I followed him down the passage and into another room hung with heavy
curtains that completely shut out the daylight. A small rose-coloured
lamp burning away steadily in the corner threw a warm glow over
everything, and lit up the low table of green stone in the centre, on
which rested a large crystal ball in a metal frame. Except for two
curiously carved chairs, there was no other furniture in the room.

Closing the door noiselessly behind him, the boy went out again. I
stood there for a little while looking about me; then pulling up
a chair I was just sitting down when a slight sound attracted my
attention. A moment later a curtain at the end of the room was drawn
slowly aside, and there, standing in the gap, I saw the slim figure of
a girl, dressed in a kind of long dark Eastern tunic.

I jumped to my feet, and as I did so an exclamation of amazement broke
involuntarily from my lips. For an instant I remained quite still,
clutching the back of the chair and staring like a man in a trance.
Unless I was mad the girl in front of me was Joyce.

CHAPTER XI

BRIDGING THREE YEARS OF SEPARATION

It was the unexpectedness of the thing that threw me off my guard.
With a savage effort I recovered myself almost at once, but it was too
late to be of any use. At the sound of my voice all the colour had
left Joyce's face. Her hands went up to her breast, and with a low cry
she stepped forward and then stood there white and swaying, gazing at
me with wide-open, half-incredulous eyes.

"My God!" she whispered; "it's you--Neil!"

I think she would have fallen, but I came to her side, and putting my
arm round her shoulders gently forced her into one of the chairs. Then
I knelt in front of her and took her hands in mine. I saw it was no
good trying to deceive her.

"I didn't know," I said simply; "I followed George here."

"What have they done to you?" she moaned. "What have they done to you,
my Neil? And your hands--oh, your poor dear hands!"

She burst out crying, and bending down pressed her face against my
fingers.

"Don't, Joyce," I said, a little roughly. "For God's sake don't do
that."

Half unconsciously I pulled away my hands, which three years in
Dartmoor had certainly done nothing to improve.

My abrupt action seemed to bring Joyce to herself. She left off
sobbing, and with a sudden hurried glance round the room jumped up
from her chair.

"I must speak to Jack--now at once," she whispered. "He mu