My thoughts went back to the strange figure of my uncle as I saw him in the light of Bascomb's new disclosures. Viewed from that friendly angle, he seemed a more human sort of character than I had previously imagined; indeed, whatever he had done or been, there was something about those last days of his that stirred a belated sympathy for him in my heart. I pictured him sitting through the long winter evenings in that lonely room, with the half-empty whisky bottle beside him, and who knows what grim memories gnawing at his conscience. I could almost see him turning uneasily in his chair as the rain and wind swept up the estuary, beating on the French windows and whispering of the implacable vengeance that was lurking somewhere in the darkness outside. It is possible that my compassion for him may have been stimulated by the fact that I seemed to be in a more or less similar predicament myself. My prospects of a long and peaceful life appeared to be quite as hazy as his own, while I laboured under the additional handicap of being entirely ignorant as to the reason for my unpopularity. I only knew that the same danger which had haunted him was now closing in on me, and that at any moment it might make itself manifest in a peculiarly abrupt and unpleasant form. With a feeling of irritation at my own helplessness I stood staring out over the moonlit water. Except for a solitary lamp on the jetty opposite, all the long stretch of coastline on either side was wrapped in complete darkness. It looked a very suitable background for anyone with homicidal tendencies, and I was just wondering which point of the compass seemed the most promising when something attracted my attention. Away to the left, in the direction of Barham Lock, a tiny point of light had broken out into the night. I gazed at it curiously, wondering what it could be. There was no house or cottage on that part of the coast, and in view of the shallowness of the water it was a very unlikely spot at which any vessel would have come to anchor. For several moments I puzzled vainly over the problem; and then quite suddenly the explanation came to me. It was the riding lamp from Dr. Manning's barge, which was moored up there in the blackness under the shadow of the trees. CHAPTER SEVEN "I think I shall go over to Pen Mill this morning," I said. Bascomb, who was clearing away the breakfast things, paused in the middle of his operations. "Will you be back to lunch, sir?" he enquired. "I got a nice duck I was thinkin' o' cookin'." "In that case," I said, "I shall certainly be back. Better make it one-thirty though, and then we shan't run the risk of spoiling it." "Very good, sir," he replied, picking up the tray. "I'll 'ave it ready for yer, and I reckon you'll find it'll be all right. I cooked many a one for Mr. Jannaway when 'e was alive. Very partial to roast duck the guv'nor was." "It runs in the family evidently," I observed.