'I have plenty of petrol,' interposed Sir Thomas.
'I could never get that little bassinette of yours to Plymouth to-night!' broke in Springfield. 'You see, I am still suffering from my little stunt in France, and I am as weak as a rabbit. Besides, Buller's machine isn't fit for such a journey.'
'My car is all right,' cried Sir Thomas. 'But I can't drive, and I haven't a man about the place who can.'
'Do you know the road to Plymouth?' I asked Buller.
'Every inch of it,' he replied.
'Then I'll drive, if you will go with me to show me the way.'
I felt miserable at the idea of leaving Edgecumbe, but there seemed no other way out of it.
'Surely you will not leave your friend?' interposed Springfield. 'He may not be as bad as you think, and to-morrow the journey could easily be managed.'
'It is a matter of life and death,' was my reply. 'Merril says that unless something is done for him at once there is no hope for him.'
'What does he think is the matter with him?'