The train rolled into Fenchurch street.  Jack took his bag and got out, a little dazed by the unaccustomed hubbub and din, by the jostling throng on the platform.  Here, again, there was no one to meet him.  He passed out of the station—­it was just four o’clock—­into the clammy November mist.  He shivered, and pulled up his coat collar.  He was standing on the pavement, undecided where to go, when a cab drew alongside the curb.  A corpulent young gentleman jumped out, and immediately uttered an eager shout.

“Jack!” he cried.  “So glad to see you!  Welcome home!”

“Dear old Jimmie!  This is like you!” Jack exclaimed.  As he spoke he gripped his friend’s hand, and for a brief instant his face lighted up with something of its old winning expression, then lost all animation.  “How did you know I was coming?” he added.

“Heard it at the office of the Universe.  Did you miss Hunston?”

“I didn’t see him.”

“Then he got there too late—­he said he was going to drive to the docks.  I’m not surprised.  It’s Lord Mayor’s Day, you know, and the streets are still badly blocked.  I had a jolly close shave of it myself.  How does it feel to be back in dear old London?”

“I think I prefer Calcutta,” Jack replied, stolidly.  “I’m not used to fogs.”

Jimmie regarded him with a critical glance, with a stifled sigh of disappointment.  He saw clearly that strange scenes and stirring adventures had failed to work a cure.  He expected better things—­quite a different result.

“Yes, it’s beastly weather,” he said; “but you’ll stand it all right.  You are in uncommonly good condition for a chap who has just pulled through fever and a bullet hole.  By Jove!  I wish I could have seen you tackling the Afridis—­you were mentioned in the papers after that last scrimmage, and they gave you a rousing send-off.  You deserve the Victoria Cross, and you would get it if you were a soldier.”

“I didn’t fight for glory,” Jack muttered, bitterly.  “I’m the most unlucky beggar alive.”

Jimmie looked at him curiously.

“You don’t mean to say,” he asked, “that you were hankering for an Afridi bullet or spear in your heart?”

“It’s the best thing that could have happened.  They tell me I bear a charmed life, and I believe it’s true.  I never expected to come back, if you want to know.”

“I’m sorry to hear you say that, old man.  You need cheering up.  Have you any luggage besides that bag?”

“I sent the rest on to the Universe office.”

“Then come to my rooms—­you know you left a lot of clothes and other stuff there.  You can fix up a bit, and then we’ll go out and have a good feed.”

“As you like,” Jack assented, indifferently.  “But I must see Hunston first—­he will go from the docks to the office, and expect to find me there.”