“I didn’t know you had any,” said Joyce, “except me and Sonia.”

I smiled arrogantly.  “You underrate my attractions,” I replied.  “Haven’t I told you about Miss Gertie ’Uggins?” Then I proceeded to sketch in Gertrude as well as I could, finishing up with the story of her spirited determination to spend the five shillings I had given her on a really fashionable head-dress.

Tommy slapped his leg and chuckled.  “I believe any woman would starve herself to death for something new to wear,” he remarked.

“Of course she would,” said Joyce with spirit—­“any decent woman.”  Then she turned to me.  “I think it’s sweet, Neil; I shall give her a new hat myself, just because she loves you.”

Tommy laughed again.  “You’ll find that an expensive hobby to keep up, Joyce,” he said.  “You’ll have to start a bonnet-shop.”

All the way back to town we talked and joked in much the same strain, as cheerfully as though none of us had a care in the world.  If there had been a stranger in the carriage listening to us, he would, I think, have found it impossible to believe that I was Neil Lyndon, the much-wanted convict, and that Tommy and Joyce were engaged in the criminal pursuit of helping me avoid the police.  No doubt, as I said before, the very danger and excitement of our position accounted to some extent for our high spirits, but in my case they were due even more to a natural reaction from the misery of the last three years.  Ever since I had met Tommy and Joyce again I seemed to have been shedding flakes off the crust of bitterness and hatred which had built itself up round my soul.

Even my feelings towards George were slowly becoming less murderous.  I was still as determined as ever to get at the truth of his amazing treachery if I could; but the savage loathing that I had previously cherished for him was gradually giving place to a more healthy sensation of contempt.  I felt now that, whatever his motives may have been, there would be far more satisfaction in kicking him than in killing him.  Besides, the former process was one that under favourable circumstances could be repeated indefinitely.

“You’re spending the evening with me, Neil, of course,” observed Tommy, as we drew into Charing Cross.

I nodded.  “We’ll take a taxi and buy the hat somewhere, and then drop Joyce at Chelsea.  After that I am open to any dissipation.”

“Only keep away from the Savoy,” said Joyce.  “I am making my great surrender there, and it would hamper me to have you and Tommy about.”

We promised to respect her privacy, and then, getting out of the train, which had drawn up in the station, we hailed a taxi and climbed quickly into it.  Charing Cross is the last place to dawdle in if you have any objection to being recognized.

“Shall we be able to write to you?” asked Joyce.  “I shall want to tell you about George, and Tommy will want to let you know how he gets on with Latimer.  Of course I’m coming down to the boat in a day or two; but all sorts of things may happen before then.”