Tommy and I leaped up together, inspired simultaneously by the same idea.  Being half way there, however, I easily reached the painter first.

“All right,” I cried, “I’ll pick him up.  You haul in and have her ready to start.”

I don’t know exactly what the record is for getting off in a dinghy in the dark, but I think I hold it with something to spare.  I was away from the ship and sculling furiously for the shore in about the same time that it has taken to write this particular sentence.

I pulled straight for the direction in which I had heard the shots.  It was the steepest part of the cliff, but under the circumstances it seemed the most likely spot at which my services would be required.  People are apt to take a short cut when revolver bullets are chasing about the neighbourhood.

I stopped rowing a few yards from the shore, and swinging the boat round, stared up through the gloom.  There was just light enough to make out the top of the cliff, which appeared to be covered by a thick growth of gorse several feet in height.  I backed away a stroke or two, and as I did so, there came a sudden snapping, rustling sound from up above, and the next instant the figure of a man broke through the bushes.

He peered down eagerly at the water.

“That you, Morrison?” he called out in a low, distinct voice, which I recognized at once.

“Yes,” I answered briefly.  It struck me as being no time for elaborate explanations.

Mr. Latimer was evidently of the same opinion.  Without any further remark, he stepped forward to the edge of the cliff, and jumping well out into the air, came down with a beautiful splash about a dozen yards from the boat.

He rose to the surface at once, and I was alongside of him a moment later.

“It’s all right,” I said, as he clutched hold of the stern.  “Morrison’s in the Betty; I’m lending him a hand.”

I caught his arm to help him in, and as I did so he gave a little sharp exclamation of pain.

“Hullo!” I said, shifting my grip.  “What’s the matter?”

With an effort he hoisted himself up into the boat.

“Nothing much, thanks,” he answered in that curious composed voice of his.  “I think one of our friends made a luckier shot than he deserved to.  It’s only my left arm, though.”

I seized the sculls, and began to pull off quickly for the Betty.

“We’ll look at it in a second,” I said.  “Are they after you?”

He laughed.  “Yes, some little way after.  I took the precaution of starting in the other direction and then doubling back.  It worked excellently.”

He spoke in the same rather amused drawl as he had done at the hut, and there was no hint of hurry or excitement in his manner.  I could just see, however, that he was dressed in rough, common-looking clothes, and that he was no longer wearing an eye-glass.  If he had had a cap, he had evidently parted with it during his dive into the sea.