Greensea Island: A Mystery of the Essex CoastBridges, Victor
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Greensea Island: A Mystery of the Essex Coast
Bridges, Victor
Adventure stories; Detective and mystery stories; England -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction
Brief as our interview had been, however, it had left me in a very
satisfied frame of mind. From what I had seen of the Inspector I
felt pretty sure that if there was anything worth knowing about
Manning's past career he would soon succeed in ferreting it out.
Apart from that, the knowledge that in a tight corner I should have
him as well as Bobby at my back was the kind of encouraging thought
that would have put heart into a rabbit.
My good spirits were in no way damped by one or two drops of rain,
which at that moment, much to my surprise, began to dot the pavement.
Looking up, I noticed for the first time that a change was taking
place in the weather. A great bank of cloud was creeping slowly up
from the east, and spreading in a black, threatening line all across
the sky.
Manning's prophecy at once came into my mind, but, not being
particularly anxious for a ducking, I wasted no time in further
reflections. Hailing a passing taxi, I instructed the man to take me
back to the Great Eastern Hotel, which I reached in comfort and
dryness just as the rain began to descend in a steady drizzle.
There was nothing to do under the circumstances but to make the best
of things indoors. I am never at a loss how to amuse myself if I can
get a game of billiards, and I soon discovered that the hotel
possessed a couple of excellent tables, presided over by a red-headed
marker, who spoke Scotch and looked as if he drank it.
We played several hundred up with varying success; and at six-thirty,
feeling quite ready to face a good dinner, I set out for Mr.
Drayton's club. As an additional encouragement to my appetite I
walked the whole way to St. James's Street, for by this time,
although the pavements were still wet, the rain itself had
practically ceased falling.
The club proved to be a big, sombre establishment, inhabited chiefly
by middle-aged gentlemen of a distinctly morose aspect. What they
had to be morose about I can't imagine, for a better meal than the
one put before us I never wish to eat. Mr. Drayton, who was waiting
for me in the hall and conducted me straight into the dining-room,
confessed frankly that he had joined the place purely for the sake of
its excellent cooking, and the respect which I already had for his
judgment rose steadily with each succeeding course.
After dinner we made our way to the smoking-room upstairs, where,
with the assistance of a couple of leather arm-chairs and a plentiful
supply of whisky and soda, the time passed away so pleasantly that it
was close on midnight before I got back to my own bed at the hotel.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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