"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. "What could you say?" I asked. "I should tell him that it was a friend of mine--an artist who was going abroad the next day--who had seen it happen, and that he'd given me the card and asked me to explain. It's just possible Latimer would take me into his confidence. He would either have to do that or else pretend that the whole thing was a joke." "I'm quite sure there was no joke about it," I said. "Whether the chap with the scar belongs to McMurtrie's crowd or not, I'm as certain as I am that I'm standing here that he drugged that wine. He may not have meant to murder Latimer, but it looks uncommon fishy." "It looks even fishier than you think," answered Tommy. "I'd forgotten for the moment, when you asked about him, but I remember now that some fellow at the Athenians once told me that Latimer was supposed to be a secret-service man of some kind." "A secret-service man!" I repeated incredulously. "I didn't know we went in for such luxuries in this country except in novels. Do you believe it?" "I didn't pay much attention at the time--I thought it was probably all rot--but this business--" He stopped, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, again paced slowly up and down the room.