ent, I knew that for some reason of his own George
had lied about you, and I knew that there had been some one else in
the flat the day of the murder."

"The man who was with Marks when you arrived," I said. "But you saw
him go away, and there was nothing to connect him with the murder,
except the fact that he didn't turn up at the trial. Sexton himself
had to admit that in his speech."

"There was his face," said Joyce quietly. "It was a dreadful face. It
looked as if all the goodness had been burned out of it."

"There are about five hundred gentlemen like that in Princetown,"
I said, "including several of the warders. Did they ever find out
anything about him?"

Joyce shook her head. "Mr. Sexton did everything he could, but it was
quite useless. Whoever he was, the man never came forward, and you
see there was no one except me who even knew what he was like. It was
partly that which first gave me the idea of becoming a palmist. I
thought that up here in the West End I was more likely to come across
him than anywhere else. And then there were other people I meant to
meet--men in the Government who might be able to get your sentence
shortened. I knew I was beautiful, and with some men you can do
anything if you're beautiful, and--and you don't care."

"Joyce!" I cried, "for God's sake don't tell me--"

"No," she broke in passionately: "there's nothing to tell you. But if
the chance had come I'd have sold myself a thousand times over to get
you out of prison. The only man I've met who could do anything has
been Lord Lammersfield, and he...." She paused, then with a little
break in her voice she added: "Well, I think Lord Lammersfield is
rather like Tommy in some ways."

"I suppose there are still one or two white men about," I said.

"Lord Lammersfield used to be at the Home Office once, so of course
his influence would count for a great deal. Well, he did all that was
possible for me, but about six months ago he told me that there was no
chance of your being let out for another three years. It was then that
I made up my mind to get to know George."

I thrust my hand in my pocket and pulled out my cigarette case.
"You--you've got rather thorough ideas about friendship, Joyce," I
said, a little unsteadily. "Can I smoke?"

She picked up a box of matches from the table, and coming across
seated herself on the arm of my chair.

"Have I?" she said simply. "Well, you taught me them."

She struck a match and hel