“I quite understand, sir. I have been instructed to make one or two enquiries about the death of Sir Garth Fratten. Some question has been raised about the actual cause of death—about the circumstances, too, that led up to it. As regards the first question, you, naturally, can give us the information we want.”
“You will find the necessary information in my death certificate, Inspector. I don’t understand the necessity for your coming to me about it. The matter was all in order.”
“Quite so, sir, but I shall be glad, all the same, if you will tell me about it in your own words. Possibly some amplification of the information contained in the certificate may clear things up.”
“What do you mean, ‘clear things up’? There is nothing to clear up, so far as I know.”
“Probably not, sir, but we want to be quite certain on that point. I understand that the cause of death was the rupture of an aneurism. Can you tell me how long Sir Garth had suffered from this—disability?”
The physician stood for a moment looking down at the writing-pad in front of him, his fingers playing an irritated tattoo on the woodwork of the table. Then, with a shrug of the shoulders, he sat down, signing to the detective to do the same.
“Very well,” he said, “I suppose I had better do what you want, though it seems a complete waste of time—yours as well as mine. Sir Garth Fratten had been suffering from a thorasic aneurism for about a year. It was very slight at first, and I had hoped by treatment—the injection of gelatine solution—to cure it. Within the last three months, however, the dilatation had noticeably increased. I ordered complete rest—owing to the position, in the chest, an operation was out of the question—but Sir Garth was a self-willed man and would not listen to reason. He preferred, he said, to die in harness rather than lead an idle and useless life, though he did agree to knock off a certain amount of his work. There was always great danger of the aneurism bursting in the event of sudden shock and, though I hadn’t expected it quite so soon, I was in no way surprised when it occurred.”
“I’m afraid I’m very ignorant, sir,” said Poole. “Would you mind telling me, not too technically, what an aneurism is?”
This was pie to Sir Horace and he answered with a better grace than he had yet shown.
“An aneurism is a blood-containing cavity, the walls of which are formed from the dilatation of an artery, or of its surrounding tissues. The dilatation is due to local weakness, caused by injury or disease. You might say that the general effect was rather like the ballooning of an inner tube through the outer cover of a motor tire. Naturally, if the aneurism bursts, the blood escapes from the artery into the pleura and death rapidly ensues. Do I make myself clear?”