Dr. Clinton shook his head.
'I'm afraid that I'm hardly in a position to answer that question in the form in which you put it.'
'Then we'll put it in another way. I will ask you what was the character--of course, I mean the physical character--of the heart of the late Mr. Montagu Babbacombe?'
'Sound. But since you have been so good as to enlighten me as to the reasons which may make my presence here of service, perhaps you will allow me to make a brief statement in my own way.'
'Certainly, Doctor. That is what we desire--in your own way.'
'I examined Mr. Montagu Babbacombe on three occasions, each time in association with certain colleagues whose names I will mention if desired. The examination was very thorough. And as a result we unanimously agreed that he was emphatically what the insurance people call a "good life." He showed no traces of organic weakness; and as for the heart, in a medical sense, I never met a better one. I may add that I met him on the morning of the day on which, I learn to my surprise, it is stated that he died. I was driving along Stamford Street when he came out of the York Hotel. I stopped and spoke to him--asking him how he felt after his thirty days' sleep. His own words were that he was as "fit as a fiddle and game for anything"; and he looked it. Under anything like normal circumstances it was practically impossible that he could have died on the afternoon of that day of heart disease.'
'In what way,' asked Mr. Howarth, 'is this of interest to us? The connection which certain persons seem desirous of establishing between Mr. Montagu Babbacombe and the late Marquis is one of the purest presumption.'
Mr. FitzHoward handed a photograph which he took out of his pocket to Dr. Clinton.
'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.'