he said
slowly, "do you understand anything about Joyce at all? Do you realize
that ever since the trial she has had only one idea in her mind--to
get you out of prison? She has lived for nothing else the last three
years. All this palmistry business was entirely on your account. She
wanted to make money and get to know people who could help her, and
she's done it--done it in the most astounding way. When she found it
was too soon for your sentence to be altered she even made up some
mad plan of taking a cottage near the prison and bribing one of the
warders with that eight hundred pounds you left her. It was all I
could do to put her off by telling her that you would probably be shot
trying to get away. Is it likely she'll chuck the whole thing up now,
just when there's really a chance of helping you?"

"But there isn't a chance," I objected. "If we couldn't find out the
truth at the trial it's not likely we shall now--unless I choke it out
of George. Besides, it's quite possible that even he doesn't know who
really killed Marks. He may only have lied about me for some reason of
his own."

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? Wh