Tommy, who was combining the important duties of steering and lighting a pipe, looked up from his labours.

“The Lyndon-Morrison Line!” he observed.  “Tilbury to Sheppey twice daily.  Passengers are requested not to speak to the man at the wheel.”

“I think, Tommy,” I said, “that we must make an exception in the case of Mr. Latimer.”

CHAPTER XX

APPROACHING A SOLUTION

A Chinese proverb informs us that “there are three hundred and forty-six subjects for elegant conversation,” but during the trip down I think that Tommy and I confined ourselves almost exclusively to two.  One was Mr. Bruce Latimer, and the other was Joyce’s amazing discovery about McMurtrie and Marks.

Concerning the latter Tommy was just as astonished and baffled as I was.

“I’m blessed if I know what to think about it, Neil,” he admitted.  “If it was any one else but Joyce, I should say she’d made a mistake.  What on earth could McMurtrie have had to do with that Jew beast?”

“Joyce seems to think he had quite a lot to do with him,” I said.

Tommy nodded.  “I know.  She’s made up her mind he did the job all right; but, hang it all, one doesn’t go and murder people without any conceivable reason.”

“I can conceive plenty of excellent reasons for murdering Marks,” I said impartially.  “I should hardly think they would have appealed to McMurtrie, though.  The chief thing that makes me suspicious about him is the fact of his knowing George and hiding it from me all this time.  I suppose that was how he got hold of his information about the powder.  George was almost the only person who knew of it.”

“I always thought the whole business was a devilish odd one,” growled Tommy; “but the more one finds out about it the queerer it seems to get.  These people of yours—­McMurtrie and Savaroff—­are weird enough customers on their own, but when it comes to their being mixed up with both George and Marks ...” he paused.  “It will turn out next that Latimer’s in it too,” he added half-mockingly.

“I shouldn’t wonder,” I said.  “I can’t swallow everything he told you, Tommy.  It leaves too much unexplained.  You see, I’m pretty certain that the chap who tried to do him in is one of McMurtrie’s crowd, and in that case—­”

“In that case,” interrupted Tommy, with a short laugh, “we ought to have rather an interesting evening.  Seems to me, Neil, we’re what you might call burning our boats this journey.”

The old compunction I had felt at first against dragging Tommy and Joyce into my affairs suddenly came back to me with renewed force.

“I’m a selfish brute, Thomas,” I said ruefully.  “I think the best thing I could do really would be to drop overboard.  The Lord knows what trouble I shall land you in before I’ve finished.”

“You’ll land me into the trouble of telling you not to talk rot in a minute,” he returned.  Then, standing up and peering out ahead over the long dim expanse of water, dotted here and there with patches of blurred light, he added cheerfully:  “You take her over now, Neil, We’re right at the end of the Yantlet, and after this morning you ought to know the rest of the way better than I do.”