“I wish you would call up the shipyard, Walter,” asked Kennedy, as we stood in the lobby, where we could see best what was going on.  “Tell him I would like to see him very urgently.”

I found the number and entered a booth, but, as often happens, the telephone central was overwhelmed by the rush of early-evening calls, and after waiting some time the only satisfaction I got was that the line was busy.

Meanwhile I decided to stick about the booth so that I could get the yard as soon as possible.  From where I stood I could see that Kennedy was closely watching the little manicure, Rae Melzer.  A moment later I saw Alma Hillman come out of the manicure shop, and before any one else could get in to monopolize the fascinating little manicure I saw Craig saunter over and enter.

I was so interested in what he was doing that for the moment I forgot about my call and found myself unconsciously moving over in that direction, too.  As I looked in I saw that he was seated at the little white table, in much the same position as Marlowe had been, deeply in conversation with the girl, though of course I could not make out what they were talking about.

Once she turned to reach something on a shelf back of her.  Quick as a flash Kennedy abstracted a couple of the nearest implements, one being a nail file and the other, I think, a brush.  A moment later she resumed her work, Kennedy still talking and joking with her, though furtively observing.

“Where is my nail file—­and brush?” I could imagine her saying, as she hunted for them in pretty confusion, aided by Kennedy who, when he wanted to, could act the Fitzhugh and Gavira as well as they.  The implements were not to be found and from a drawer she took another set.

Just then Gavira passed on his way to his office in the front of the building, saw me, and smiled.  “Kennedy’s cut you out,” he laughed, catching a glimpse through the door.  “Never mind.  I used to think I had some influence there myself—­till the captain came along.  I tell you these oldsters can give us points.”

I laughed, too, and joined him down the hall, not because I cared what he thought, but because his presence had reminded me of my original mission to call up Marlowe.  However, I decided to postpone calling another moment and take advantage of the chance to talk to the house physician.

“Yes,” I agreed, as long as he had opened the subject.  “I fancy the captain likes young people.  He seems to enjoy being with them —­Miss Hillman, for instance.”

Gavira shot a sidelong glance at me.  “The Belleclaire’s a dangerous place for a wealthy widower,” he returned.  “I had some hopes in that direction myself—­in spite of Fitzhugh—­but the captain seems to leave us all at the post.  Still, I suppose I may still be a brother to her—­and physician.  So, I should worry.”

The impression I got of Gavira was that he enjoyed his freedom too much ever to fall in love, though an intimacy now and then with a clever girl like Alma Hillman was a welcome diversion.