I again expressed my gratification at learning his honourable intentions towards Phyllis, and I commended his discovery of Gedge’s fundamental turpitude.  I cannot say that I was cordial.  At this period, the unmilitary youth of England were not affectionately coddled by their friends.  Still, I was curious to see whether Gedge’s depravity extended beyond a purely political scope.  I questioned my young visitor.

“Oh, it’s nothing to do with abstract opinions,” said he, thinning away the butt-end of his cigarette.  “And nothing to do with treason, or anything of that kind.  He has got hold of a horrible story—­told me all about it when he was foully drunk—­that in itself would have made me break with him, for I loathe drunken men—­and gloats over the fact that he is holding it over somebody’s head.  Oh, a ghastly story!”

I bent my brows on him.  “Anything to do with South Africa?”

“South Africa—?  No.  Why?”

The puzzled look on his face showed that I was entirely on the wrong track.  I was disappointed at the faultiness of my acumen.  You see, I argued thus:  Gedge goes off on a mysterious jaunt with Boyce.  Boyce retreats precipitately to London.  Gedge in his cups tells a horrible scandal with a suggestion of blackmail to Randall Holmes.  What else could he have divulged save the Vilboek Farm affair?  My nimble wit had led me a Jack o’ Lantern dance to nowhere.

“Why South Africa?” he repeated.

I replied with Macchiavellian astuteness, so as to put him on a false scent:  “A stupid slander about illicit diamond buying in connection with a man, now dead, who used to live here some years ago.”

“Oh, no,” said Randall, with a superior smile “Nothing of that sort.”

“Well, what is it?” I asked.

He helped himself to another cigarette.  “That,” said he, “I can’t tell you.  In the first place I gave my word of honour as to secrecy before he told me, and, in the next, even if I hadn’t given my word, I would not be a party to such a slander by repeating it to any living man.”  He bent forward and looked me straight in the eyes.  “Even to you, Major, who have been a second father to me.”

“A man,” said I, “has a priceless possession that he should always keep—­his own counsel.”

“I’ve only told you as much as I have done,” said Randall, “because I want to make clear to you my position with regard both to Phyllis and her father.”

“May I ask,” said I, “what is Phyllis’s attitude towards her father?” I knew well enough from Betty; but I wanted to see how much Randall knew about it.

“She is so much out of sympathy with his opinions that she has gone to live at the hospital.”

“Perhaps she thinks you share those opinions, and for that reason won’t marry you?”

“That may have something to do with it, although I have done my best to convince her that I hold diametrically opposite views, But you can’t expect a woman to reason.”