“You’d better have a drink now,” I said.  “That’s part of the treatment.”

I mixed him a stiff peg, which he consumed without protest; and then, after he had inserted himself carefully into a jersey and coat, we both went outside.

“Hullo!” exclaimed Tommy genially.  “How do you feel now?”

Our visitor sat down on one of the side seats in the cockpit, and contemplated us both with his pleasant smile.

“I feel extremely obliged to you, Morrison,” he said.  “You have a way of keeping your engagements that I find most satisfactory.”

Tommy laughed.  “I had a bit of luck,” he returned.  “If I hadn’t picked up our pal here I doubt if I should have got down in time after all.  By the way, there’s no need to introduce you.  You’ve met each other before at the hut, haven’t you?”

Latimer, who was just lighting a cigar which I had offered him, paused for a moment in the operation.

“Yes,” he said quietly.  “We have met each other before.  But I should rather like to be introduced, all the same.”

Something in his manner struck me as being a trifle odd, but if Tommy noticed it he certainly didn’t betray the fact.

“Well, you shall be,” he answered cheerfully.  “This is Mr. James Nicholson.”

Latimer finished lighting his cigar, blew out the match, and dropped it carefully over the side.

“Indeed,” he said.  “It only shows how extremely inaccurate one’s reasoning powers can be.”

There was a short but rather pregnant pause.  Then Tommy leaned forward.

“What do you mean?” he asked, in that peculiarly gentle voice which he keeps for the most unhealthy occasions.

Latimer’s face remained beautifully impassive.  “I was under the mistaken impression,” he answered slowly, “that I owed my life to Mr. Neil Lyndon.”

For perhaps three seconds none of us spoke; then I broke the silence with a short laugh.

“We are up against it, Thomas,” I observed.

Tommy looked backwards and forwards from one to the other of us.

“What shall we do?” he said quietly.  “Throw him in the river?”

“It would be rather extravagant,” I objected, “after we’ve just pulled him out.”

Latimer smiled.  “I am not sure I don’t deserve it.  I have lied to you, Morrison, all through in the most disgraceful manner.”  Then he paused.  “Still it would be extravagant,” he added.  “I think I can convince you of that before we get to Queenborough.”

Tommy throttled down the engine to about its lowest running point.

“Look here, Latimer,” he said.  “We’re not going to Queenborough, or anywhere else, until we’ve got the truth out of you.  You understand that, of course.  You’ve put yourself in our power deliberately, and you must have some reason.  One doesn’t cut one’s throat for fun.”

He spoke in his usual pleasant fashion, but there was a grim seriousness behind it which no one could pretend to misunderstand.  Latimer, at all events, made no attempt to.  He merely nodded his head approvingly.