“Go on,” said the shipbroker, presently.
“I have thought of a scheme for upsetting Nugent's marriage,” said Hardy, slowly.
“It is just a forlorn hope which depends for its success on you and Nathan Smith.”
“He's a friend of Kybird's,” said the other, drily.
“That is the most important thing of all,” rejoined Hardy. “That is, next to your shrewdness and tact; everything depends upon you, really, and whether you can fool Smith. It is a great thing in our favour that you have been taking him up lately.”
“Are you coming to the point or are you not?” demanded the shipbroker.
Hardy looked cautiously round the room, and then, drawing his chair close to the bed, leaned over the prostrate man and spoke rapidly into his ear.
“What?” cried the astounded Mr. Swann, suddenly sitting up in his bed. “You—you scoundrel!”
“It's to be done,” said Hardy.
“You ghoul!” said the invalid, glaring at him. “Is that the way to talk to a sick man? You unscrupulous rascal!”