“You are not satisfied with the death certificate?”
“No.”
“You suspect Dr. Tarbot?”
“Heaven help me, Barbara, I do. I cannot help it. The man is a scoundrel. I cannot look at him without being assured on that point.”
“I don’t like him,” said Barbara; “but never, no, never for a single moment, can I think of him as you do. The dear little fellow came by his death through natural causes—of that I am firmly convinced, but if I were you, Dick——”
“Yes?” he asked.
“I would go and see the two great consultants who were called in when little Piers was so ill.”
Pelham gazed at her anxiously.
“That is a capital idea,” he said, and his brow cleared.
“You will act on it, Dick—will you not?”