We settled ourselves down, Tommy on one side and Joyce and I on the other, and a minute later the train steamed slowly out of the station.  Joyce slipped her hand into mine, and we sat there looking out of the window over the sea of grey roofs and smoking chimney-stacks which make up the dreary landscape of East London.

“Have a paper?” asked Tommy, holding out the Daily Mail.

“No, thanks, Tommy,” I said.  “I’m quite happy as I am.  You can tell us the news if there is any.”

He opened the sheet and ran his eye down the centre page.  “There’s nothing much in it,” he said, “bar this German business.  No one seems to know what’s going to happen about that.  I wonder what the Kaiser thinks he’s playing at.  He can’t be such a fool as to want to fight half Europe.”

“How is the Navy these days?” I asked.  “One doesn’t worry about trifles like that in Dartmoor.”

“Oh, we’re all right,” replied Tommy cheerfully.  “The Germans haven’t got a torpedo to touch yours yet, and we’re still a long way ahead of ’em in ships.  We could wipe them off the sea in a week if they came out to fight.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” I said.  “I don’t want them sailing up the Thames till I’ve finished.  I’ve no use for a stray shell in my line of business.”

“I tell you what I’m going to do, Neil,” said Tommy.  “I was thinking it over in bed last night after you’d gone.  If there is any possible sort of anchorage for a boat in this Cunnock Creek I shall leave the Betty there.  It’s only a mile from your place, and then either Joyce or I can come down and see you without running the risk of being spotted by your charming pals.  Besides, at a pinch it might be precious handy for you.  If things got too hot on shore you could always slip away by water.  It’s not as if you were dependent on the tides.  Now I’ve had this little engine put in her she’ll paddle off any old time—­provided you can get the blessed thing to start.”

“You’re a brick, Tommy,” I said gratefully.  “There’s nothing I’d like better.  But as for you and Joyce coming down—­”

“Of course we shall come down,” interrupted Joyce.  “I shall come just as soon as I can.  Who do you think is going to look after you and do your cooking?”

“Good Lord, Joyce!” I said.  “I’m in much too tight a corner to worry about luxuries.”

“That’s no reason why you should be uncomfortable,” said Joyce calmly.  “I shan’t come near you in the day, while you’re working.  I shall stay on the Betty and cook dinner for you in the evening, and then as soon as it’s dark you can shut up the place and slip across to the creek.  Oh, it will be great fun—­won’t it, Tommy?”

Tommy laughed.  “I think so,” he said; “but I suppose there are people in the world who might hold a different opinion.”  Then he turned to me.  “It’s all right, Neil.  We’ll give you two or three clear days to see how the land lies and shove along with your work.  Joyce has got to find out where George is getting that cheque from, and I mean to look up Latimer and sound him about his dinner at Parelli’s.  You’ll be quite glad to see either of us by that time.”