'Doctor, do you know the original of that?'

'I do; it is Mr. Montagu Babbacombe; he gave me a similar one. A capital likeness it is.'

'My lord, do you know the original of that?'

Mr. FitzHoward handed on the likeness to the young gentleman.

'I do. It's the portrait of my brother.'

'Thank you. You see, Mr. Howarth, the connection between them is not so shadowy as it seems you'd like us to think; it's recognised by every one but you. And we're still waiting for you to explain how the Marquis of Twickenham came to die of heart disease.'

Mr. Howarth looked at Mr. FitzHoward as if he'd have liked to have torn him in pieces. I'm confident that if it hadn't been for all of us being there, there'd have been violence used.

'I'm not a medical man, you--clever fellow.'

'It seems as if you know how to manufacture heart disease to order, anyhow.'

'What the----!'

He moved forward so that I thought he was going to strike him; only at the last moment he stopped short and changed his mind. The young gentleman laid his hand on Mr. FitzHoward's shoulder.

'Come, sir; let us not deal in innuendo, if you please. Here comes some one who may be able to give you the information you require.' An old gentleman came into the room. He wore gold spectacles. With the fingers and thumb of one hand he lifted them in their place on his nose as he advanced. 'Sir Gregory, this is very kind of you. Your arrival is most opportune. A rather curious point has arisen with regard to my brother's death. We require your aid for its solution. I believe that you certified that the cause of his death was heart disease.'

'Certainly; the immediate cause. Heart disease of long standing. Your brother always had a weak heart, my lord.'

'Then in that case Mr. Montagu Babbacombe wasn't the Marquis of Twickenham.'

This was Dr. Clinton. When he spoke, the old gentleman looked at him and knew him.

'Is that you, Clinton? I didn't catch what it was you said.'

Mr. FitzHoward put himself forward before Dr. Clinton had a chance of answering. He handed the old gentleman the photograph.

'May I ask, sir, if you know who is the original of that?'

'Certainly; very well. It's the late Marquis--as I used to know him.'

'That's a portrait of Mr. Montagu Babbacombe, as he appeared on the morning of the day on which the late Marquis is stated to have died.'

'Of whom?'

'Of Mr. Montagu Babbacombe.'

'Mr. Montagu Babbacombe? Then in that case--but I don't understand.'

He turned to the young gentleman. 'Surely this is a portrait of your lordship's brother?'

'Undoubtedly.'

Dr. Clinton spoke.

'The point, Sir Gregory, is this. The idea is that Montagu Babbacombe was only another name for the Marquis of Twickenham; but before that can be admitted there's a difficulty to be got over. I knew Montagu Babbacombe, and I'm ready to testify that he never had anything the matter with his heart in the whole of his life, and that on the morning of the day on which the Marquis died he was in excellent health.'

'Then your Babbacombe wasn't my Marquis. The Marquis of Twickenham inherited a weak heart from his father; and as for being in excellent health on the morning of his death, he'd been dying for months.'

The young gentleman appealed to Mr. Howarth.

'Douglas, I really do believe that the solution of the puzzle is in your hands. Did Leonard masquerade as Montagu Babbacombe?'

'My dear Reggie, I don't propose to furnish any information.'

'But that's an impossible position, one for which I can't conceive your justification. Can't you answer Yes or No?'

'Your brother's dead. That's enough for me. It ought to be enough for you.'

'But don't you see the difficulties which must inevitably arise if you refuse to answer?'

'I confess I don't.'

'Then you must be more short-sighted than I supposed. If my brother called himself Babbacombe, then this lady is his wife; and here's her son. Everything is theirs, and I have nothing.'

'I a.s.sure you that this lady is not your brother's wife, and that the young gentleman is no relation of yours.'

'Then do you say that Leonard wasn't Babbacombe?'

'I don't see how it matters if he was or wasn't.'

'Not if this lady was his wife?' Mr. Howarth shrugged his shoulders.

'The att.i.tude of your mind is altogether beyond my comprehension. I thought I knew you; but it seems I don't. During the last few days you have been a different man.'

'Don't talk such nonsense.'

'You have--and you know it. I've felt that there was something at the back, and now I begin to have a glimmer of an idea of what it is. You have persistently refused to tell me what were the circ.u.mstances under which you first saw Leonard. I'm sorry to say that I'm beginning to believe that it was because, for reasons of your own, you wished to conceal your knowledge of the fact that he was Babbacombe.'

'Reggie, if you take my serious advice, you will restrain yourself from making any further remarks until we are alone. You are not behaving wisely.'

'Wisely? Thank you; there's a sort of wisdom which I would rather be without. Let me tell you this. I do not intend to allow this doubt to confront me a moment longer than I can help. There is one step which I can take towards its solution, and that step I'll take at once. I'll have the coffin opened, and I'll see who is inside.'

'What?'

'I say I'll have the coffin opened and see who is inside.'

'You--you'll do nothing of the kind.'

Dr. Clinton asked a question.

'Can you do that at once? Won't the legal forms which you have to go through before you can obtain permission involve considerable delay?'

'I'll do it first and obtain permission afterwards. The coffin is on a shelf in our mausoleum at Cressland. I only have to remove the lid and put it back again. The whole thing needn't occupy half an hour.'