A few strokes brought us to the Betty, where Tommy was leaning over the side ready to receive us.

“All right?” he inquired coolly, as we scrambled on board.

“Nothing serious,” replied Latimer.  “Thanks to you and—­and this gentleman.”

“They’ve winged him, Tommy,” I said.  “Can you take her out while I have a squint at the damage?”

Tommy’s answer was to thrust in the clutch of the engine, and with an abrupt jerk we started off down the creek.  As we did so there came a sudden hail from the shore.

“Boat ahoy!  What boat’s that?”

It was a deep, rather dictatorial sort of voice, with the faintest possible touch of a foreign accent about it.

Latimer replied at once in a cheerful, good-natured bawl, amazingly different from his ordinary tone: 

“Private launch, Vanity, Southend; and who the hell are you?”

Whether the vigour of the reply upset our questioner or not, I can’t say.  Anyhow he returned no answer, and leaving him to think what he pleased, we continued our way out into the main stream.

“Come into the cabin and let’s have a look at you,” I said to Latimer.  “You must get those wet things off, anyhow.”

He followed me inside, where I took down the small hanging lamp and placed it on the table.  Then very carefully I helped him strip off his coat, bringing to light a grey flannel shirt, the left sleeve of which was soaked in blood.

I took out my knife, and ripped it up from the cuff to the shoulder.  The wound was about a couple of inches above the elbow, a small clean puncture right through from side to side.  It was bleeding a bit, but one could see at a glance that the bullet had just missed the bone.

“You’re lucky,” I said.  “Another quarter of an inch, and that arm would have been precious little use to you for the next two months.  Does it hurt much?”

He shook his head.  “Not the least,” he replied carelessly.  “I hardly knew I was hit until you grabbed hold of me.”

I tied my handkerchief round as tightly as possible just above the place, and then going to the locker hauled out our spare fancy costume which had previously done duty for Mr. Gow.

“You get these on first,” I said, “and then I’ll fix you up properly.”

I thrust my head out through the cabin door to see how things were going, and found that we were already clear of the creek and heading back towards Queenborough.  Tommy, who was sitting at the tiller puffing away peacefully at a pipe, removed the latter article from his mouth.

“Where are we going to, my pretty maid?” he inquired.

“I don’t know,” I said; “I’ll ask the passenger as soon as I’ve finished doctoring him.”

I returned to the cabin, where Mr. Latimer, who had stripped off his wet garments, was attempting to dry himself with a dishcloth.  I managed to find him a towel, and then, as soon as he had struggled into a pair of flannel trousers and a vest, I set about the job of tying up his arm.  An old shirt of Tommy’s served me as a bandage, and although I don’t profess to be an expert, I knew enough about first aid to make a fairly serviceable job of it.  Anyhow Mr. Latimer expressed himself as being completely satisfied.