We took our places at the table, and, having served us with soup, Bascomb noiselessly withdrew, closing the door behind him.
"How are you getting on with that fellow of yours?" enquired Manning, after a moment's silence.
"Oh, well enough," I said, pushing him across the sherry. "He's a queer, surly sort of beggar, but he looks after me all right, and so far I haven't caught him pawning any of the family silver."
My companion laughed easily and helped himself to the wine.
"I daresay I'm prejudiced against him," he observed. "The fact is, he didn't exactly go out of his way to make himself civil when I was here looking after your uncle. I expect it's my profession that's responsible. Like most ignorant people, he is probably convinced that all doctors are secret poisoners."
"I think he objects to strangers on principle," I replied. "My uncle evidently suffered from the same disease, and as likely as not they infected each other."
"Agoraphobia," said Manning, smiling. "Well, I shouldn't wonder if you're right. It's a fairly common complaint, and Mr. Jannaway certainly seems to have been a typical case." He paused. "By the way," he added carelessly, "have you managed to find out anything more about him?"
I shook my head. "Not a thing," I said, "except the fact that he had a very sound taste in drink."
It may have been my imagination, but I thought I could detect the faintest possible expression of relief flicker across my companion's face.
"Greensea Island's a curious place for a man of his age to come and settle down in," he continued. "I have often wondered what brought him to this part of the world."