The slight noise I made must have reached Latimer’s ears, for he wheeled round with amazing promptness.  At the same instant his right hand travelled swiftly into the side pocket of his coat—­a gesture which I found sufficiently illuminating in view of what I was carrying myself in a similar place.  When he saw how far off I was he seemed to hesitate for a moment; then pulling out a case he coolly and deliberately lit himself a cigarette, and after taking a quick glance round started to stroll slowly towards me.  I noticed that he still kept his hand in his side pocket.

My mind was working pretty rapidly as we approached each other.  What would happen seemed to me to depend chiefly upon whether Latimer had seen me in the restaurant, and had guessed that it was I who had sent him the message.  If not, it struck me that he must be wondering rather badly who I was and what connection I had with the hut.

When we were still twenty yards apart he pulled up and waited for me, smoking his cigarette with every appearance of tranquil enjoyment.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said in a pleasant, lazy voice, “but I wonder if you could tell me who this building belongs to?”

I came to a halt right in front of him.  “Well,” I replied boldly, “until I saw you coming out of the door just now I was under the impression that I was the legal tenant.”

He smiled, and taking off his hat made me a slight bow.

“I must really beg your pardon,” he said.  “I was trespassing shamelessly.  The fact of the matter is that I am acting on behalf of the District Surveyor, and finding the door open and being unable to get any answer, I took the liberty of looking inside.”

If ever in my life I felt confident that a man was telling me a lie it was at that moment, but my belief was certainly due to no fault of Mr. Latimer’s.  He spoke with a coolness and an apparent candour that would have done credit to a Cabinet Minister.

“The District Surveyor!” I repeated.  “And what does that distinguished person want with me?”

Mr. Latimer made a gesture towards the hut with his disengaged hand.  “It’s nothing of any real importance,” he said, “but you appear to have been making some slight alterations here.  This wooden building—­”

“It’s only a temporary structure,” I interrupted.

He nodded.  “Quite so.  Still there are certain bye-laws which we have to see attended to.  The Surveyor happened to notice it the other day when he was passing, and he asked me to find out the exact purpose it was intended for.  We are bound to make some restrictions about wooden buildings on account of the extra chance of their catching fire.”

The idea of the District Surveyor being seriously perturbed over the possibility of my being roasted alive struck me as rather improbable, but I was careful not to give any impression of doubting the statement.

“As a matter of fact,” I said, “there is no chance of a tragedy of that sort.  I have taken the place to make a few experiments in connection with photography.  The stuff I am using is quite uninflammable.”