“Undoubtedly.”
Pelham’s brow cleared. He gave a short, quick sigh of relief.
“Why do you ask me?”
“Because I have had my doubts. I have known Piers from a child: he never showed the slightest symptom of heart disease.”
“That fact has nothing to do with it. Aortic disease may come on suddenly and—end abruptly. In the case of your young friend it did so. I am glad to be able to relieve your mind. Yours is a somewhat strange inquiry, but I have thought it best to answer it.”
“What is your fee?” asked Pelham.
“Nothing, because I have done nothing for you. Good-by. By the way, you don’t look too well yourself. You ought to have change and rest.”
“I shall be better now,” replied Pelham. He left the house. From Sir Richard Spears he went to Dr. Williamson. He was also fortunate enough to see him, and to put to him the same question. The same reply was vouchsafed. The boy had died from aortic disease. Aortic disease as a rule ended suddenly.
Dick’s relief was now so manifest in his face that he could almost laugh aloud. From Dr. Williamson he went straight to the chemist from whom he had obtained the medicine which had been given to little Sir Piers on the night of his death. The chemist was willing to give him a copy of the prescription. Dick knew nothing whatever about medicine, but having got the copy, he asked the man what each ingredient meant. In some surprise the chemist answered him.
“This is a very harmless prescription,” he said. “It would have little effect one way or the other.”