We headed off for the Betty, and as we came alongside and I handed up the painter to Joyce, I felt rather like the raven must have done when he returned to the Ark.  As far as peace and security were concerned, my outside world seemed to be almost as unsatisfactory as his.

“How have you got on?” demanded Joyce eagerly.

I climbed up on to the deck.

“I’ve had quite an interesting time,” I said.  Then I paused and looked round the boat.  “Is Mr. Gow back?” I inquired.

Tommy shook his head.  “Not yet.  I expect he’s blueing some of that fiver in anticipation.”

“Come and sit down, then,” I said, “and I’ll tell you all about it.”

They both seated themselves beside me on the edge of the well, and in as few words as possible I let them have the full story of my adventures.  At the first mention of Latimer’s name Tommy indulged in a low whistle, but except for that non-committal comment they listened to me in silence.

Joyce was the first to speak when I had finished.

“It’s hateful, isn’t it?” she said.  “I feel as if we were fighting in the dark.”

“That’s just what we are doing,” answered Tommy, “but we’re letting in a bit of light by degrees though.”  Then he turned to me.  “McMurtrie’s got some game on, evidently, and this chap Latimer’s dropped on it.  That was why they tried to put him out of the way.”

“Yes,” I said, “and if Latimer is really in the secret service, it must be a precious queer sort of game too.”

Tommy nodded.  “I wonder if they’re anarchists,” he said, after a short pause.  “Perhaps they want your powder to blow up the Houses of Parliament or the Law Courts with.”

I laughed shortly.  “No,” I said.  “Whatever McMurtrie’s after, it’s nothing so useful and unselfish as that.  If I thought it was I shouldn’t worry.”

“Well, there’s only one thing to do,” observed Tommy, after a pause, “and that’s to go and look up Latimer, as I suggested.  You’re sure he didn’t recognize you?”

I shrugged my shoulders.  “I’m sure of nothing about him,” I replied, “except that he’s a superb liar.”

“We must risk it anyhow,” said Tommy.  “He’s the only person who knows anything of what’s going on, and he evidently wants to find out who sent him that note, or he wouldn’t have answered it as he did.  He’ll have to give me some sort of explanation if I go and see him.  I shall rub it into him that my supposed pal is a perfectly sensible, unimaginative sort of chap—­and anyway people don’t invent a yarn like that.”

“Look!” interrupted Joyce suddenly.  “Isn’t that Mr. Gow coming along by those trees?”

She pointed away down the creek, and following her direction I saw the figure of our trusty retainer trudging back towards the ship, with a bundle over his shoulder.  He had exchanged Tommy’s picturesque outfit for some garments of his own, more in keeping with his new and dignified position.