who had done what you did for her?"

"Oh, I expect she has forgotten all about me long ago," I said with
a sudden bitterness. "People who go to prison can't expect to be
remembered--except by the police."

I had spoken recklessly, and even while the words were on my tongue a
vision of Joyce's honest blue eyes rose reproachfully in my mind. I
remembered the terrible heartbroken little note which she had sent me
after the trial, and then her other letter which I had received in
Dartmoor--almost more pitiful in its brave attempt to keep hope and
interest alive in my heart.

Sonia leaned forward, her hands clasped in her lap.

"I thought," she said slowly, "I thought that perhaps you wanted to go
to London in order to meet her."

I shook my head. "I am not quite so selfish as that. I have brought
her enough trouble and unhappiness already."

"Then it is your cousin that you mean to see," she said softly--"this
man, Marwood, who sent you to the prison."

For a second I was silent. It had suddenly occurred to me that in
asking these questions Sonia might be acting under the instructions of
McMurtrie or her father.

She saw my hesitation and evidently guessed the cause.

"Oh, you needn't think I shall repeat what you tell me," she broke
out almost scornfully. "The doctor and my father are quite capable of
taking care of themselves. They don't want me to act as their spy."

There was a genuine ring of dislike in her voice as she mentioned
their names which made me believe that she was speaking the truth.

"Well," I said frankly, "I was thinking of looking up George just to
see how he has been getting on in my absence. But apart from that I
have every intention of playing straight with McMurtrie. It seems to
me to be my only chance."

A bell tinkled faintly somewhere away in the house, and Sonia got up
off the bed.

"It _is_ your only chance," she said quietly, "but it may be a better
one than you imagine."

And with this encouraging if somewhat obscure remark she went out and
left me to my thoughts.

McMurtrie came up about an hour later. Suave and courteous as ever,
he knocked at my door before entering the room, and wished me good
morning in the friendliest of fashions.

"I have brought you another _Daily Mail_--yesterday's," he said,
throwing the paper down on the bed. "It contains the second instalment
of your adventures." Then he paused and looked at me with that curious
smile that seemed to begin and