ind. Indeed
I actually caught myself whistling--a habit which I don't think I had
indulged in since my eventful visit to Mr. Marks.

I looked up at George's house as I passed, but except for a black cat
sunning herself on the top of the gatepost there was no sign of life
about the place. My thoughts went back to Joyce, and I wondered how
the dinner party at the Savoy had gone off. I could almost see George
sitting at one side of the table with that insufferable air of
gallantry and self-satisfaction that he always assumed in the presence
of a pretty girl. Poor, brave little Joyce! If the pluck and loyalty
of one's friends counted for anything, I was certainly as well off as
any one in London.

As I drew near Florence Mansions I felt a sort of absurd inclination
to chuckle out loud. Much as I disliked the thought of dragging Tommy
into my tangled affairs, the prospect of springing such a gorgeous
surprise on him filled me with a mischievous delight. Up till now,
except for my arrest and sentence, I had never seen anything upset his
superb self-possession in the slightest degree.

A glance at the board in the hall as I turned in showed me that he
had arrived. I marched along the passage till I came to his flat, and
lifting the knocker gave a couple of sharp raps. There was a short
pause; then I heard the sound of footsteps, and a moment later Tommy
himself opened the door.

He was wearing the same dressing-gown that I remembered three years
ago, and at the sight of his untidy hair and his dear old badly-shaved
face I as nearly as possible gave the show away. Pulling myself
together with an effort, however, I made him a polite bow.

"Mr. Morrison?" I inquired in my best assumed voice.

"That's me all right," said Tommy.

"My name's Nicholson," I said. "I am an artist. I was asked to look
you up by a friend of yours--Delacour of Paris."

I had mentioned a man for whose work I knew Tommy entertained a
profound respect.

"Oh, come in," he cried, swinging open the door and gripping my hand;
"come in, old chap. Delighted to see you. The place is in a hell of a
mess, but you won't mind that. I've only just got back from sailing."

He dragged me into the studio, which was in the same state of
picturesque confusion as when I had last seen it, and pulling up a
large easy-chair thrust me down into its capacious depths.

"I'm awfully glad I was in," he went on. "I wouldn't have missed you
for the world. How's old Delaco