GREENSEA ISLAND
A MYSTERY OF THE ESSEX COAST
BY
VICTOR BRIDGES
AUTHOR OF "A ROGUE BY COMPULSION,"
"THE CRUISE OF THE SCANDAL," ETC.
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
1922
Copyright, 1921
by
Victor Bridges
Made in the United States of America
To
MARGARET
GREENSEA ISLAND
CHAPTER ONE
I was leaning over the starboard railing, waitingfor a boat, when Ross, the ship's doctor, came saunteringalong the deck, puffing contentedly at a largeManilla cigar.
"Hullo, Dryden!" he observed, in that pleasantdrawling voice of his. "Busy as usual?"
Having just completed five hours' strenuous toil,supervising the unlading of cargo, I could affordto treat his effort at sarcasm with the contempt thatit deserved.
"Are you coming ashore?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I'm not the second officerof the Neptune; I've got work to do. We areexpecting another bundle of Dagoes on board at threeo'clock, and I must be around to examine theirbeastly eyes." He knocked off the end of his cigar,which fluttered down into the blue water of LeixoesHarbour. "Besides," he added, "what on earth'sthe good of going ashore? There's nothing freshto see in Oporto."
"There's probably something fresh to smell," Ireplied hopefully. "Anyhow, I'm going. I'm sickto death of the ship, and I want to stretch my legs."
His glance travelled ironically downwards.
"I should have thought they were quite longenough already," he said. "If you grow any biggeryou will have to give up the sea, or else join theWhite Star. There will be no room for you on thePlanet Line."
"Well, I shan't break my heart about it," Ireturned, laughing. "I've had quite enough of thegay and bounding ocean to last me the rest of mytime."
He nodded sympathetically. "It's a dog's life,"he admitted. "I have often thought of chuckingit myself and setting up as a Harley Street specialist.The only objection is my incurable honesty andtruthfulness."
"In about a week," I remarked, "you would bepacking up and bundling off to Timbuctoo orYokohama or somewhere. You've not got a simple,restful nature like mine; you are one of those peoplewho have to keep on wandering about because theirconsciences won't let them rest."
"It's not my conscience," he replied cheerfully."I knocked the nonsense out of that years ago. It'snothing but a silly habit I've drifted into. If onepaddles about the world long enough one gets a sortof taste for it into one's blood, and when once thathappens a man's lost. It's worse than drink oropium." He leaned back against the rail andsurveyed me with mock seriousness. "Let my fatebe a warning to you, Dryden. If you feel anyyearnings for a nice little wife, and some chickensin the back garden, and a corner seat in the parishchurch, you get out of this while you're still youngand innocent. Otherwise, in a few years' time, youwill be just such another case as I am."
"It's the horrible possibility of that," I explained,"that makes me want to go ashore."
He laughed good-humouredly. "Well, go ashorethen; and while you're about it you might see if youcan pick me up a new pipe. My old one's gettingpositively insanitary." He glanced down it at thebo