'You see,' he went on, 'we are not in the realm of proof. But as sure as I am a living man, if your friend was poisoned, some one poisoned him, unless he had a curious way of trying to commit suicide.' 'He didn't try to commit suicide,' I replied. 'You remember that mark in the arm?' I nodded. 'In another hour it will be gone. If he had died, it would not be there. I was a blind fool not to have seen it. I examined his arm just before we came in here,--the discolourment has nearly passed away. In an hour there'll be only a little spot about the size of a pin-prick. Do you feel free to tell me anything of your suspicions? Remember, they can only be suspicions. There can be no possible proof of anything, and even although you may have drawn conclusions, which to you are unanswerable, you might be committing the cruellest crime against another man by speaking them aloud.' 'Then I'll not tell you my suspicions,' I said. 'I will only recount certain incidents.' Then I told him the things I remembered. Colonel McClure looked very grave. 'No,' he said, at length, 'this is something which we dare not speak of aloud. I must think this out, my boy, so must you, and when our minds are settled a bit we can talk again.' When we returned to Edgecumbe's room, my friend was sleeping almost naturally, while the relief of every member of the household, who had all been informed of Edgecumbe's remarkable recovery, can be better imagined than expressed. 'Have the doctors told you what is the matter with him?' asked Sir Thomas eagerly. 'No,' I replied; 'perhaps they are not sure themselves.' 'But they must know, man! I gather that they performed a certain operation, and they wouldn't do that without some definite object.' 'The ways of doctors are very mysterious,' I laughed; 'anyhow, we are thankful that the danger is over. Merril tells me that Edgecumbe is sleeping quite naturally, while McClure is quite sure that in a few hours he will awake almost well.' 'But that seems impossible, man! A few hours ago he despaired of his life, and now----' 'The great thing is he is better,' I interrupted. I did not want the old baronet to have the least inkling of my suspicion. After all, I could prove nothing, and indeed, as McClure had said, it might be a crime to accuse any man of having anything to do with Edgecumbe's illness. During the time I had been in the Army, I had heard of cases of men losing their memory, and of a sudden shock bringing their past back to them. I wondered if this would be so in Edgecumbe's case. Might not the crisis through which he had passed, the crisis which had brought him close to the gates of death, tear aside the veil which hid his past from him? Might not the next few hours reveal the mystery of his life, and make all things plain? CHAPTER XXII EDGECUMBE'S RESOLVE