the time things had been going on in New York—I had still been engaged to Lake. I went to France. I did good work. I did do good work. And also things were possible that would have seemed fantastic in America. You know something of the war-time atmosphere. There was death everywhere and people snatched at gratifications. Caston made ‘To-morrow we die’ his text. We contrived three days in Paris together—not very cleverly. All sorts of people know about it.... We went very far.”
She stopped short. “Well?” said Sir Richmond.
“He did die....”
Another long pause. “They told me Caston had been killed. But someone hinted—or I guessed—that there was more in it than an ordinary casualty.
“Nobody, I think, realizes that I know. This is the first time I have ever confessed that I do know. He was shot. He was shot for cowardice.”
“That might happen to any man,” said Sir Richmond presently. “No man is a hero all round the twenty-four hours. Perhaps he was caught by circumstances, unprepared. He may have been taken by surprise.”
“It was the most calculated, cold-blooded cowardice imaginable. He let three other men go on and get killed....”
