Mr. Swann made an alarming noise in his throat.  Hardy sprang forward in alarm, but he motioned him back.

“I was only laughing,” he explained.

Hardy repressed his annoyance by an effort, and endeavoured, but with scant success, to return the other’s smile.

“Go on,” said the shipbroker, presently.

“I have thought of a scheme for upsetting Nugent’s marriage,” said Hardy, slowly.

“It is just a forlorn hope which depends for its success on you and Nathan Smith.”

“He’s a friend of Kybird’s,” said the other, drily.

“That is the most important thing of all,” rejoined Hardy.  “That is, next to your shrewdness and tact; everything depends upon you, really, and whether you can fool Smith.  It is a great thing in our favour that you have been taking him up lately.”

“Are you coming to the point or are you not?” demanded the shipbroker.

Hardy looked cautiously round the room, and then, drawing his chair close to the bed, leaned over the prostrate man and spoke rapidly into his ear.

“What?” cried the astounded Mr. Swann, suddenly sitting up in his bed.  “You—­you scoundrel!”

“It’s to be done,” said Hardy.

“You ghoul!” said the invalid, glaring at him.  “Is that the way to talk to a sick man?  You unscrupulous rascal!”

“It’ll be amusement for you,” pleaded the other, “and if we are successful it will be the best thing in the end for everybody.  Think of the good you’ll do.”

“Where you get such rascally ideas from, I can’t think,” mused the invalid.  “Your father is a straightforward, honest man, and your partner’s uprightness is the talk of Sunwich.”

“It doesn’t take much to make Sunwich talk,” retorted Hardy.

“A preposterous suggestion to make to a man of my standing,” said the shipbroker, ignoring the remark.  “If the affair ever leaked out I should never hear the end of it.”

“It can’t leak out,” said Hardy, “and if it does there is no direct evidence.  They will never really know until you die; they can only suspect.”

“Very well,” said the shipbroker, with a half-indulgent, half-humorous glance.  “Anything to get rid of you.  It’s a crack-brained scheme, and could only originate with a young man whose affections have weakened his head—­I consent.”

“Bravo!” said Hardy and patted him on the back; Mr. Swann referred to the base of his left lung, and he apologized.

“I’ll have to fix it up with Blaikie,” said the invalid, lying down again.  “Murchison got two of his best patients last week, so that it ought to be easy.  And besides, he is fond of innocent amusement.”

“I’m awfully obliged to you,” said Hardy.

“It might be as well if we pretended to quarrel,” said the invalid, reflectively, “especially as you are known to be a friend of Nugent’s.  We’ll have a few words—­before my housekeeper if possible, to insure publicity—­and then you had better not come again.  Send Silk instead with messages.”