The young lady put out her hand, keeping herself as stiff and cold as if she were a kind of iceberg.

'How do you do? Is it true that you're the widow of the late Marquis of Twickenham?'

I paid no attention to her hand whatever.

'About that I know nothing. I am Mrs. Merrett.'

I let her see I could be as stiff as she was--in spite of all that I was feeling. Miss Desmond slipped her arm through mine.

'That's right, Mary; you're a faithful creature--stick to the name which you know best. Leonard must have had some redeeming qualities, or he would never have been able to win the love of a good woman and keep it. There must be something in a man if he can do that. Come, you three, let's go and see what we can find upstairs.'

She was leading us out of the room--I seemed to have lost all power of resisting anything or any one--when the door opened and Mr. Howarth entered. His face when he saw us was a picture.

'Reggie, what--what insensate folly's this?'

'My dear Douglas, it's no folly at all. There'll come a time, and that before very long, when you'll realise that it's the truest wisdom. Let me introduce you to the Marquis of Twickenham, and to his mother, my sister, the Marchioness.'

'Don't--don't talk such d---- nonsense. You don't know what an a.s.s you're making of yourself.' He strode across the room, avoiding us as much as he possibly could--as if we wanted him to come near! He turned on Miss Desmond with a sort of snarl. 'Is it you who have instigated him to make such a cra.s.s exhibition of this masterpiece of imbecility?'

'I told him the truth, Douglas. Whereupon he concluded that, from every point of view, honesty would be the better policy. It surprises and pains me to learn you don't.'

'Honesty! honesty! honesty!' He put his hands up to his head, so that I thought he was going to tear his hair, like those people in the Bible. But he didn't. 'Good Lord! You're only fit for a lunatic asylum, all the lot of you!'

'There are worse places than lunatic asylums, Douglas.'

'But there's none more suitable. You haven't the faintest notion of what it is you're doing. I tell you you're doing irreparable mischief, in complete unconsciousness of the career of stark, staring madness on which you've started.'

Silence followed his burst of temper. I don't fancy the young gentleman was best pleased, either by his words or his manner. When he spoke there was something in his voice which I hadn't heard in it before.

CHAPTER XVIII

MR. HOWARTH AGAINST THE WORLD

'Suppose, Douglas, you enlighten our ignorance. We are acting in accordance with our lights. If we are moving in darkness, surely the fault is rather yours than ours.'

Somehow I felt that, in his turn, Mr. Howarth didn't like the young gentleman's tone. It was quite a time before he spoke again. It seemed as if he was trying to get the better of his temper.

'Reggie, can I speak to you in private?'

'Certainly. But--aren't we in private here?'

'This isn't the sort of privacy I mean.'

The young gentleman seemed to hesitate.

'What is it you wish to say to me?'

'When we're alone I'll tell you.'

'I'll see you alone directly. But before I do so there are one or two things which I should like you to explain, in the presence of this lady.'

'As, for instance?'

'How the late Marquis of Twickenham came to die from heart disease.'

The answer came from the door. There, sure enough, with a gentleman at his side, was Mr. FitzHoward. Never had I seen him when he'd seemed more at his ease. I hadn't thought that it was in him. I know that I'd felt a coward ever since I'd put my foot across the doorstep. He came right forward into the room, without waiting for any one to invite him, as bold and confident as you please. As for Mr. Howarth's black looks--and he gave him some, and somehow there they seemed more hard to meet than they'd been in my home--they never frightened him one little bit.

'That is one thing which we should like you to explain, Mr. Howarth, if you don't mind;--how did the late Marquis of Twickenham come to die of heart disease?'

I believe there'd have been trouble if Mr. Howarth had had Mr.

FitzHoward alone in a room with him. If ever I saw a man look like meaning mischief, it was him then. He seemed to draw his body together like a cat does before it jumps. And his hands quivered, as if they itched to beat him. But the fact that he wasn't alone made all the difference, though I fancy he only remembered it just in time. He glanced about him with a kind of start, and drew a long breath. When he spoke there was pa.s.sion in his voice, which he couldn't disguise.

'What--what's the meaning of this--gentleman's presence here?'

Mr. FitzHoward's manner was as unlike his as it very well could have been. As I've said, I never saw him when he was more himself.

'It means that I want a little explanation, Mr. Howarth--that's all.

Quite a simple little point. There's a gentleman here whom I should like to introduce to the ladies and gentlemen present;--Dr. Clinton, M.D. My lord, this is Dr. Philip Clinton--of whom you may have heard.'

The young gentleman held out his hand, which the other took.

'Have I the pleasure of speaking to the Dr. Clinton who is the great authority on the functions of the heart?'

'I am Dr. Clinton, and I have made the heart my special study.'

I liked him, as I had done the young gentleman, directly he opened his mouth. He had a quiet, pleasant way of speaking. He wasn't over young, nor yet he wasn't over old; but he had as nice a face as I could care to meet, with hair on it; brown, comfortable-looking eyes; and about the corners of his mouth what you felt to be a friendly smile.

'Dr. Clinton,' said Mr. FitzHoward, and he waved the hat which he held in his hand as if he owned the house, 'might I ask you what was the character of the late Marquis of Twickenham's heart?'

Dr. Clinton shook his head.

'I'm afraid that I'm hardly in a position to answer that question in the form in which you put it.'

'Then we'll put it in another way. I will ask you what was the character--of course, I mean the physical character--of the heart of the late Mr. Montagu Babbacombe?'

'Sound. But since you have been so good as to enlighten me as to the reasons which may make my presence here of service, perhaps you will allow me to make a brief statement in my own way.'

'Certainly, Doctor. That is what we desire--in your own way.'

'I examined Mr. Montagu Babbacombe on three occasions, each time in a.s.sociation with certain colleagues whose names I will mention if desired. The examination was very thorough. And as a result we unanimously agreed that he was emphatically what the insurance people call a "good life." He showed no traces of organic weakness; and as for the heart, in a medical sense, I never met a better one. I may add that I met him on the morning of the day on which, I learn to my surprise, it is stated that he died. I was driving along Stamford Street when he came out of the York Hotel. I stopped and spoke to him--asking him how he felt after his thirty days' sleep. His own words were that he was as "fit as a fiddle and game for anything"; and he looked it. Under anything like normal circ.u.mstances it was practically impossible that he could have died on the afternoon of that day of heart disease.'

'In what way,' asked Mr. Howarth, 'is this of interest to us? The connection which certain persons seem desirous of establishing between Mr. Montagu Babbacombe and the late Marquis is one of the purest presumption.'

Mr. FitzHoward handed a photograph which he took out of his pocket to Dr. Clinton.