Joyce shook her head. "Mr. Sexton did everything he could, but it was quite useless. Whoever he was, the man never came forward, and you see there was no one except me who even knew what he was like. It was partly that which first gave me the idea of becoming a palmist. I thought that up here in the West End I was more likely to come across him than anywhere else. And then there were other people I meant to meet—men in the Government who might be able to get your sentence shortened. I knew I was beautiful, and with some men you can do anything if you're beautiful, and—and you don't care."
"Joyce!" I cried, "for God's sake don't tell me—"
"No," she broke in passionately: "there's nothing to tell you. But if the chance had come I'd have sold myself a thousand times over to get you out of prison. The only man I've met who could do anything has been Lord Lammersfield, and he…." She paused, then with a little break in her voice she added: "Well, I think Lord Lammersfield is rather like Tommy in some ways."
"I suppose there are still one or two white men about," I said.
"Lord Lammersfield used to be at the Home Office once, so of course his influence would count for a great deal. Well, he did all that was possible for me, but about six months ago he told me that there was no chance of your being let out for another three years. It was then that I made up my mind to get to know George."
I thrust my hand in my pocket and pulled out my cigarette case. "You—you've got rather thorough ideas about friendship, Joyce," I said, a little unsteadily. "Can I smoke?"
She picked up a box of matches from the table, and coming across seated herself on the arm of my chair.
"Have I?" she said simply. "Well, you taught me them."
She struck a match and held it to my cigarette.
"How did you manage it?" I asked.