I took a long—­a very long breath.

“There remains,” I said, “the Home Office.”

“I don’t think you need be seriously worried about the Home Office,” returned Latimer serenely.  “By this time they have a full statement of the case—­except, of course, for my direct evidence that I heard the doctor actually bragging of his achievement.  I had a long interview with Casement before I left London this morning, and he said he would go round directly after breakfast.  He evidently arrived just too late to prevent the order for your arrest.”

I nodded.  “Sonia must have gone to the police last night,” I said; and then in a few words I told him of the telegram I had received from Gertie ’Uggins, and how it had just enabled me to get away.

“I don’t know,” I finished, “how much my double escape complicates matters.  However unjust my sentence was, there’s no denying I’ve committed at least three felonies since.  I’ve broken prison, plugged a warder in the jaw, and shoved an oar into a policeman’s tummy.  Do you think there’s any possible chance of the Home Secretary being able to overlook such enormities?”

Latimer laughed easily.  “My dear Lyndon,” he said, “in return for what you’ve done for us, you could decimate the police force if you wanted to.”  Then, speaking more seriously, he added:  “I tell you frankly, there’s every chance of a huge European war in the near future, and you can see the different position we should be in if the Germans had got hold of this new powder of yours.  Apart from that, the Government owe you every possible sort of reparation for the shameful way you’ve been treated.  If there’s any ‘overlooking’ to be done, it will be on your side, not on theirs.”

We were entering the dreary main street of Queenborough as he spoke, and before I could answer he drew up outside the post-office.

“We’ve just time to send off a telegram,” he said.  “I want to make sure of seeing Lammersfield and Casement directly we get to town.  They will probably be at lunch if I don’t wire.”

He entered the building, and Tommy took advantage of his brief absence to lean over the back of the seat and grip my hand.

“We’ve done it, Neil,” he said.  “Damn it, we’ve done it!”

“You’ve done it, Tommy,” I retorted.  “You and Joyce between you.”

There was a short pause, and then Tommy gave vent to a deep satisfied chuckle.

“I’m thinking of George,” he said simply.

It was such a beautiful thought that for a moment I too maintained a voluptuous silence.

“We must find out whether they’re going to prosecute him,” I said.  “I don’t want to clash with the Government, but whatever happens I mean to have my five minutes first.  They’re welcome to what’s left of him.”

Tommy nodded sympathetically, and just at that moment Latimer came out of the post-office.