He delivered this as a parting shot.  Dick, lying on his back and staring up at a knot in the woodwork over his bunk, received it placidly.  Probably he did not hear.  His brow was corrugated in a frown, as though he were working out a sum or puzzling over some problem.  The doctor closed the door softly, and some minutes later paid a visit to Mr Markham, whom he found stretched on the couch of the white-and-gold deck-cabin, attired in a gray flannel sleeping-suit, and wrapped around the legs with a travelling rug of dubious hue.

‘That’s a good deal better,’ he said cheerfully, after an examination, in which, while seeming to be occupied with pulses and temperature, he paid particular attention to the pupils of Mr Markham’s eyes.  ’We are nosing up the Solent fast—­did you know it?  Ten minutes ought to see us in Southampton Water; and I suppose you’ll be wanting to catch the first train.’

‘I wonder,’ said Mr Markham vaguely, ‘if the Old Man will mind.’

The doctor stared for a moment.  ‘I think we may risk it,’ he said, after a pause; ’though I confess that, last night, I was doubtful.  Of course, if you’re going to be met, it’s right enough.’

‘Why should I be met?’

’Well, you see—­I couldn’t know, could I?  Anyway, you ought to see your own doctor as soon as you get home.  Perhaps, if you gave me his name, I might scribble a note to him, just to say what has happened.  Even big-wigs, you know, don’t resent being helped with a little information.’

Mr Markham stared.  ‘Lord!’ said he, ’you’re talking as if I kept a tame doctor!  Why, man, I’ve never been sick nor sorry since I went to school.’

’That’s not hard to believe.  I’ve ausculted you—­sound as a bell, you are:  constitution strong as a horse’s.  Still, a shock is a shock.  You’ve a family doctor, I expect—­some one you ring up when your liver goes wrong, and you want to be advised to go to Marienbad or some such place—­I’d feel easier if I could shift the responsibility on to him.’

Still Mr Markham stared.  ’I’ve heard about enough of this shock to my system,’ said he at length.  ’But have it your own way.  If you want me to recommend a doctor, my mother swears by an old boy in Craven Street, Strand.  I don’t know the number, but his name’s Leadbetter, and he’s death on croup.’

’Craven Street?  That’s a trifle off Park Lane, isn’t it?—­Still, Leadbetter, you say?  I’ll get hold of the directory, look up his address, and drop him a note or two on the case by this evening’s post.

A couple of hours later Mr Markham and Dick Rendal almost rubbed shoulders in the crowd of passengers shaking hands with the ever polite Captain Holditch, and bidding the Carnatic good-bye with the usual parting compliments; but in the hurry and bustle no one noted that the pair exchanged neither word nor look of recognition.  The skipper gave Dick an honest clap on the shoulder.  ’Doctor’s