I thought rapidly for a moment.  “Write to me at the Tilbury post-office,” I said.  “Only don’t make a mistake and address the letter to Neil Lyndon.  Too much excitement isn’t good for a Government official.”

Tommy laughed.  “It’s just the sort of damn silly thing I should probably have done,” he said.  “Can’t you imagine the postmaster’s face when he read the envelope?  I should like to paint it as a Christmas supplement to the Graphic.”

“Where did you tell the man to stop, Joyce?” I asked.

“Holland’s,” said Joyce.  “I am going to buy Gertie a really splendid hat—­something with birds and flowers on it.  I am sure I know just what she’ll think beautiful.  I suppose I had better tell them to send it round to you at Edith Terrace.  You won’t want to carry it about London.”

“Not unless Tommy likes to wear it,” I said.  “I think I’m disguised enough as it is.”

We pulled up outside Mr. Holland’s imposing shop-front, and Joyce, who was sitting next the door, got up from her seat.  Then she leaned forward and kissed me.

“Good-bye, Neil,” she said.  “I shall come down on Tuesday and go straight to the Betty, unless I hear anything special from you before then.”  She paused.  “And oh, dear Neil,” she added, “you will be careful, won’t you?  If anything was to happen now, I believe I should kill George and jump into the Thames.”

“In that case,” I said, “I shall be discretion itself.  I couldn’t allow George anything like so charming an end; it would be quite wasted on him.”

Joyce smiled happily and, opening the door, jumped out on to the pavement.  “You keep the taxi on,” she said.  “I shall take a bus home.  I can’t be hurried over buying a hat—­even if it’s for Gertie.  Where shall I tell the man to go to?”

“Better say the Studio,” answered Tommy.  “We both want a wash and a drink before we start dissipating.”

For an escaped murderer and his guilty accessory, I am afraid that our dissipation proved to be rather a colourless affair.  Tommy had always had simple tastes in the way of amusement, and even if it had been safe for us to parade the West End in each other’s company, I certainly had no wish to waste my time over a theatre or anything of that sort.  I found that real life supplied me with all the drama I needed just at present.

What we actually did was to dine quietly in a little out-of-the-way restaurant just off Sloane Square, and then play billiards for the remainder of the evening in a room above a neighbouring tavern.  We had several most exciting games.  In old days I had been able to beat Tommy easily, but owing to a regrettable oversight on the part of the Government there is no table at Princetown, and in consequence I was rather short of practice.

Afterwards Tommy walked with me as far as Victoria, where we discussed such arrangements for the future as we were in a position to make.