He spoke in such a frank and good-humoured fashion that once again I was sorely tempted to make a clean breast of my difficulties. I stuck to my resolve, however, for the thought of Christine as the central figure in some public scandal was too utterly repugnant to be considered. At the same time I felt that in the case of Inspector Campbell a certain measure of honesty would undoubtedly be the best policy.
"As a matter of fact," I said, looking him straight in the face, "I've come here to ask you for your help."
He nodded his head.
"I thought you might," he said. "That was one reason why I gave you my address."
"The trouble is this," I went on bluntly. "I want you to do something for me, but for certain reasons which I can't explain it's quite impossible for me to answer any questions. I know it sounds pretty rotten, so I shan't be the least surprised or offended if you tell me to go to the devil."
He smiled genially. "That's the last thing I should do, Mr. Dryden. There's no sense in encouraging a rival firm." He paused. "You know your own business best, of course, but if there's any particular way in which I can be of assistance you can count on me from this minute."
"Well, there is," I confessed. "You remember a chap called Dr. Manning—the fellow who looked after my uncle when he was dying?"
Once again the Inspector nodded. "Yes," he answered. "I remember him very distinctly. He lived on a barge about three hundred yards above the island."
"That's the gentleman," I said. "He's living there still; in fact, to all intents and purposes he's my next-door neighbour. What I want you to do, if you can possibly spare the time, is to get me a little accurate information about his past life."
If my companion felt any surprise or curiosity he certainly didn't show it.