She shivered slightly. "Oh, it was hateful in a way, but I didn't care. I knew George was hiding something that might help to get you out of prison, and what did my feelings matter compared with that! Besides--" she smiled mockingly--"for all his cleverness and his wickedness George is a fool--just the usual vain fool that most men are about women. It's been easy enough to manage him." "He knows who you are now, of course?" I said. She nodded. "I told him. He would have been almost certain to find out, and then he would probably have been suspicious. As it is he thinks our meeting was just pure chance." "But surely," I objected, "he must have guessed you were on my side?" She gave a short, bitter laugh. "Yes," she said, "he guessed that all right. It's what he calls 'a sacred bond between us.' There are times, you know, when George is almost funny." "There are times," I said, "when he must make Judas Iscariot feel sick." "I sometimes wonder why I haven't killed him," she went on slowly. "I think I should have if he had ever tried to kiss me. As it is--" she laughed again in the same way--"as it is we are becoming great friends. He is taking me out to dinner at the Savoy tonight." "But if he doesn't try to make love to you--" I began. "Oh!" she said, with a little shrug of her shoulders, "that's coming. At present he imagines that he is being clever and diplomatic. Also there's a business side to the matter." "Yes," I said; "there would be with George." "He's horribly frightened of you. Of course he tries to hide it from me, but I can see that ever since you escaped from prison he has been living in a state of absolute terror. His one idea at present is a frantic hope that you will be recaptured. That's partly where I come in." "You?" I repeated. "Yes. He thinks that sooner or later, when you want help, you will probably write and tell me where you are." "And then you are to pass the good news on to him?" She nodded. "He says that if I let him know at once, he will arrange to get you safely out of the country." I lay back in the chair and laughed out loud. Joyce, who was still sitting on the arm, looked down happily into my face. "Oh," she said, "I love to hear you laugh again." Then, slipping her hand into mine, she went on: "I suppose he means to arrange it so that it will look as if you had been caught by accident while he was trying to help you." "I expect so," I said. "I should be out of the way again then, and you would be so overcome by gratitude--Oh, yes, there's quite a Georgian touch about it." The sharp tinkle of an electric bell broke in on our conversation. Joyce jumped up from the chair, and for a moment both remained listening while "Jack" answered the door. "I know who it is," whispered Joyce. "It's old Lady Mortimer. She had an appointment for one o'clock."