Joyce looked at me quietly and steadily.
"Neil," she said; "do you remember that you once called me the most pig-headed infant in Chelsea?"
"Did I?" I said. "That was rather rude."
"It was rather right," she answered calmly; "and I haven't changed, Neil. If you think Tommy and I are going to let you play this hand alone, as you call it, you are utterly and absolutely wrong."
"Do you know what the penalties are for helping an escaped convict?" I asked.
She laughed contemptuously. "Listen, Neil. For three years Tommy and I have had no other idea except to get you out of prison. Is it likely we should leave you now?"
"But what can you do, Joyce?" I objected. "You'll only be running yourselves into danger, and—"
"Oh, Neil dear," she interrupted; "it's no good arguing about it. We mean to help you, and you'll have to let us."
"But suppose I refuse?" I said.
"Then as soon as Tommy comes back tomorrow I shall tell him everything that you've told me. I know your address at Pimlico, and I know just about where your hut will be down the Thames. If you think Tommy will rest for a minute till he's found you, you must have forgotten a lot about him in the last three years."