“Very likely,” said Hugh, dryly, as he produced brandy and a siphon of seltzer, which seemed to suit his guest’s ideas, for he assumed a less patronising manner, even saying, “Thanks, old fellow,” quite familiarly as Hugh handed him the tall tumbler. “No, Captain Pym; I did not telegraph to you on the subject of Sir Roderick. The fact is, Dr. Hildyard has a patient who has had to do with the regiment—your regiment, I mean—and whom you can possibly identify.” “Well——” Captain Pym paused, evidently annoyed. “Excuse me, Paull, if I say that I think that is about the coolest proceeding I ever heard of in my life! I am to be wired for because some fellow in the hospital wants identification! Why didn’t you write? I’d have sent up a non-com. to oblige you. But—really——” “I think—that your friend—is an officer, Captain Pym.” “Oh—well!”—Roderick tossed off his seltzer and brandy, and smiled somewhat sourly. “It was a curious thing to do—but you hospital fellows have ways of your own, I expect. Can’t be expected to know what’s what, of course. Where is the fellow? I don’t remember anyone I was particularly friendly with, by the way.” “Your—acquaintance—is not here, Captain Pym,” said Hugh, hating the part he was playing—sickened as he felt by the young man’s manner, which was utterly different to that of the Roderick Pym he had met at the Pinewood. “The case is being privately nursed. If you would accompany me, a hansom will take us and bring us back within the hour.” Roderick’s face brightened. He glanced at the clock. “An hour!” he said. “I mean to make a holiday of what time I’ve got. You must lunch with me, Paull! We ought to be chums, you know, you being everybody at the Pinewood now. Why, my nose is quite out of joint. What a devil of a hurry you are in, man!” (Hugh had seized his hat, and had opened the door.) “The fellow, whoever it is, isn’t dying, I suppose?” “No,” said Hugh, going rapidly downstairs and feeling that at least this was absolutely true. Speeding along in a hansom, his volatile companion’s spirits rose; he laughed and chaffed and told anecdotes, rallying Hugh on his gravity. “You medicos seem to me to think a lot more of death than we army fellows,” he said, as they neared the house with the lowered blinds. “I have a horror of killing: I acknowledge that. But as for death itself, what is a corpse, after all? A mere empty envelope. The likeness of the human being is the address; but the contents—the letter itself—is gone.” Here Hugh shouted to the driver to stop, and without glancing at his companion, paid the fare and mounted the steps of No. 99. The sympathetic landlady had drawn down her blinds in respect to the dead girl, but Captain Pym did not notice this, he was looking after the departing hansom. “You might have kept the fellow,” he said, discontentedly, as they entered the house. Hugh muttered something about hansoms being plentiful in that fashionable quarter, and hurried upstairs, bidding Roderick follow.