Once more Manning's predictions about a sudden change in the weather came back to my memory. If it were like this in London, the odds were that Greensea Island would be wrapped in a regular sea fog, which I knew from experience might last for several days. However, I consoled myself with the comforting reflection that it would save me a deal of hard work with the watering can, and that, after all, I was no longer compelled to tramp up and down a dripping bridge with a miniature trout stream trickling down the back of my neck.
I had made up my mind to go back by the mid-day train, which gets into Torrington somewhere about two o'clock. There were several things I still wanted to buy, and, now that I was actually in town, it seemed a pity to waste such a favourable opportunity. I had no wish to get soaked through, however, so on my way down to the dining-room I gave the hall porter a sovereign and told him to go out and buy me an umbrella. He returned with a sporting-looking affair, the handle of which terminated in a bull-dog's head. Though a trifle spectacular, it was a sound article for the money, and, armed with this and my cheque book, I set off after breakfast, pleasantly determined to make a good opening in Uncle Richard's life savings.
As intentions go, it must be admitted that I was fairly successful. In addition to half a dozen things I bought for myself, I discovered in a Bond Street jeweller's a perfectly charming little emerald pendant, which struck me at once as having been obviously designed for Christine. Under the circumstances twenty-five pounds seemed to be a ridiculously cheap price, but I felt that it was unnecessary to point this out to the shopman, who appeared quite satisfied with the transaction.
Returning to the hotel with my purchases, I made an early but excellent lunch off cold duck and salad, and at a quarter to one I was steaming out through the damp squalor of East London, comfortably established in the corner seat of a first-class smoker.
It was a cheerless journey, for all the way down a driving rain beat incessantly upon the windows, and most of the landscape was blotted out by drifting clouds of mist.
At Torrington things were not much better. It was not actually raining, but the little cobble-paved market-place reeked with wet, and a depressing air of forlorn moisture brooded over the entire place.
Packing myself and my belongings into a solitary growler which was standing in the gutter, I instructed the man to take me as far as the Gunner's Arms. We plodded off, and, after half an hour's drive between dripping hedgerows, came out at last over the brow of the long slope that overlooks the estuary. I lowered the sash, and, putting my head out of the window, inspected the prospect. Down below, the roof of the inn was just visible, but the harbour itself and everything beyond was hidden under a pall of fog, which stretched like a grey shroud over the whole length of the estuary. There was something singularly sinister and desolate about the whole scene, and for a moment I felt a pang of regret for the comfortable billiard-room which I had so recently quitted.
We came to a halt on the quay in front of the inn, deserted for once by its usual sprinkling of boatmen and barge hands. Our arrival had been observed, however, for scarcely had we pulled up when I saw the small figure of Jimmy emerge from the stable door and come hurrying down the yard towards us. He touched his damp curls with a cheerful grin of welcome.
"I reckoned it was you, guv'nor," he remarked "You ain't bin away long, an' that's a fact."
"Quite long enough, Jimmy," I returned. "At all events, you've had time to mess up the weather."