His manner assumed a singular hostility. He had no sympathy with London specialists, whose attitude towards the general practitioner he resented. He was pleased to sneer at their pretensions to omniscience, and quite willing to pit himself against them.
“What can I do for you, Mr Burdon?”
“I should be very much obliged if you would tell me as exactly as possible how Mrs Haddo died.”
“It was a very simple case of endocarditis.”
“May I ask how long before death you were called in?”
The doctor hesitated. He reddened a little.
“I’m not inclined to be cross-examined,” he burst out, suddenly making up his mind to be angry. “As a surgeon I daresay your knowledge of cardiac diseases is neither extensive nor peculiar. But this was a very simple case, and everything was done that was possible. I don’t think there’s anything I can tell you.”
Arthur took no notice of the outburst.
“How many times did you see her?”
“Really, sir, I don’t understand your attitude. I can’t see that you have any right to question me.”