ered affection I should have
done so just because Savaroff was her father.

My companion's sulks, however, in no way interfered with my enjoyment
of the drive. It was a perfect day on which to regain one's liberty.
The sun shone down from a blue sky flecked here and there with fleecy
white clouds, and on each side of the road the hedges and trees were
just beginning to break into an almost shrill green. The very air
seemed to be filled with a delicious sense of freedom and adventure.

As we got nearer to Plymouth I found a fresh source of interest and
pleasure in the people that we passed walking along the road or
driving in traps and cars. After my long surfeit of warders and
convicts the mere sight of ordinarily-dressed human beings laughing
and talking filled me with the most intense satisfaction. On several
occasions I had a feeling that I should like to jump out of the car
and join some group of cheerful-looking strangers who turned to watch
us flash past. This feeling became doubly intense when we actually
entered Plymouth, where the streets seemed to be almost inconveniently
crowded with an extraordinary number of attractive-looking girls.

I was afforded no opportunity, however, for indulging in any such
pleasant interlude. We drove straight through the town at a rapid
pace, avoiding the main thoroughfares as much as possible, and not
slackening until we pulled up outside Millbay station. We left the car
in charge of a tired-looking loafer who was standing in the gutter,
and taking out my bag, I followed Savaroff into the booking office.

"You had better wait there," he muttered, pointing to the corner. "I
will get the ticket."

I followed his suggestion, and while he took his place in the small
queue in front of the window I amused myself watching my fellow
passengers hurrying up and down the platform. They looked peaceful
enough, but I couldn't help picturing what a splendid disturbance
there would be if it suddenly came out that Neil Lyndon was somewhere
on the premises. The last time I had been in this station was on my
way up to Princetown two and a half years before.

At last Savaroff emerged from the throng with my ticket in his hand.

"I have taken you a first-class," he said rather grudgingly. "You will
probably have the carriage to yourself. It is better so."

I nodded. "I shouldn't like to infect any of these good people with
homicidal mania," I said cheerfully.

He looked at me rather suspi