Joyce was the first to speak when I had finished. "It's hateful, isn't it?" she said. "I feel as if we were fighting in the dark." "That's just what we are doing," answered Tommy, "but we're letting in a bit of light by degrees though." Then he turned to me. "McMurtrie's got some game on, evidently, and this chap Latimer's dropped on it. That was why they tried to put him out of the way." "Yes," I said, "and if Latimer is really in the secret service, it must be a precious queer sort of game too." Tommy nodded. "I wonder if they're anarchists," he said, after a short pause. "Perhaps they want your powder to blow up the Houses of Parliament or the Law Courts with." I laughed shortly. "No," I said. "Whatever McMurtrie's after, it's nothing so useful and unselfish as that. If I thought it was I shouldn't worry." "Well, there's only one thing to do," observed Tommy, after a pause, "and that's to go and look up Latimer, as I suggested. You're sure he didn't recognize you?" I shrugged my shoulders. "I'm sure of nothing about him," I replied, "except that he's a superb liar." "We must risk it anyhow," said Tommy. "He's the only person who knows anything of what's going on, and he evidently wants to find out who sent him that note, or he wouldn't have answered it as he did. He'll have to give me some sort of explanation if I go and see him. I shall rub it into him that my supposed pal is a perfectly sensible, unimaginative sort of chap--and anyway people don't invent a yarn like that." "Look!" interrupted Joyce suddenly. "Isn't that Mr. Gow coming along by those trees?" She pointed away down the creek, and following her direction I saw the figure of our trusty retainer trudging back towards the ship, with a bundle over his shoulder. He had exchanged Tommy's picturesque outfit for some garments of his own, more in keeping with his new and dignified position. "I'll pick him up," I said; "but what are we going to do about getting back? We had better not try Tilbury, or we may run into Latimer; it would put the hat on everything if he saw us together." Tommy consulted his watch. "It's just half-past three now," he said. "I vote we run across to Gravesend and catch the train there. Old Whiskers can bring the boat back here after we've gone--if he's still sober." "Of course he's sober," said Joyce; "look at the beautiful way he's walking." I should hardly have applied quite such a complimentary adjective to Mr. Gow's gait myself, but all the same Joyce's diagnosis proved to be quite correct. Mr. Gow was sober--most undoubtedly and creditably sober. I rowed to the bank, and brought him on board, and when we told him of our plans he expressed himself as being perfectly competent to manage the return journey single-handed. "You leave 'er to me," he remarked consolingly. "I shan't want no help--not to bring 'er in here. Some people don't hold with being alone in a boat, but that ain't Luke Gow's way."