till he
suddenly discovered he was living on me. Not that I minded; I had pots
of money--it's been my curse. Never had to do a day's work in my life.
He pulled up short at that, pawned his watch, and refused to take
another crust of bread, and left me without a penny in his pocket. I
only heard once of him afterwards. He wrote to enclose a five-pound
note."

"Have you got his letter? Can you remember where he wrote from?" asked
Roger excitedly.

"I don't believe there was a letter. The note was wrapped up in an old
play-bill of some strolling company of actors. I remember it now,"
added Fastnet, laughing and re-lighting his cigar. "Yes, it was
_Hamlet_. Rogers was cast for the ghost in one act, Polonius in
another, and the grave-digger in another. I remember how I roared when
I read it. Fancy that fellow as Polonius!"

"Can't you remember the town?"

"Not a ghost of an idea. Some little village in the Midlands probably,
where _Hamlet_ would be appreciated. I remember, by the way, the bill--
pity I didn't keep it--mentioned that this enterprising company was
going to give a performance in Boulogne, of all places. It occurred to
me it would be a source of great consolation to our fellow-countrymen in
that dismal colony to witness Jack Rogers in the ghost for one night
only."

"That would be eighteen or nineteen years ago," said Roger, with a sigh
at the hopelessness of his quest. "You have heard nothing since?"

"Not a syllable. Have some more sherry?"

Roger reached his hotel that night in more than mental distress. The
fatigue and anxiety of the last few days had had their inevitable result
on his health, and though the penalty had been postponed, it was coming
to account at last.

When his worthy guardian returned on the following day, he was much
shocked to find his ward really ill. He did his best. He tried to
induce the patient to make an effort to "shake off" his ailments. He
sat up late in his room at night, talking and attempting to amuse him.
He even purchased a few amateur specifics; and finally, when the boy was
as ill as ill could be, called in a pettifogging practitioner, who might
be trusted to bungle the case.

"Regular bad case," said that learned gentleman, after the third or
fourth visit. "May last a week with care."

The good captain naturally grew concerned. Matters seemed to be
progressing beyond even his expectations. The practitioner's verdict
speedily got wind