He jumped to his feet, and the next moment he was crushing my hands with a grip that would have broken some people's fingers. "You old ruffian!" he muttered; "I always said you'd do something like this. Lord alive, it's good to see you, though!" Then, pulling me up out of the chair, he caught me by the shoulders and stared incredulously into my face. "But what the devil's happened? What have you done to yourself?" "I know what I'm going to do to myself," I replied. "I am going to get outside some of that drink you were talking about--if there's any left." With something between a laugh and a choke he let me go, and crossing to the couch picked up the whisky and splashed out a generous tot into the glass. "Here you are--and I'm hanged if I don't have another one myself. I believe I could drink the whole bottle without turning a hair." "I'm quite sure you could, Tommy," I said, "unless you've deteriorated." We raised our tumblers and clinked them together with a force that cracked mine from the rim to the bottom. I drained off the contents, however, before they could escape, and flung the broken glass into the fireplace. "It would have been blasphemous to drink out of it again in any case," I said. With a big, happy laugh Tommy followed my example. Then he came up again and caught me by the arm, as though to make sure that I was still there. "Neil, old son," he said, "I'm so glad to see you that I shall start wrecking the blessed studio in a minute. For God's sake tell me what it all means." "Sit down, then," I said; "sit down and give me a chance. It's--it's a hell of a yarn, Tommy." He laughed again, and letting go my arm threw himself back into the easy-chair. "It would be," he said. I always have a feeling that I can talk better when I am on my feet, and so, while Tommy sat there puffing out great clouds of smoke from a huge cherry-wood pipe, I paced slowly up and down the room giving him my story. Like Joyce, he listened to me without saying a word or interrupting me in any way. I told him everything that had happened from the moment when I had escaped from prison to the time when I had given my promise that I would come and look him up. "I couldn't help it, Tommy," I finished. "I didn't want to drag you in, but you know what Joyce is when she has once made up her mind about anything. I thought the only way was to come and see you. Between us--" I got no further, for with a sudden exclamation--it sounded more like a growl than anything else--Tommy had risen from his chair. "And do you mean to tell me that, if it hadn't been for Joyce, you wouldn't have come! By Gad, Neil, if I wasn't so glad to see you I'd--I'd--" Words failed him, and gripping hold of my hands again he wrung them with a force that made me wince. Then, suddenly dropping them, he started to stride about the room. "Lord, what a yarn!" he exclaimed. "What a hell of a yarn!" "Well, I told you it was," I said, nursing my crushed fingers.