Hardy sat patient.  “I am glad to have met you to-night,” he said, after a long pause, during which the other two were discussing a former surgical experience of the captain’s on one of his crew.

“Yes?” said Murchison.

“You are just the man I wanted to see.”

“Yes?” said the doctor, again.

“Yes,” said the other, nodding.  “I’ve been very busy of late owing to my partner’s illness, and you are attending several people I want to hear about.”

“Indeed,” said Murchison, with a half-turn towards him.

“How is Mrs. Paul?” inquired Hardy.

“Dead!” replied the other, briefly.

“Dead!” repeated Mr. Hardy.  “Good Heavens!  I didn’t know that there was much the matter with her.”

“There was no hope for her from the first,” said Murchison, somewhat sharply.  It was merely a question of prolonging her life a little while.  She lived longer than I deemed possible.  She surprised everybody by her vitality.”

“Poor thing,” said Hardy.  “How is Joe Banks?”

“Dead,” said Murchison again, biting his lip and eyeing him furiously.

“Dear me,” said Hardy, shaking his head; “I met him not a month ago.  He was on his way to see you then.”

“The poor fellow had been an invalid nearly all his life,” said Murchison, to the captain, casually.  “Aye, I remember him,” was the reply.

“I am almost afraid to ask you,” continued Hardy, “but shut up all day I hear so little.  How is old Miss Ritherdon?”

Murchison reddened with helpless rage; Captain Nugent, gazing at the questioner with something almost approaching respect, waited breathlessly for the invariable answer.

“She died three weeks ago; I’m surprised that you have not heard of it,” said the doctor, pointedly.

“Of course she was old,” said Hardy, with the air of one advancing extenuating circumstances.

“Very old,” replied the doctor, who knew that the other was now at the end of his obituary list.

“Are there any other of my patients you are anxious to hear about?”

[Illustration:  “Are there any other of my patients you are anxious to hear about?”]

“No, thank you,” returned Hardy, with some haste.

The doctor turned to his host again, but the charm was broken.  His talk was disconnected, owing probably to the fact that he was racking his brain for facts relative to the seamy side of shipbroking.  And Hardy, without any encouragement whatever, was interrupting with puerile anecdotes concerning the late lamented Joe Banks.  The captain came to the rescue.

“The ladies are in the garden,” he said to the doctor; “perhaps you’d like to join them.”

He looked coldly over at Hardy as he spoke to see the effect of his words.  Their eyes met, and the young man was on his feet as soon as his rival.

“Thanks,” he said, coolly; “it is a trifle close indoors.”