CHAPTER XIX.

“‘SCOUNDREL!’ HE SAID.”

When Pelham left the house in Ashley Mansions it was not yet ten o’clock. He paused for a moment on the pavement to look at his watch and consult with himself. The result of his brief thought was that he turned with resolute steps in the direction of Harley Street. Ten minutes after he left Ashley Mansions he was ringing the bell of Luke Tarbot’s house. The door was opened, he asked if the doctor was in. The servant replied in the affirmative.

“What name shall I say?” he asked.

“Say that Sir Richard Pelham wishes to speak to Dr. Tarbot for a moment.”

Sir Richard was asked to step into the hall, and the servant went hurriedly into a room which opened on to the hall at the left side. The next moment Tarbot came out to meet Dick and to welcome him.

“Come in, Sir Richard,” he said. “I am very glad to see you. Do you mind joining me in my smoking-den? I can give you an excellent cigar and a hearty welcome.”

Tarbot’s manner was cordial. The two men entered the smoking-room. Pelham declined a cigar. His manner was full of reserve, and intensely gloomy. Tarbot saw at a glance that he intended to make himself disagreeable. He gave his guest one very keen flash out of his deeply set eyes, and immediately afterwards put on his most guarded manner.

It had been the lot of the great surgeon to see all sorts and conditions of men. For years now he had read the human countenance in its intricate and many phases. He saw that Dick was much troubled and desperate. This was no call of mere politeness. But it was not Tarbot’s cue to take the initiative, and he waited for his guest to speak.

“I have come here to-night, Dr. Tarbot, to ask you a special question.”

“What may that be?” asked Tarbot.

“Have I to thank you for a very unpleasant rumor which is afloat with regard to me in my club?”

“You must explain yourself. I do not understand.”

“It is this. It is known in the club that I signed a _post obit_ a fortnight before the death of my little cousin.”

Tarbot slightly shifted his position.

“I did not know that the rumor had got afloat,” he said. “I am certainly innocent of propagating it. But are you sure it is known?”

“Yes. I was first told of it by Carroll, whom I met at the hotel at Glion, where my wife and I stayed. He begged me to return to London as quickly as possible in order to contradict the gossip which was afloat. I did come back, and I find on my arrival that matters are even more unpleasant than I had believed possible.”

Tarbot laughed.

“How the rumor got about is more than I can tell you,” he replied. “I can only assure you once more that I am not responsible. I should naturally wish to hide a matter in which I myself am implicated. You understand, Pelham, that it affects me as much as you. My advice to you is this: don’t take the slightest notice. Live it down—there is nothing in it.”

“It is unpleasant and undesirable,” said Dick, “and the man who has caused it to be spread is my enemy.”

“Then find him,” said Tarbot lightly. “Find him, and vent your spleen upon him. Will you change your mind and have a cigar? I can recommend this brand.”

“No, thank you. I only smoke with my friends.”

“What am I to understand by that?” asked Tarbot. As he spoke he looked Dick full in the face.

“I thought we were friends,” continued Tarbot after a moment’s pause.

“No,” answered Dick. “I must be frank at a moment like the present. I dislike you, Dr. Tarbot. I have an antipathy to you—what is more, I distrust you.”

“You must give me a reason for those last words. Why do you distrust me?”

“I intend to speak fully. The child’s death has distressed me much. Yesterday I got a copy of the certificate.”

“Why?”

“Because I am not satisfied with the reason you gave for the death.”

“Did you ever qualify as a medical man?”

“Never; but I use my common sense, and I repeat that I am not satisfied with the reason you gave for the death.”

“Why?”

“You state that the boy died from heart disease.”

“He did—from aortic disease.”

“But I say that he never had heart disease. I knew him well, almost from his birth. He was delicate, but he had no organic complaint of any sort. It is just possible that disease of the heart may be developed within a fortnight, but on that point I should like to ask the opinion of another doctor.”

“Why so? Is not my word as good as another’s? Such instances are rare, but not impossible.”

Pelham was silent.

“Go on,” said Tarbot after a pause. “Say all that is in your mind. You have gone too far now to draw back. Your impression is that the child did not die of heart disease. You at least admit that he is dead?”

“Heaven help me, yes.”

“That being the case, what did he die of?”

“I cannot tell you. I wish I could.”

“Is it your impression that he came by his death unduly?”

“I have harbored such a suspicion.”

“Whom do you suspect?”

Pelham’s face flushed, but his eyes looked straight into Tarbot’s.

“Perhaps you can answer that,” he replied; “but whatever the cause of death, I wish to have all the circumstances relating to the child’s last illness closely investigated.”

“I do not know what more you can do. I signed the certificate. I am ready to abide by my decision. I certified that Piers Pelham died from aortic disease. My opinion was corroborated by Dr. Williamson and Sir Richard Spears. In what position are you that you place your opinion against three such authorities?”

“I am in no position whatever, but still I hold my own thoughts, and I wish to have something done.”

“What?”

“To have the medicine which the boy last took analyzed.”

“Talking of that,” said Tarbot, “don’t forget that you yourself gave that last dose of medicine to the boy. You went to fetch the bottle, you took the medicine to the child, he received it from your hands.”

“True, but what of that?”

“Much or little according to circumstances.”

“I do not understand you,” said Pelham. “It matters little who gave the medicine to the child. I wish to have it analyzed. Nothing else will set my mind at rest. I have just been to Mrs. Pelham’s house for the purpose of securing the bottle, but I find that you forestalled me, and that you have the medicine in your own keeping.”

“I have.”

“What do you want it for?”

“To have it analyzed.”

“Then you agree with me?” said Dick eagerly.

“I don’t agree with you, but because I am taking copious notes of Sir Piers Pelham’s death I wish to have the medicine analyzed.”

“Can you do it?”

“Yes.”

“Will you do it now?”

“No.”

“What if I compel you?”

“Compel me! My good fellow, you are talking nonsense.”

Pelham was fast losing his self-control: he leaped forward and seized Tarbot by the arm.

“Scoundrel!” he said. “Notwithstanding that certificate, I have my reasons for suspecting you. Analyze that medicine at once before my eyes, or, by heaven, I’ll have you in a court of justice.”

“You must be mad, Pelham,” said Tarbot calmly. “I will analyze the medicine, certainly, but at my own good time and pleasure. Now leave the house. Your words are insulting. You forget yourself. Too great a portion of this world’s riches has overbalanced your brain. I have heard of such cases before. When you can exercise self-control I will speak to you again.”