physicians left in New York who had both the audacity and ability to wear a Vandyke. He was dressed in evening clothes and had not bothered to remove his overcoat or to give up his hat.
“ Dr. Worth? I am Lieutenant Valcour, of the police. Mr. Endicott is in here.”
Dr. Worth bowed gravely, and with a sparklingly manicured hand stroked his Vandyke once. “I have been afraid of something like this for quite a while, Lieutenant,” he said. His voice, in company with everything else about him, sounded expensive.
Lieutenant Valcour raised his eyebrows. “It begins to seem, Doctor, as if everybody except Mr. Endicott himself anticipated his murder.”
“Murder?”
It was Dr. Worth’s eyebrows’ turn. They raised. They fell. They became, in conjunction with pursed lips, judicious. He removed his overcoat and placed it, with his hat, upon a chair.
“I believe you will find, Lieutenant, that it is just his heart. His—Dear God in heaven, man, what have you left him slumped down like this for?”
“You mustn’t touch him, Doctor, unless you think he isn’t dead.”
Dr. Worth stiffened perceptibly. “Fancy that,” he said. “Well, one would infer that he is dead, all right. Just the same, Lieutenant, is there any legal objection to opening his coat and shirt bosom? I dare say I could slit them, if you preferred. You see, it might be advisable to test for any trace of heart action with the stethoscope.”
“I had no intention of offending you, Doctor. Go right ahead and do anything you think is absolutely essential to establish life or death.”