"I told you that the care of him was a charge upon me," Jocelyn Thew
reminded her. "That amounts to the same thing, doesn't it? I was
clever enough, anyhow, to get a good nurse at a small fee."

"I am not at all sure," she replied, "that I shall not charge you
something outrageous. You are probably a millionaire."

"Whatever you charge me," he promised, "I shall try to pay."

The two journalists, refreshed and encouraged by their libation,
strolled past arm in arm.

"Queer sort of voyage, this, for a man on the point of death," the
Westerner observed. "They brought a chap on here, an hour before we
sailed, in an ambulance, with a doctor and a hospital nurse. Had to be
carried every foot of the way."

"What's wrong with him?" the other enquired.

"He was only operated upon for appendicitis a fortnight ago, and they
say that he has angina pectoris amongst other complications. They
brought him straight from the hospital. Seems he's crazy to get back
to England to die."

The two men passed out of hearing. Jocelyn flicked the ash from the
cigarette which he had lighted.

"Sounds a queer sort of story, the way they tell it," he observed,
glancing at his companion.