'Yes, but I have no proof. Sometimes I am ashamed of harbouring such thoughts.' 'Self-preservation is the first law of life,' I said sententiously. 'Think, Edgecumbe,--some one shot at you in France,--why? You say you don't know that you have a single enemy in the world. Then think of your recent illness.' 'But--but----' and I saw a look of wonder in his eyes. 'I only tell you to be careful,' I interposed. 'Don't let any one know your plans, and whatever you do, don't have anything to do with Springfield.' The words had scarcely passed my lips, when Springfield entered the room. CHAPTER XXVI 'WHERE DOES GOD COME IN?' 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 _arriere pensee_ 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?'