"I'll begin to try to be a brave man." He lit another cigarette. "But all that, my dear Meredyth," he continued, "is away from the point. If I live, I'll ask you to forget this rotten palaver. But I have a feeling that I shan't come back. Something tells me that my particular form of extermination will be a head knocked into slush. I'm absolutely certain that I shall never see you again. Oh, I'm not morbid," he said, as I raised a protesting hand. "You're an old soldier and know what these premonitions are. When I came in--before I had finally made up my mind to pan out to you like this--I felt like a boy who has been made captain of the school. But all the same, I know I shan't see you again. So I want you to promise me two things--quite honourable and easy." "Of course, my dear fellow," said I rather tartly, for I did not like the wind-up of his sentence. It was unthinkable that an officer and a gentleman should inveigle a brother-officer into a solemn promise to do anything dishonourable. "Of course. Anything you like." "One is to look after the old mother--" "That goes without promising," said I. "The other is to--what shall I say?--to rehabilitate my memory in the eyes of Betty Connor. She may hear all kinds of things about me--some true, others false--I have my enemies. She has heard things already. I didn't know it till our last meeting here. There's no one else on God's earth can do what I want but you. Do you think I'm putting you into an impossible position?" "I don't think so," said I. "Go on." "Well--there's not much more to be said. Try to make her realise that, whatever may be my faults--my crimes, if it comes to that--I've done my damndest out there to make reparation. By God! I have," he cried, in a sudden flash of passion. "See that she realises it. And--" he thumped the hidden identification disc, "tell her that she is the only woman that has ever really mattered in the whole of my blasted life." He threw his half-smoked cigarette into the fire-place and walked over to the sideboard, where stood decanters and syphon. "May I help myself to a drink?" "Certainly," said I. He gulped down half a whisky and soda and turned on me. "You promise?" "Of course," said I. "She may have reasons to think the worst of me. But whatever I am there is some good in me. I'm not altogether a worthless hound. If you promise to make her think the best of me, I'll go away happy. I don't care a damn whether I die or live. That's the truth. As long as I'm alive I can take care of myself. I'm not dreaming of asking you to say a word to win her favour. That would be outrageous impudence. You clearly understand. I don't want you ever to mention my name unless I'm dead. If I feel that I've an advocate in you--advocatus diaboli, if you like--I'll go away happy. You've got your brief. You know my life at home. You know my record."