He sat thinking it over in the office one hot afternoon.  Mr. Adolphus Swann, his partner, had just returned from lunch, and for about the fifth time that day was arranging his white hair and short, neatly pointed beard in a small looking-glass.  Over the top of it he glanced at Hardy, who, leaning back in his chair, bit his pen and stared hard at a paper before him.

“Is that the manifest of the North Star?” he inquired.

“No,” was the reply.

Mr. Swann put his looking-glass away and watched the other as he crossed over to the window and gazed through the small, dirty panes at the bustling life of the harbour below.  For a short time Hardy stood gazing in silence, and then, suddenly crossing the room, took his hat from a peg and went out.

“Restless,” said the senior partner, wiping his folders with great care and putting them on.  “Wonder where he’s put that manifest.”

He went over to the other’s desk and opened a drawer to search for it.  Just inside was a sheet of foolscap, and Mr. Swann with growing astonishment slowly mastered the contents.

[Illustration:  “Mr. Swann with growing astonishment slowly mastered the contents.”]

“See her as often as possible.”

“Get to know some of her friends.”

“Try and get hold of the old lady.”

“Find out her tastes and ideas.”

“Show my hand before Murchison has it all his own way.”

“It seems to me,” said the bewildered shipbroker, carefully replacing the paper, “that my young friend is looking out for another partner.  He hasn’t lost much time.”

He went back to his seat and resumed his work.  It occurred to him that he ought to let his partner know what he had seen, and when Hardy returned he had barely seated himself before Mr. Swann with a mysterious smile crossed over to him, bearing a sheet of foolscap.

“Try and dress as well as my partner,” read the astonished Hardy.  “What’s the matter with my clothes?  What do you mean?”

Mr. Swann, in place of answering, returned to his desk and, taking up another sheet of foolscap, began to write again, holding up his hand for silence as Hardy repeated his question.  When he had finished his task he brought it over and placed it in the other’s hand.

“Take her little brother out for walks.”

Hardy crumpled the paper up and flung it aside.  Then, with his face crimson, he stared wrathfully at the benevolent Swann.

“It’s the safest card in the pack,” said the latter.  “You please everybody; especially the little brother.  You should always hold his hand—­it looks well for one thing, and if you shut your eyes—­”

“I don’t want any of your nonsense,” said the maddened Jem.  “What do you mean by reading my private papers?”

“I came over to look for the manifest,” said Mr. Swann, “and I read it before I could make out what it was.  You must admit it’s a bit cryptic.  I thought it was a new game at first.  Getting hold of the old lady sounds like a sort of blind-man’s buff.  But why not get hold of the young one?  Why waste time over—­”