"I came to ask your advice," said Hartley, as he slowly filled his pipe from the pouch the captain pushed toward him.
"Joan?" inquired the captain, who was carefully decanting the beer.
Mr. Hartley nodded.
"Robert Vyner?" pursued the captain.
Hartley nodded again.
"What did I tell you?" inquired the other, placing a full tumbler before him. "I warned you from the first. I told you how it would be. I——"
"It's no good talking like that," said Hartley, with feeble irritation. "You're as bad as my poor old grandmother; she always knew everything before it happened—at least, she said so afterward. What I want to know is: how is it to be stopped? He has been round three nights running."
"Your grandmother is dead, I suppose?" said the offended captain, gazing at the river. "Else she might have known what to do."
"I'm sorry," said Hartley, apologetically; "but I am so worried that I hardly know what I'm saying."