"Why," I said, "it's only by the grace of heaven and an exceptionally thick skull that I happen to be here now. When I was on my way back to the ship after seeing Mr. Drayton, somebody banged me on the head from behind and threw me into the dock. It was about the most honest attempt at murder that ever managed to go astray."
The horror and amazement in her eyes were quite obviously genuine.
"But it's impossible," she broke out; "impossible!"
"It's true enough," I returned. "If you don't believe me, I can show you the crack in my skull."
She stared at me with the same expression of frightened bewilderment. "I—I don't understand," she faltered.
"I am sure you don't," I said. "Neither do I. Still, the fact remains that there's someone strolling around with an unsatisfied longing for my blood, and I suppose they are just as likely as not to follow me down to Greensea." I paused. "Would you advise me not to go there at all?" I asked deliberately.
For a moment she made no answer. She seemed to be torn by some inward conflict that was plainly visible in her face.
"No, no," she replied, almost in a whisper. "The place is yours, and——" She broke off with a little helpless gesture of her hands. "Oh, I don't know what to say," she finished wretchedly. "You must go if you want to. I can't tell you any more."
"You have told me quite enough," I said gratefully. "If I don't manage to take care of myself now, I shall deserve everything I get."
The clock on the wall began to strike three. With a slight start she glanced up at it; then, pushing back her chair, she rose suddenly to her feet. I made a movement as if to accompany her.