It was Tommy who pronounced his epitaph.  “Well,” he observed, “he was a damned scoundrel, but he played a big game anyhow.”

Latimer thrust his hand into the dead man’s pocket, and drew out a small nickel-plated revolver.  One chamber of it was discharged.

“Not a bad shot,” he remarked critically.  “Fired at me through his coat, and only missed my head by an inch.”

He got up and looked round the room at the shattered window and the other traces of the fray, his gaze coming finally to rest on the prostrate figure of Savaroff.

“That was a fine punch of yours, Lyndon,” he added.  “I hope you haven’t broken his neck.”

“I don’t think so,” I said.  “Necks like Savaroff’s take a lot of breaking.”  Then, suddenly remembering, I added hastily:  “By the way, you know that there are two more of the crowd—­Hoffman and a friend of von Bruenig’s?  They might be back any minute.”

Latimer shook his head almost pensively.  “It’s improbable,” he said.  “I have every reason to believe that at the present moment they are in Queenborough police station.”

I saw Tommy grin, but before I could make any inquiries von Bruenig had scrambled to his feet.  His face looked absolutely ghastly in its mingled rage and disappointment.  After a fashion I could scarcely help feeling sorry for him.

“I demand an explanation,” he exclaimed hoarsely.  “By what right am I arrested?”

Latimer walked up to him, and looked him quietly in the eyes.

“I think you understand very well, Captain von Bruenig,” he said.

There was a pause, and then, with a glance that embraced the four of us, the German walked to the couch and sat down.  If looks could kill I think we should all have dropped dead in our tracks.

Providence, however, having fortunately arranged otherwise, we remained as we were, and at that moment there came from outside the unmistakable sound of an approaching car.  I saw Latimer open his watch.

“Quick work, Ellis,” he remarked, with some satisfaction.  “I wasn’t expecting them for another ten minutes.  Tell them to come straight in.”  He snapped the case and turned back to me.  “Suppose we try and awake our sleeping friend,” he added.  “He looks rather a heavy weight for lifting about.”

Between us we managed to hoist Savaroff up into a chair, while Tommy stepped across the room and fetched a bottle of water which was standing on the sideboard.  I have had some practice in my boxing days of dealing with knocked-out men, and although Savaroff was a pretty hard case, a little vigorous massage and one or two good sousings soon produced signs of returning consciousness.  Indeed, he had just recovered sufficiently to indulge in a really remarkable oath when the door swung open and Ellis came back into the room, accompanied by two other men.  One of them was dressed in ordinary clothes, the other wore the uniform of a police sergeant.