On the following Thursday I again made my way to St. Pinto, where I received an almost effusive welcome from St. Mabyn and Springfield. Both expressed great vexation at being away when I had called before, and seemed to vie with each other in being friendly. In fact they overdid it. After all, I had barely known them in England, and there seemed no reason why they should act as though I were a long lost brother in France.

'By the way, Luscombe,' said St. Mabyn after dinner, 'Springfield is awfully interested in that experience of yours. He says it's one of the greatest jokes of the war.'

'By Jove, that's true,' added Springfield. 'That fellow,—what do you call him?—must be a great chap. I should like to hear more about him.'

'He is a great chap,' I replied. 'I don't believe he knows what fear means, and the way he talked over those Boches was nothing short of a miracle.'

Almost before I realized it, I found myself submitted to a keen examination as to what I knew about Edgecumbe. As I reflect on it now, I can see that Springfield's methods were very clever. He asked no direct questions, but he led the conversation into channels which led me, almost in spite of myself, to divulge my thoughts about him. Still I do not think I committed any grave error, and when at length I left them, I felt fairly satisfied with the interview.

During my walk back to my billet I felt sure I was being followed and watched. It was true I neither heard nor saw anything out of the ordinary, but I seemed to be possessed of a sixth sense, and that sixth sense made me conscious of an unfriendly presence. But nothing happened, and presently when I reached my quarters without molestation or happening of any sort, I laughed at myself for harbouring baseless impressions.

I found Edgecumbe awaiting me, as I had previously arranged.

'Been here long?' I asked.

'About an hour,' and then he looked at me eagerly.

'No,' I said, noting his glance, 'I've nothing to tell you—-yet.'

I could see he was disappointed. I had aroused his curiosity and he had been wondering what I had in my mind.

'Then I may as well be going,' he said, after a few seconds' silence.

'No, not yet.'

I could see the eager questions in his eyes, so I went on. 'I can't tell you anything yet, Edgecumbe; it would not be fair to you, and it might not be fair to others. It may be I'm only following the will-o'-the-wisp of my fancies; all the same I want you to stay with me at least an hour. I think it will be the safest plan. I will send a note with you that will answer all questions, and meanwhile I'll get these shutters closed.'

It was quite midnight when he left me, and I watched him as he walked away from my billet. He had not gone more than two minutes when I heard the sound of angry voices, and as far as I could judge they came from the spot where he was likely to be. Then coming from the same locality there was the sound of a pistol shot.

Without hesitating a second, I ran towards the spot from which I thought the sound came. It was not a very dark night, but there was not light enough to discern anything very plainly. For half an hour I searched and listened, but I could discover nothing.

I tried to persuade myself that what I had heard was only fancy, nevertheless I did not sleep well that night. As soon as morning dawned I hurried to the spot again, but if there had been a struggle the rain which had fallen had washed the traces away. Neither was there anything suspicious to be seen.

Later in the day, however, news came to me that Private Edgecumbe was missing, and as he had last been to my billet, I was to be questioned as to whether I knew anything of his whereabouts.

As may be imagined when these questions were asked I could give no satisfactory answers. I could not say that I suspected foul play without giving my reasons, and those reasons were not good enough to give. I could only say that he had come to me bringing a message from Captain Wilkins, that he had left me about midnight bearing my reply. That about two minutes after he had left I heard the sound of angry voices, as well as a pistol shot, but beyond that nothing.

'Have you no idea where he is?' I asked anxiously.

'Not the slightest. I have made every inquiry—in vain. The fellow has disappeared as though he had deserted.'

'He hasn't done that,' I replied. 'He's not that sort.'

'Then what's become of him?'

I shook my head. I was very anxious, but I could say nothing. I dared not impugn two brother officers on such evidence as I had. Nevertheless, as may be imagined, I thought a great deal about what had taken place.