At that, Lashmore started in good earnest.
"To what do you refer?"
"Lord Lashmore, you have come to me for advice. A rare ailment—happily very rare in England—has assailed you. Circumstances have been in your favour thus far, but a recurrence is to be anticipated at any time. Be good enough to look upon me as a specialist, and give me all your confidence."
Lashmore cleared his throat.
"What do you wish to know, Dr. Cairn?" he asked, with a queer intermingling of respect and hauteur in his tones.
"I wish to know about Mirza, wife of the third Baron Lashmore."
Lord Lashmore took a stride forward. His large hands clenched, and his eyes were blazing.
"What do you know about her?"
Surprise was in his voice, and anger.
"I have seen her portrait in Dhoon Castle; you were not in residence at the time. Mirza, Lady Lashmore, was evidently a very beautiful woman. What was the date of the marriage?"