u are a doctor?' said Hugo.

'My name is Darcy,' the other replied. 'Besides being Tudor's friend, I
was his physician.'

'Yet even for a physician,' Hugo pursued, 'it seems to me that you have
been able to decide very quickly that your friend and patient is dead. I
have always understood that to say with assurance that death has taken
place means a very careful and thorough examination.'

'You are right,' Darcy agreed, stroking his short, bright, silky beard.
'There is only one absolute proof of death.'

'And that is?'

'Putrefaction. Nevertheless, the inquest will show whether or not I have
been in error.'

'There will have to be an inquest?'

'Certainly. In such a case as this no doctor in his senses would give
his certificate without a post-mortem, and though I am an enthusiast, I
am in my senses, Mr. Hugo.'

'An enthusiast?'

'Let me explain. My friend Tudor was suffering from one of the rarest of
all maladies--malignant disease of the heart. The text-books will tell
you that malignant disease of the heart has probably never been
diagnosed. It is a disease of which there are no symptoms, in which the
patient generally suffers no pain, and for which there is no treatment.
Nevertheless, in my enthusiasm, I have diagnosed in this case that a
very considerable extent of the cardiac wall was affected by
epithelioma. We shall see. Not long since I condemned Tudor to an early
and sudden death--a death which might be hastened by circumstances.'

'Poor chap!' Hugo murmured.

The dead man looked so young, artless, and content.

'Why "poor"?' Darcy turned on him sharply but coldly. 'Is not a sudden
death the best? Would you not wish it for yourself, for your friends?'

'Yes,' said Hugo; 'but when one is dead one is dead. That's all I
meant.'

'I have heard much of you, Mr. Hugo,' said the other. 'And, if I may be
excused a certain bluntness, it is very obvious that, though you say
little, you are no ordinary man. Can it be possible that you have lived
so long and so fully and are yet capable of pitying the dead? Have you
not learnt that it is only _they_ who are happy?' He vaguely indicated
the corpse. 'If you will be so good as to assist me--'

'Willingly,' said Hugo, who could find nothing else to say. 'I suppose
we must call the servants?'

'Why call the servants? To begin with, there is only one here, a
somewhat antique housekeeper. Let her sleep. She has been through
sufficient to-day. Morning will b