'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 passion 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?'