ter tomorrow."

"Very well," I said reluctantly. "I will go and look up Tommy, but
I can't see that it will do any good. I am only making you and him
liable to eighteen months' hard labour." She was going to speak, but
I went on. "Don't you see, Joyce dear, there are only two possible
courses open to me? I can either wait and carry out my agreement with
McMurtrie, or I can go down to Chelsea and force the truth about
Marks's death out of George--if he really knows it. Dragging you two
into my wretched affairs won't alter them at all."

"Yes, it will," she said obstinately. "There are lots of ways in which
we can help you. Suppose these people turn out wrong, for instance;
they might even mean to give you up to the police as soon as they've
got your secret. And then there's George. If he does know anything
about the murder I'm the only person who is the least likely to find
it out. Why--"

A discreet knock at the outer door interrupted her, and she got up
from the sofa.

"That's Jack with the lunch," she said. "Come along, Neil dear. We
won't argue about it any more now. Let's forget everything for an
hour,--just be happy together as if we were back in Chelsea."

She held out her hands to me, her lips smiling, her blue eyes just on
the verge of tears. I drew her towards me and gently stroked her hair,
as I used to do in the old days in Chelsea when she had come to me
with some of her childish troubles. I felt an utter brute to think
that I could ever have doubted her loyalty, even for an instant.

How long we kept the luckless Jack waiting on the mat I can't say,
but at last Joyce detached herself, and crossing the room, opened the
door. Jack came in carrying a basket in one hand and a table-cloth in
the other. If he felt any surprise at finding Joyce with her hair down
he certainly didn't betray it.

"I got what I could, Mademoiselle," he observed, putting down his
burdens. "Oyster patties, galatine, cheese-cakes, and a bottle of
champagne. I hope that will please Mademoiselle?"

"It sounds distinctly pleasing, Jack," said Joyce gravely. "But then
you always do just what I want."

The boy flushed with pleasure, and began to lay the table without even
so much as bestowing a glance on me. It was easy enough to see that he
adored his young mistress--adored her far beyond questioning any of
her actions.

All through lunch--and an excellent lunch it was too--Joyce and I were
ridiculously happy. Somehow or other