I had been lying half-unconscious on my death-bed I think I should
have recognized that voice!

There was a sound behind me, and whipping noiselessly round I was just
in time to signal to Tommy that he must keep absolutely quiet. Then
with my heart beating like a drum I crept stealthily forward until I
was within a few inches of the open door. I was shaking all over with
a delight that I could hardly control.

"... you quite understand." (I could hear every word George was saying
as plainly as if I were in the room.) "I only have to ring up the
police, and in half an hour he'll be back again in prison--back for
the rest of his life. He won't escape a second time--you can be sure
of that."

"Well?"

The single word came clear and distinct, but it would be difficult to
describe the scorn which Joyce managed to pack into it. It had some
effect on George.

"You have just got to do what I want--that's all," he exclaimed
angrily. "I leave England tonight, and unless you come with me I shall
go straight from here and ring up Scotland Yard. You can make your
choice now. You either come down to Southampton with me this evening,
or Lyndon goes back to Dartmoor tomorrow."

"Then you were lying when you said you were anxious to help him?"

With a mighty effort George apparently regained some control over his
tongue.

"No, I wasn't, Joyce," he said. "God knows I'm sorry for the poor
devil--I always have been; but there's nothing in the world that
matters to me now except you. I--I lost my temper when you said you
wouldn't come. You didn't mean it, did you? Lyndon can never be
anything to you; he is dead to all of us. At the best he can only be a
skulking convict hiding from the police in South America or somewhere.
You come with me; you shall never be sorry for it. I've plenty of
money, Joyce; and I'll give you the best time a woman ever had."

"And if I refuse?" asked Joyce quietly.

It was evident from the sound that George had taken a step towards
her.

"Then Lyndon will go back to Dartmoor and stop there till he rots and
dies."

There was a short pause, and then very clearly and deliberately Joyce
gave her answer.

"I think you are the foulest man in the world," she said. "It makes me
sick to be in the same room with you."

The gasp of fury and astonishment that broke from George's lips fell
on my ears like music. He was so choking with rage that for a moment
he could hardly speak.

"Damn you!" he stuttered