“I severed my connection with the police some time ago,” I said drily.  “What happened after dinner?  I’ve been longing to know ever since.”

“I got rid of Hoffman at the door, and from the time he left the restaurant my men never lost him again.  They shadowed him to his lodgings—­he was living in a side street near Victoria—­and for the next two days I got a detailed report of everything he did.  It was quite interesting reading.  Amongst other things it included paying a morning visit to the hut you’re living in at present, Mr. Lyndon, and going on from there to spend the afternoon calling on some friends at Sheppey.”

I laughed gently, and turned to Tommy.  “Amazingly simple,” I said, “when you know how it’s done.”

Tommy nodded.  “I’ve got all that part, but I’m still utterly at sea about how he dropped on to you.”

“That was simpler still,” answered Latimer.  “One of my men told me that the hut was empty for the time, so I came down to have a look at it.”  He turned to me.  “Of course I recognized you at once as the obliging stranger of the restaurant.  That didn’t put me much farther on the road, but when Morrison rolled up with his delightfully ingenious yarn, he gave me just the clue I was looking for.  I knew his story was all a lie because I’d seen you since.  Well, a man like Morrison doesn’t butt into this sort of business without a particularly good reason, and it didn’t take me very long to guess what his reason was.  You see I remembered him chiefly in connection with your trial.  I knew he was your greatest friend; I knew you had escaped from Dartmoor and disappeared somewhere in the neighbourhood of McMurtrie’s place, and putting two and two together there was only one conclusion I could possibly come to.”

“My appearance must have taken a little getting over,” I suggested.

Latimer shrugged his shoulders.  “Apart from your features you exactly fitted the bill, and I had learned enough about McMurtrie’s past performances not to let that worry me.  What I couldn’t make out was why he should have run the risk of helping you.  Of course you might have offered him a large sum of money—­if you had it put away somewhere—­but in that case there seemed no reason why you should be hanging about in a hut on the Thames marshes.”

“Why didn’t you tell the police?” asked Tommy.

“The police!” Latimer’s voice was full of pleasant irony.  “My dear Morrison, we don’t drag the police into this sort of business; our great object is to keep them out of it.  Mr. Lyndon’s affairs had nothing to do with me officially apart from his being mixed up with McMurtrie.  Besides, my private sympathies were entirely with him.  Not only had he tried to save my life at Parelli’s, but ever since the trial I have always been under the impression he was fully entitled to slaughter Mr.—­Mr.—­whatever the scoundrel’s name was.”

I acknowledged the remark with a slight bow.  “Thank you,” I said.  “As a matter of sober fact I didn’t kill him, but I shouldn’t be the least sorry for it if I had.”