He spoke in the same rather amused drawl as he had done at the hut, and there was no hint of hurry or excitement in his manner. I could just see, however, that he was dressed in rough, common-looking clothes, and that he was no longer wearing an eye-glass. If he had had a cap, he had evidently parted with it during his dive into the sea.
A few strokes brought us to the Betty, where Tommy was leaning over the side ready to receive us.
"All right?" he inquired coolly, as we scrambled on board.
"Nothing serious," replied Latimer. "Thanks to you and—and this gentleman."
"They've winged him, Tommy," I said. "Can you take her out while I have a squint at the damage?"
Tommy's answer was to thrust in the clutch of the engine, and with an abrupt jerk we started off down the creek. As we did so there came a sudden hail from the shore.
"Boat ahoy! What boat's that?"
It was a deep, rather dictatorial sort of voice, with the faintest possible touch of a foreign accent about it.
Latimer replied at once in a cheerful, good-natured bawl, amazingly different from his ordinary tone:
"Private launch, Vanity, Southend; and who the hell are you?"