The Pomp of Yesterday

by Joseph Hocking

CHAPTER XXXI

EDGECUMBE'S RETURN

'You are wounded,' I stammered, scarcely knowing what I was saying.
His appearance was so sudden, and unexpected, that I could scarcely
believe that it was really he who stood there before me. 'It's not bad
I hope?'

'No, not bad. Not enough to make a fuss about;—it might have been, though'; and I noticed that his voice became grave.

'How? What do you mean?'

'I'll tell you some day—soon perhaps. Are you busy?'

'No, my work is over for the day. I am glad to see you, old man.
Are you home for long?'

'Yes, a few weeks I expect. You see—I've had a rough time rather—and am a bit knocked about. But I shall pull through.'

His manner was strange; and while he spoke quietly, I felt rather than thought that something out of the ordinary had happened.

He dragged a rough seat up to the side of the tent, and looked across the field where a number of men were encamped.

'Have you heard from her?' he asked suddenly. 'Do you know how she is?'

'No. Directly after we saw her last she returned to her hospital work.
I wrote to her once; but she has not replied.'

'Have you heard anything?'

'I know Springfield has been home, and that he's been to see her. I heard from Buller that they were engaged.'

'You mean that it's settled? Has it been publicly announced?' His voice was tense.

'I don't think so. At any rate, I've not seen it in the papers.'

Again he was silent for a few seconds, and noting the far-away look in his eyes, I waited in silence.

'Springfield is still afraid of me,' he said presently.

'Why? Have you seen him?'

'Yes. He and St. Mabyn are still as thick as peas in a pod. They were both at Vimy Ridge, and afterwards at Ypres and Messines.

'Did you speak to them?'

'Rather,' and he laughed curiously. 'I had to.'

'How? What do you mean?'

'You asked me just now why I had not written you for some time. I had my reasons for silence. I was under a cloud for a time, and I wanted things cleared up before telling you anything.'

'Don't speak in riddles, Edgecumbe. What has been the trouble? Tell me quickly.'

'Oh, it's all over now, so I can speak fairly plainly, but for some days it was touch and go with me. Of course they kept in the background, but I was able to trace their handiwork.'

'What handiwork? Come, old man, don't keep me in suspense.'

'Oh, it was the old game. You remember how it was when you were in France, and some fellows shot at me. You remember, too, how I nearly died of poisoning at Bolivick, and that but for you I should have been done for. You said you traced Springfield's hands in everything. He's been trying on the same thing again,—only in another way.'

'What other way?'

He laughed quietly. 'I fancy he thought that when you weren't by I should be easy game, that I should be too simple to see through his plans. But I happened to keep my eyes skinned, as the Americans say. It was this way: by some means or another, some important information went astray, and got into the German lines. Of course the Huns made the most of it, and we suffered pretty heavily. As it happened I was at that time in the confidence of the General in command of the D.H.Q., and there seemed no one else on whom suspicion could fall. But I was warned in time. I had been told that both Springfield and St. Mabyn had been in close confab with the General, and I knew that if they could do me a nasty turn, they would. So I checkmated them.'

'How? Tell me the details.'

'I'm afraid I mustn't do that. You know how military secrets are regarded, and as even yet the scheme I discussed with the General is not completed, my lips are sealed. But I found that Springfield had suggested to the General that my loss of memory was very fishy—a mere blind in fact to cover up a very suspicious past. He also told him he was sure he had seen me, in pre-war days, in Berlin, wearing the uniform of a German officer. Had I not been able to show an absolutely clean sheet I should have been done for. As it was, there was a time when I wouldn't have given a sou for my life. I was, of course, shut off from the General's confidence, and pending the results of the inquiry was practically a prisoner.'

'I say, old man, you can't mean that?'

'Fact, I assure you. Still as nothing, absolutely nothing wrong could be traced to me, and as——'

'Yes, what,' I said as he hesitated.

'Oh, a little thing I was mixed up in came off rather well—very well in fact.'

'What? Don't keep me in suspense, old man.'

'Oh, nothing much; nothing worth talking about. Still I may as well tell you as it's bound to come out. It seems I am to get the D.S.O.'

'The D.S.O.! Great, old man! I congratulate you with all my heart.
Tell me about it,' I cried.

'It was really nothing. Still I had concocted a scheme which gave us a big advantage. It was rather risky, but it came off so well that—that—it got to the notice of the G.H.Q. and—and—there you are. When the details of my little stunt became known to the Chief he—he said it was impossible for its author to be anything but a loyal Englishman, that I was a valuable man, and all that sort of rot.'

Of course I read between the lines. I knew Edgecumbe's reticence about anything he had done, and I was sure he had accomplished a big thing.

'It came in jolly handy to me,' he went on, 'for it spiked
Springfield's guns right away, and I was regarded as sort of tin god.
Congratulations poured in on every hand and—and, but there's no need
to say any more about it.'

'And what did Springfield say then?'

'Oh, he was louder in his congratulations than any one. It makes me sick to think of it!'

'But didn't you expose him?'

'I couldn't. You see, I only learnt in a roundabout way that he had tried to poison the General's mind against me, and he very nearly covered his traces everywhere. Oh, he's a clever beggar. Still, you see the situation. It was jolly sultry for a time.'

'I see you have had another move,' I said looking at his uniform.

'Yes, I've had great luck; but don't let's talk any more about me. How are you getting on? And can't you get some leave?'

'I have some due,' I replied, noting the far-away look in his eyes, and wondering what was in his mind. 'Why do you ask?'

'Big things are going to happen,' he said after a long silence.

'What do you mean? Tell me, Edgecumbe, has your memory come back?
Have you learnt anything—in—in that direction?'

He shook his head sadly. 'No, nothing. The past is blank, blank. And yet I think sometimes——I say, Luscombe, I wonder who I am? I wonder——'

'And do you still persist in your mad fancies?' I blurted out after a long silence.

'Persist! Mad fancies!' he cried passionately. 'As long as my heart beats, as long as I have consciousness, I shall never cease to—to——I say, old man, get some leave and go with me.'

'Why?' I asked. 'If your mind is made up, seek her out wherever she is. I know she is at a V.A.D. Hospital not far from her home; so your way is plain. You can go to her on more equal terms now. You are a distinguished man now. In a few months you have risen from obscurity to eminence.'

'Don't talk rot. I can never meet her on equal terms.'

'Then why bother about her?'

'Because God has decreed that I shall. But you must go with me, my dear fellow. In ways I can't understand, your life is linked to mine. It was not for nothing that we met down at Plymouth Harbour; it was not without purpose that I was led to love you like a brother.'

'Well, what then?'

'You must go with me. In some way or another, your life is linked to mine, and you must go with me.'

Of course I applied for leave right away, and as I had been working hard all the while Edgecumbe had been in France I was able to get it without difficulty.

'My word, have you seen this, Edgecumbe?' I cried the next afternoon, immediately we had left Salisbury Plain, where I had been stationed.

'What?' he asked.

'This in The Times. They've been cracking you up to the skies.'

'Oh, that,' he replied. 'Yes, I saw it this morning. I see they've made quite a sensational paragraph. I hardly recognize myself.'

As I read the article a second time, I wondered at his indifference. Seldom had such a eulogy appeared in that great newspaper. Evidently the writer had taken considerable pains to get at the facts, and had presented them in glowing colours. There could be no doubt about it that from the standpoint of the Army, his future, if his life was spared, was assured. Not only was he spoken of as a man whose courage was almost unparalleled, but his abilities as a strategist, and his grasp of the broad issues of military affairs were discussed, and recognized in no sparing terms. It seemed impossible that a man who a few months before was a simple private, should now be discussed in such glowing panegyrics.

Greatly elated as I was at the praise bestowed upon my friend, I little realized what it would mean to him during the next few hours.