"Sangoa?"
"Island in South Seas."
The wounded man reached for another cigarette and lighted it.
"Carg," he repeated, musingly. "German?"
"Why, my folks were, I believe. I've relations in Germany, yet. Munich. Visited them once, when a boy. Mother's name was Elbl. The Cargs lived next door to the Elbls. But they've lost track of me, and I of them. Nothing in common, you see."
The German finished his cigarette, looking at the captain at times reflectively. Carg, feeling his biography had not been appreciated, had lapsed into silence. At length the wounded man began feeling in his breast pocket—an awkward operation because the least action disturbed the swathed limb—and presently drew out a leather card case. With much deliberation he abstracted a card and handed it to the captain, who put on his spectacles and read:
"Otto Elbl. 12th Uhlans"
"Oh," he said, looking up to examine the German anew. "Otto Elbl of Munich?"
"Yes."
"H-m. Number 121 Friedrichstrasse?"