The first thing I did on getting inside was to lock the front door and close up all the shutters. It was rather an undignified business—barricading oneself in one's own house in broad daylight—but, as somebody says in the Bible, "there's a time for everything," and it seemed to me that this was the right occasion for a little judicious cowardice.
Having secured my defences, my next step was to unpack the hamper. I arranged its contents in a tempting array on the empty shelves of the larder, and then, after boiling a kettle and making myself a cup of tea, I settled down on the hall sofa with a bundle of papers which I had brought down from town.
For any use they were to me, however, I might as well have left them behind. Try as I would, I was quite unable to fix my attention on what I was reading, and in a very little while I gave up the attempt in despair, and finally abandoned myself to my own thoughts.
Now that I had done everything I could I was once more beginning to feel intensely worried about Christine. Not a word or message had come from her since she had disappeared into the fog at Pen Mill, and knowing, as she must have done, the state of anxiety I should be in, this complete silence was all the more ominous and suggestive.
The murder of Bascomb and the facts which Campbell had discovered with reference to Manning's past history added to my misgivings. Except for the poor protection afforded by her uncle and the old French servant, she was at the mercy of one of the most cunning and pitiless scoundrels who had ever escaped the gallows. Every evil impulse in his nature must have been roused to life by the events of the previous afternoon, and still more bitterly than before I cursed my own folly and weakness in ever having permitted her to leave the island.
I was sitting there gnawing my lip and staring at the empty grate when a sudden sound in the verandah outside attracted my attention. Faint as it was, every muscle in my body stiffened instinctively. In one rapid movement I whipped out Manning's revolver, and the next moment I was crouching forward, my eyes fixed on the shutters.
For perhaps a couple of seconds the silence remained unbroken. Then, clear and unmistakable, came a low whistle, followed almost immediately by two sharp taps upon the pane.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
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?