Springfield glanced around as if looking for a table, and then seeing us, came up quickly and held out his hand.

'Awfully glad to see you,' he said heartily. 'I came to meet Buller, who I thought might be in your train. But as he wasn't there, and as I saw you two fellows come across here, I thought I'd follow you. Left them all well down in Devonshire?'

There was no suggestion of restraint or arriÈre pensÉe in his tones; he spoke in the most natural way possible, and seemed to regard us as friends.

'I will join you, if I may,' he went on; 'I hate feeding alone. By the way, what are you fellows doing to-day? If you have nothing on hand, you might come on to my club.'

'I am afraid I can't,' I replied; 'I am fixed up. As for Edgecumbe, he has to get back to duty.'

'I am at a loose end,' he went on. 'Of course there are hosts of men I know in London; all the same, it's a bit lonely here. I am staying at the——' and he mentioned a well-known military club. Then he looked at us, I thought, suspiciously.

'Was Miss Bolivick well when you left?' he asked. 'I—I am more than ordinarily interested in her'; and he glanced at Edgecumbe as he spoke. But Edgecumbe's face did not move a muscle. Evidently he had taken my words to heart.

For a few seconds there was an awkward silence. Then he went on:

'Edgecumbe, I feel I owe you an apology. It was only after I had left
Devonshire that I fully realized what you had done for me. But for you,
I should be a dead man, and I want to thank you. I am not much given to
sentiment, I am not built that way, but believe me I am not ungrateful.
At the risk of your own life you saved mine, and I feel it deeply.'

He spoke so earnestly, and there was such a ring of sincerity in his voice, that I felt ashamed of myself for thinking of him suspiciously. Still I could not forget the conversation which took place between him and St. Mabyn months ago, neither could I rid my mind of what had taken place since.

'If I can be of any service to you,' he continued, 'I should like to be,—I should really. I happen to know your colonel, and I'd like to see more of you. If you will let me know how you are fixed, I will look you up. You haven't any friends in London, have you?'

'No,' replied Edgecumbe; 'no one excepting Luscombe.'

'And you don't know London?'

'I am afraid not. I have no memory of it, anyhow.'

'Then let me show you around. I could introduce you to a lot of men, too. You see, as an old Army man, I know the ropes.'

'It's awfully good of you, Springfield,' I said; 'but really I don't think Edgecumbe is your sort, and it would be a shame to bother you.'

I felt awkward in saying this, because I spoke as though I were Edgecumbe's guardian. To my surprise, however, Edgecumbe eagerly accepted Springfield's offer.

'I'll let you know when I am free,' he said, 'and then, as you say, you can introduce me to some of the sights of London. But we must be off now, Luscombe, I have some things to do.'

'What do you mean by that?' I said, when we were alone.

He laughed gaily. 'I am not such a simpleton as I look, old man. I am able to take care of myself.'

'But do you really mean to say that you are going to let him show you round London?'

'Why not? He knows London in a way which you and I don't.'

'But don't you feel that he is your enemy, and that he has some ulterior purpose in all this?'

'Of course I do, but it would be madness to let him know it. You needn't fear, my friend; I will be a match for him. As I told you down in Devonshire, there's going to be a battle royal between us. He looks upon me as a kind of fool, who can be easily duped. But I shan't be.'

It was some days after this before I heard anything of Edgecumbe again. As I think I have mentioned, I was on sick leave at the time, and after leaving him I went to see some friends in Oxford. While there I got a letter from him, saying that he had been taken ill almost immediately on his return to duty, and that a fortnight's leave had been granted to him. He asked me when I should be returning to London, as he would like me to accompany him on his peregrinations through the City. I curtailed my visit to Oxford, so as to fall in with his plans, and found that he had taken up his quarters at a Y.M.C.A. Hut, which had been erected especially for the use of officers.

He was looking somewhat pale and hollow-eyed, as I entered a comfortably fitted-up lounge in the building.

'What's the matter with you?' I asked.

'Oh, nothing much. I had a sort of relapse after I got back to work, and the M.O. declared me unfit for duty. Evidently Colonel McClure wrote to him about me. He seems to think I was poisoned.'

'Did your M.O. tell you that?'

'Yes, and in his opinion the poison was not quite eradicated from my system. Funny, isn't it? Anyhow, they wouldn't let me work, and here I am. What we poor soldiers would do without the Y.M.C.A., Heaven only knows! Anyhow, it shows that Christianity is not quite dead in the country, for if ever there was a Christian body, the Y.M.C.A. is one.'

'You can hardly call it a body,' I replied; 'it is an organization representing the Christian spirit of the country.'

'All right, old man; call it what you like. Anyhow, I am jolly thankful to its promoters. What I should have done but for the Y.M.C.A., Heaven knows, I don't!'

'I know what you are going to do,' I replied.

'What?'

'You are coming with me to my hotel as a guest.'

'You are awfully good, old man, but I am afraid I can't. You see, this illness of mine has given me my opportunity, and I am going to take it.'

'Opportunity for what?'

'For seeing London, for studying its life. I mean to go everywhere, and
I don't want to interfere with your liberty in any way.'

'Good,' I replied, 'I'll go with you; and as we shall be staying at the same hotel, it will be more convenient to both of us.'

'Do you really mean that, Luscombe?'

'Of course I do. I, like you, am at a loose end, and I shall be only too glad to have a pal until I am sent back to the front again. Now not another word, Edgecumbe. I am not a Rothschild, but I have no one dependent on me, and I have more money than I need to spend. So pack up your traps, and come with me.

'Have you seen Springfield since our meeting on Paddington station?' I asked, when presently we had removed to the hotel.

'Yes,' he replied; 'directly I got to the Y.M.C.A. Hostel, I wrote him at his club.'

'Well?' I asked.

'Oh, he was jolly friendly, and seemed anxious to take me around.'

'And have you been with him?'

'Yes,' he replied.

'With what results?'

He hesitated a few seconds before answering me, and then he said quietly,
'Oh, nothing much out of the ordinary. It—it was rather funny.'

'What was rather funny?'

'Our conversation. He hates me, Luscombe; he positively loathes me; and he fears me, too.'

'You have discovered that, have you?'

'Yes, there is no doubt about it.'

'Did you go anywhere with him?'

'Yes, a good many places.'

'You ought not to have gone with him,' I said doubtfully.

'Perhaps not. But I was anxious to see the phases of life with which he is familiar; I wanted to know the class of men he meets with,—to understand their point of view.'

'And what was your impression?'

'I am not going to tell you yet. During the four days I have been in London I have been looking around, trying to understand the working motives, the guiding principles, of this, the capital of the Empire. I seem like a man in a strange country, and I am learning my way round. Oh, I do hope I am wrong!'

'Wrong,—how? What do you mean?'

'This war is maddening. Last night I couldn't sleep for thinking of it,—all the horror of it got hold of me. I fancied myself out at the front again,—I heard the awful howls and shrieks of the shells, heard the booming of the big guns, smelt the acids of the explosives, heard the groans of the men, saw them lying in the trenches and on the No Man's Land, torn, mutilated, mangled. It is positively ghastly,—war is hell, man, hell!'

'Yes,' I said, 'but we must see it through.'

'I know, I know. But how far away is the end? How long is this carnage and welter of blood to continue?'

'Let's change the subject,' I said. 'We'll get a bit of dinner, and then go to a place of amusement.'

'I don't feel like it to-night. Do you know any members of Parliament, any Cabinet Ministers?'

'Yes, a few. Why?'

'I want to go to the House of Commons. I want to know what those men who are guiding our affairs are thinking.'

'Oh, all right,' I laughed. 'I can easily get a permit to the House of Commons. I'll take you. As it happens, too, I can get you an introduction to one or two members of the Government.'

Two hours later, we were sitting in the Strangers' Gallery of the House of Commons. I could see that Edgecumbe was impressed, not by the magnificence of the surroundings, for, as all the world knows, the interior of the British House of Commons,—that is the great Legislative Chamber itself,—is not very imposing, but he was excited by the fact that he was there in the Mother of Parliaments, listening to a debate on the Great War.

'It's wonderful, isn't it?' he said to me. 'Here we are in the very hub of the British Empire,—here decisions are come to which affect the destiny of hundreds of millions of people. Here, as far as the Government is concerned, we can look into the very inwardness of the British mind, its hopes, its ideals. If this Assembly were so to decide, the war could stop to-morrow, and every soldier be brought home.'

'I don't know,' I laughed. 'Behind this Assembly is the voice of the country. If these men did not represent the thoughts and feelings of the nation, they'd be sent about their business,—there'd be a revolution.'

'Yes, yes, I realize that. And the fact that there is no revolution shows that they are doing, on the whole, what the country wishes them.'

'I suppose so,' I replied.

After that, he listened two hours without speaking. I never saw a man so intent upon what was being said. Speaker after speaker expressed his views, and argued the points nearest his heart.

At the end of two hours, there was a large exodus of members, and then
Edgecumbe rose like a man waking out of a trance.

'Have you been interested?' I asked.

'Never so interested in my life,—it was wonderful! But look here, my friend, do these men believe in Almighty God? Have they been asking for guidance on their deliberations?'

'I don't know. We English are not people who talk about that kind of thing lightly.'

'No, and I am glad of it,' he replied earnestly, 'but I must come again.
In a sense, this should be the Power-House of the nation.'

'It is,' I replied; 'at this place supplies are voted.'

'Supplies,' he repeated thoughtfully.

'Come,' I said, 'I have arranged to meet Mr. ——; he is an important member of the Government, and he said he would be good for half an hour's chat after this Debate was over.'

A few seconds later, the member who introduced us took us into the lobby, where I met the Minister to whom I had referred, and who led the way to his own room. As it happened, I had known this Minister for several years. We had spent a holiday together before the war, and had often played golf together. I had more than once seen him after he had become a member of the Government, and he appeared very glad of a little relaxation after the stress of his work.

'What did you think of the Debate?' he asked. 'Of course things are different now from what they used to be. The time for making an impression by big speeches is over. I dare say, when the war comes to an end, we shall have the old party fights again, although the country will never be the same again, even in that way. Still, I thought it was interesting.'

'How do you think we are doing?' I asked presently.

'What, at the front? Oh, fairly well. We have to keep hammering away, you know, but the Germans are by no means done for yet. It is evidently going to be a war of exhaustion, and we have only just come to our strength. Of course the Germans have given up all hope of winning. One of our weaknesses, if I may so say, lies in Russia. It is months now since they did anything.'

'Do you think there is any danger of their making a separate peace?' I asked.

'No, I don't think so; but there are some very uncertain elements to contend with, and the corruption there has been frightful. I should not be surprised at a big movement there in time. Still, we are doing very well; our forces are becoming well organized, and in another year or so I think the Boches'll begin to crumple up.'

Knowing what was in Edgecumbe's mind, I asked him several questions, which he, without betraying any Cabinet secrets, answered freely. He discussed the question in all its bearings, and revealed remarkable acumen and judgment. All the time Edgecumbe sat listening eagerly, without speaking a word. Then, suddenly, he burst out with a question.

'What do you think we must do to win this war?' he asked, and there was a strange intensity in his voice.

'I am afraid I don't quite understand.'

'What do you think we must do to win this war?' Edgecumbe repeated. 'Have we left anything undone that we could have done? Are there any forces to be brought into play which have not yet been used? Do you see any great dangers ahead? What must we do more? You see, I have been a long time at the front, and I know what fighting is; but naturally, as a soldier, my standpoint of vision is small and circumscribed. How does it appeal to you, who, as a statesman, must necessarily take a larger view?'

The Cabinet Minister seemed to be collecting his thoughts for a few seconds, then he said, 'Of course the question is a very big one. First of all, take the East. If Russia is freed from traitors, and if she holds together,—and if, with the help that we can give her, she can have enough munitions, I don't think we need fear anything there. Then, while our Salonica effort doesn't seem to amount to much, we are holding up a vast number of men, and doing good work. But I do not expect anything decisive from there. Then, in a way, we are doing valuable work in Mesopotamia and Palestine; by that means we are gradually wearing down the Turks. When we come nearer home,—Italy is doing very well. She'll make a big push in a few months, and we shall be able to help her. France is, of course, becoming a bit exhausted, but France is good for a long while yet. It is we who have to play the decisive game, and if we hold together, as I believe we shall if we have no Labour troubles, so that munitions and supplies may be plentiful, we shall be stronger in the field than the Germans are. We have beaten them in big guns, in explosives, and in men. Of course it'll be a long, tough fight, for the Germans realize that it is neck or nothing with them, and they'll hold out to the last. But we are the strongest side, and in the end they'll crumple up.'

'Then you think,' asked Edgecumbe, 'that our victory will depend on these things?—on stronger armies, and a bigger supply of munitions?'

'That, and the ability of our generals. The German generals are very able men, but I think we beat them even there.'

'Then that is how you roughly outline our forces, and our hopes of victory?'

'Yes, that is it, roughly,' replied the Minister.

'May I ask whether that is the view of the Government as a whole?'

'What other view is there?'

'Then where does God come in?'

He asked the question simply, but evidently he was deeply in earnest. I recognized the intensity of his voice, saw the flash of his eyes.

The Minister looked towards me in a bewildered kind of way. I have an idea that he thought Edgecumbe was mad.

'I don't quite understand you,' he said. 'Will you tell me exactly what you mean?'

'I asked you,' said Edgecumbe, 'what you thought were the forces to be used in order to win this war, and you told me; whereupon I asked you where God came in.'

'God!' repeated the Minister; 'why, we are at war!'

'Exactly, that is why I ask. When the war commenced, the people of the nation were informed that we were going to fight a holy war, that we were going to crush militarism, do justice to small states, bring about an abiding peace in the world. We were told that it was God's war. May I ask where God comes in in your scheme of carrying it on?'

The Minister smiled. Evidently he had come to the conclusion that
Edgecumbe was a harmless lunatic, and should not be taken seriously.

'The fact that we are fighting for a just cause,' he said, 'is sufficient to prove that it is God's war.'

'But is that all?'

The Minister looked at him helplessly. Evidently he did not think it worth while to carry the conversation further.

'Because,' went on Edgecumbe quietly, 'as far as I have watched the course of events, we have been fighting, as far as the Government is concerned, as though God did not exist. A great many appeals have been made to the nation, yet think what they amount to! First of all the country was appealed to for men, and the men volunteered. But that was not enough. A certain section of the press cried out for conscription, and demanded that Parliament should pass a Bill giving power to the authorities to compel every man of military age to join the Forces. That was done. Then there was the trouble about munitions, and power was given whereby many works were controlled, and huge factories were built all over the country for the production of big guns and explosives. In addition to that, there was appeal after appeal for money, and still more money. Then we were told that the whole nation should serve, and there was a further appeal for a National Service. We were told that if these things were done victory was certain.'

'But surely you do not object to this?' said the Cabinet Minister in astonishment.

'Certainly not,' replied Edgecumbe. 'I agree with every one of them; but
I asked where God came in. We pretend to believe in God, don't we?'

'Well, what then?'

'Has there been any appeal to the nation to repent of its sins? There have been Proclamations from the throne: has there ever been one calling upon the people of the British Empire to pray? Have we, as a nation, been asked to link ourselves to the power of Almighty God? Has the Government ever endeavoured to make the people feel that our victory is in God's hands, and that we must look to Him for help? Have we not, I ask, as far as the Government is concerned, been fighting this war as though God didn't exist?'

'But, my dear man,' said the Cabinet Minister, 'you as a soldier must know that chaplains are sent out with the Forces, that the soldiers have to attend Church Parade, and that prayer is offered by the chaplains for our victory? How can you say then that the war has been conducted as though God didn't exist?'

'I know what all that means,' replied Edgecumbe. 'I have been at the front for a good many months, and I know what it means. I recognize, too, all the splendid work that has been done by the chaplains; many of them are fine fellows. But I want to get a bit deeper. I want to know what steps have been taken to make the nation realize that primarily victory is in the hands of Almighty God. I want to know, too, what steps have been taken to make the soldiers know what they are fighting for. We have in the Army now several millions, and they are all being instructed in the use of rifle shooting, machine-guns, bayonet work, and so on. Have any steps been taken to instruct them as to the nature of the cause we are fighting for, and of our ultimate aims and purposes? Have they ever been imbued with the idea of what Germanism means, and of our ultimate aims and ideals? In a word, have the soldiers been instructed that this is God's war, and that they are fighting for a holy cause?'

The Cabinet Minister laughed. Edgecumbe's question seemed too absurd to answer. Then he said somewhat uneasily, 'Prayers are said in the churches every Sunday.'

'And from what I hear, only about one person in ten goes to Church.'

'What are you driving at?' and there was a touch of impatience in the
Minister's voice.

'Only this,' replied Edgecumbe, 'if this is simply a war of brute force against brute force, then doubtless the Government is going on the right tack. But if it is more,—if it is a war of God against the devil, of right against wrong, of the forces of heaven against the forces of hell, then we are forgetting our chief Power, we are failing as a nation to utilize the mightiest forces at our command. There might be no God, if one were to judge from the way we are conducting this struggle.'

'Nonsense!'

'That is scarcely an answer. Mark you, I am looking at it from the standpoint of the Government as expressing the thought and will of the nation. The Government is supposed to be the mouthpiece of the nation, and judging from the appeals of the men holding important offices under the Government, and the general trend of the daily press, while appeals are being made for all the material resources of the Empire, there has never been one appeal to the nation to pray, and to lay hold of the power which God is waiting to give.'

'You do not seem to realize, my friend,' said the Cabinet Minister, 'that war is primarily a contest between material forces.'

'No,' said Edgecumbe, 'I don't, neither do I believe it.'

'Our generals are not sentimentalists,' said the statesman; 'war is a stern business, and they see that it is a matter of big guns.'

'Not all,' replied Edgecumbe. 'If ever a man knew the meaning of big guns, and what big guns can do, it is Admiral Beatty. Perhaps you remember what he said: "England still remains to be taken out of the stupor of self-satisfaction and complacency into which her great and flourishing condition has steeped her, and until she can be stirred out of this condition, and until a religious revival takes place at home, just so long will the war continue."'

For a moment the statesman seemed nonplussed, and I could see that Edgecumbe was impressing him in spite of himself. He spoke quietly, but with evident intense conviction, and there was something in his personality that commanded respect. On his tunic, too, he wore his decorations, the decorations which proved him to be a man of courage and resource. There was no suggestion of weakness or of fanaticism in his manner. Every word, every movement, spoke of a strong, brave, determined man.

'Then what would you do?' he asked almost helplessly.

'It is scarcely a matter of what I would do,' replied Edgecumbe. 'I am here as an inquirer, and I came to the House of Commons to-night in order to understand the standpoint from which the Government looks at this tremendous question.'

'And your conclusion is——?'

'That God's forgotten. It is not looked upon as a religious war at all,—everything is reduced to the level of brute force. As far as I can read the newspapers, never, since the first few months of the war, or at least very rarely, has there been any endeavour to make the people realize this ghastly business from a religious standpoint, while the soldiers never hear a word from week end to week end of the purposes for which they are fighting.'

'You can't make soldiers religious if they don't want to be,' said the
Minister, weakly I thought.

'I don't say you can,' replied Edgecumbe, 'but you can do something to lift the whole thing above its present sordid level, and give them a high and holy courage.'

'They have courage,' replied the Minister. 'As you have been at the front, you know what a splendid lot of men they are.'

'No man knows better,—a finer lot of fellows never breathed. But look at facts, think of the forces which have opposed them, and remember how they have been handicapped? Drink has been one of our great curses in this country; it has been one of our greatest hindrances. Even the Prime Minister insisted upon it almost pathetically. When we lacked munitions, and our men were being killed for want of them, drink was the principal interest to their manufacture. You of course know what Mr. Lloyd George said in 1915: "Without spending one penny on additional structures, without putting down a single additional machine, without adding to the supervision of the men, but on the contrary lessening the supervision, we could, by putting down the drink, by one act of sacrifice on the part of the nation, win through to victory for our country." Yet the Government has only played with the drink question, as far as the country is concerned, and it has kept on supplying it to the boys abroad. Everyone knows it has lowered the standard of our national life, intellectually, morally, and spiritually. And yet the thing continues. Is that the way to fight God's battles? Vested interests seem of more importance than purity and righteousness, while the men who make huge fortunes out of this traffic are coroneted.'

'Good night, Luscombe,' said the Cabinet Minister rising. 'I must be going now. This conversation has been very interesting, but I am afraid I cannot see as your friend sees.'

A few minutes later, we stood outside the great Government building. We were in the heart of London, the great city which so largely focuses the life of our world-wide Empire. Close to us, the towers of the Abbey lifted their pinnacles into the grey sky, while St. Margaret's Church looked almost small and diminutive by its side. Up Whitehall we could see the dim outlines of the great Government buildings, while the broad thoroughfare pulsated with the roaring traffic.

For some seconds Edgecumbe did not speak, then he burst out excitedly. 'It's a wonderful old city, isn't it? The finest, grandest city in the world! Do you know, it casts a kind of spell upon me. I sometimes think there is more good in London than in any other place.'

'Any one would not think so, judging by your conversation just now,' I laughed.

'But there is,' he said. 'Why, think of the kindness and loving service shown to the returning soldiers! Think of the thousands of women who are giving their lives to nursing them and caring for them! Come on,' and he moved towards Westminster Bridge.

'That's not the way back to the hotel.'

'I am not going back to the hotel yet,' he said.

'Where are you going, then?'

'To Waterloo station. There will be trains coming in from the coast. I want to see what happens to the soldiers who are coming back from the front.'