are, a large mansion, presumably equipped by
its owner as a hospital for officers, and given over to the nation. A
telephone message had prepared the authorities for my arrival.
Marigold, preceded by the Sister in charge, carried me across a
tesselated hall and began to ascend the broad staircase.

I uttered a little gasp and looked around me, for in a flash I realised
where I was. Twenty years ago I had danced in this house. I had danced
here with my wife before we were married. On the half landing we had
sat out together. It was the town house of the late Lord Madelow, with
whose wife I shared the acquaintance of a couple of hundred young
dancing men inscribed on her party list. Both were dead long since. To
whom the house belonged now I did not know. But I recognised pictures
and statuary and a conservatory with palms. And the place shimmered
with brilliant ghosts and was haunted by hot perfumes and by the echo
of human voices and by elfin music. And the cripple forgot that he was
being carried up the stairs in the grip of the old soldier. He was
mounting them with heart beating high and the presence of a beloved
hand on his arm.... You see, it was all so sudden. It took my breath
away and sent my mind whirling back over twenty years.

It was like awaking from a dream to find a door flung open in front of
me and to hear the Sister announce my name. I was on the threshold not
of a ward, but of a well-appointed private room fairly high up and
facing the square, for the first thing I saw was the tops of the
leafless trees through the windows. Then I was conscious of a cheery
fire. The last thing I took in was the bed running at right angles to
door and window, and Leonard Boyce lying in it with bandages about his
face. For the dazed second or two he seemed to be Reggie Dacre over
again. But he had thrown back the bedclothes and his broad chest and
great arms were free. His pleasant voice rang out at once.

"Hallo! Hallo! You are a good Samaritan. Is that you, Marigold? There's
a comfortable chair by the bedside for Major Meredyth."

He seemed remarkably strong and hearty; far from any danger of death.
Stubs of cigarettes were lying in an ash-tray on the bed. In a moment
or two they settled me down and left me alone with him.

As soon as he heard the click of the door he said:

"I've done more than I set out to do. You remember our conversation. I
said I should either get the V.C. or never see you again. I've manage