Tommy nodded impatiently.  “That’s likely enough, but it’s all my eye to say we can’t help you.  There are a hundred ways in which you’ll want friends.  To start with, all this business of McMurtrie’s, or whatever his name is, sounds devilish queer to me.  I don’t believe his yarn any more than you do.  There’s something shady about it, you can be certain.  When are you supposed to start work?”

I looked at the clock.  “I shall know in about an hour,” I said.  “I forgot to tell you that when I came back from Joyce’s yesterday I found a note—­I suppose from them—­saying that I should have a message or a visitor at five o’clock today, and would I be good enough to be home at that time.  At least it wasn’t put quite so politely.”  Then I paused.  “Good Lord!” I exclaimed, “that reminds me.  I haven’t told you the most amazing part of the whole yarn.”  I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out the card which had been sent me in the restaurant.  “Have you ever heard of a man called Bruce Latimer?” I asked.

To my amazement Tommy nodded his head.  “Bruce Latimer,” he repeated.  “Yes, I know a Bruce Latimer?—­lives in Jermyn Street.  What’s he got to do with it?”

“You know him!” I almost shouted.

“Yes, slightly.  He belongs to the Athenians.  He used to do a lot of sailing at one time, but I haven’t seen him down there this year.”

“Who is he?  What is he?” I demanded eagerly.

“Well, I don’t know exactly.  He’s in some Government office, I believe, but he’s not the sort of chap who ever talks about his own affairs.  Where on earth did you come across him?”

As quickly as possible I told Tommy the story of my visit to Parelli’s, and showed him the card which Latimer had sent me by the waiter.  He took it out of my hand, looking at me with a sort of half-sceptical amazement.

“You’re not joking?” he said.  “This is Gospel truth you’re telling me?”

I nodded.  “Humour’s a bit out of my line nowadays, Tommy,” I answered.  “The Dartmoor climate doesn’t seem to suit it.”

“But—­but—­” he stared for a moment at the card without speaking.  “Well, this beats everything,” he exclaimed.  “What in God’s name can Bruce Latimer have to do with your crowd?”

“That,” I remarked, “is exactly what I want to find out.”

“Find out!” repeated Tommy.  “We’ll find out right enough.  Do you think he guessed who it was that sent the note?”

“Most likely he did,” I said.  “I was the nearest person, but in any case he only saw my back.  You can’t recognize a man from his back.”

Tommy took two or three steps up and down the studio. “You mustn’t go and see him,” he said at last—­“that’s quite certain.  You can’t afford to mix yourself up in a business of this sort.”

“No,” I said reluctantly, “but all the same I should very much like to know what’s at the bottom of it.”

“Suppose I take it on, then?” suggested Tommy.