“Well, I guess you got both, like a water-melon,” returned the first speaker.

There are seldom more than one or two passengers on the Custom-House tug, and on this occasion the Duke was alone.  He could not stand the atmosphere of tobacco and whisky in the cabin, and made his way along the side to the engine-room, leaving the Custom-House men to their smoke and their repartee.

It was almost five o’clock, and already nearly dark, when they came up with the great steamer.  In five minutes the Duke was over the side, hurrying down to find his friend.  Not seeing him anywhere, he found the bursar and inquired for Dr. Claudius.  The officer replied that he had not made his acquaintance on the voyage, but offered the Duke a list of the passengers, remarking that the ship was unusually crowded for the time of year.

The Duke ran his finger down the list, then thinking he had missed the name he sought, he held the paper close to the lamp.  But there was no “Dr. Claudius” there.  His face fell and his heart beat fast, for he had been so positively certain.  Poor Margaret!  What would she do?  How foolish of Claudius not to telegraph the day he sailed!

“You are quite sure there are no omissions here?” asked the Duke of the bursar.

“Quite sure, sir,” answered he.  “Wait a minute, though,” he said, as the Duke dropped the list, “there was a passenger taken ashore at Queenstown very ill.  A tall man, I should say, though they carried him.  He had not registered on board, and he was so ill he gave up the passage.  I could not tell you his name.”

“Had he a light beard?” asked the Duke in great alarm.

“Um! yes; a large beard at all events.  I remember how he looked as they carried him past.  He was awfully pale, and his eyes were closed.”

“My God!” exclaimed the Duke; “it must have been he!  Does no one know his name?”

“The captain may.  He would not see you now, just going into port, but I will go and ask him,” added the officer kindly, seeing how much distressed the other seemed to be.

“Do—­thanks—­please ask him—­yes!” he ejaculated, and sank into a chair.  The bursar returned in a quarter of an hour.

“I am sorry to say, sir,” he said, “that no one seems to have known his name.  It sometimes happens.  I am very sorry.”

The Duke saw there was nothing to be done.  It was clear that Claudius was not on board; but it was by no means clear that Claudius was not lying ill, perhaps dead, in Queenstown.  The poor Englishman bit his lips in despair, and was silent.  He could not decide how much he ought to tell Margaret, and how much he ought to keep to himself.  The sick passenger seemed to answer the description, and yet he might not have been the Doctor for all that.  Tall man—­pale—­he would be pale anyhow if he were ill—­fair beard—­yes, it sounded like him.

“I wish Vick were here,” said the Duke to himself; “she has so much sense.”  Immediately the idea of consulting with his sister developed itself in his mind.  “How can I get ashore?” he asked suddenly.