mmit any further acts of robbery and violence.'"

In regard to the last sentiment I had not the faintest doubt that
George was speaking the truth from the bottom of his heart. As long as
I was at liberty his days and nights would be consumed by an acute and
painful anxiety. He was no doubt haunted by the idea that I had broken
prison largely for the purpose of renewing our old acquaintance, and
the thought that I might possibly succeed in my object must have been
an extremely uncomfortable one. I laughed softly to myself as I sat
and pictured his misgivings. It cheered me to think that whatever
happened later he would be left in this gnawing suspense for at least
another three weeks. After that I might perhaps see my way to relieve
it.

There were other people, I reflected, who must have read the _Mail_
with an equally deep if rather different interest. I tried to fancy
how the news of my escape had affected Joyce. For all my cynical
outburst in the morning, I knew well that no truer or more honest
little heart ever beat in a girl's breast, and that the uncertainty
about my fate must even now be causing her the utmost distress.

Then there was Tommy Morrison. Somehow or other I didn't think Tommy
would be quite as anxious as Joyce. I could almost see him slapping
his leg and laughing that great laugh of his, as he read about my
theft of the bicycle and my wild dash down the hill past the warder.
He was a great believer in me, was Tommy--and I felt sure that nothing
but the news of my recapture would shake his faith in my ability to
survive.

It was good to know that, whatever the rest of the world might be
thinking, these two at least would be following my escape with a
passionate hope that I should pull through.

Just about six o'clock in the evening of the next day Savaroff
returned. I heard the car drive up to the house, and then came the
sound of voices and footsteps, followed by the banging of a door.
After that there was silence for perhaps twenty minutes while my two
hosts were presumably talking together in one of the rooms below.
Whether Sonia was with them or not I could not tell.

At last I heard some one mounting the stairs, and a moment later
McMurtrie's figure framed itself in the doorway.

"I'm afraid I am interrupting your work," he said, standing on the
threshold and looking down at the sheets of foolscap which littered
the table in front of me.

"Not a bit," I returned cheerfully. "I've just