. Down in the estuary a small motor-boat was making its way rapidly towards the jetty, but otherwise the whole place was lapped in the same atmosphere of restful tranquillity as when I had landed earlier in the morning.
It was at this opportune moment that I suddenly remembered the roast duck. All my interest in life came back with a rush, and, pulling out my watch, I discovered that it was nearly a quarter to one. A brief calculation showed me that by the time I had got out my dinghy and rowed over to the island, Bascomb's masterpiece ought to be just about ready. To keep it waiting would be a very ungracious return for the trouble that he had taken, and, stimulated by this thought, I started off briskly down the hill.