"Italian?--I thought so." "On my mother's side. My father was Scotch, an Aberdonian." "Your parents are living?" "No, both dead." He stood there, tall and sombre, watching the other write in a thin, crabbed hand the unusual name. "Any hereditary tendency to heart trouble?" "Not that I know of. My father was drowned--out fishing, one day. The boat overturned, caught by a squall. He was, I believe, a strong healthy man." "And your mother?" "She never seemed the same after his death. And then the climate tried her. She'd been brought up in the South. The end was pneumonia. I was only twelve at the time, but I don't think that either of them suffered from the heart." "I see. And now if you'll take off your things--strip to the waist, please--and lie on that sofa." It seemed to McTaggart that at this juncture the devil himself entered into his clothes. Buttons multiplied and waxed evasive, his collar stud stuck, his vest clove to his head. He dragged it off at last, breathless and ruffled. "That's capital." The great man adjusted his stethoscope and leaned over the white young body outstretched. McTaggart felt dexterous hands passing swiftly, surely; tapping here, pressing there, over his bare flesh. "A deep breath--so. Thank you, that will do. Now gently in and out ... quite naturally. Ah...!" He paused, listened a second and gave a grunt. "I wonder?" A wave of anger swept over the prostrate man. "He's found something, damn him!" he said to himself, resenting the eager light on that lean, absorbed face. "Curious!" The specialist drew himself upright, and reached round for a shorter, wooden instrument. Another silence followed, pregnant of disaster. The pressure of the wooden disk upon McTaggart's chest seemed to become insupportable--a thing of infinite weight. The doctor's coarse gray hair exhaled a faint scent where brilliantine, ineffectually, had played a minor part, and in some mysterious way it added to the other's annoyance. The suspense was unbearable. "Found anything wrong?" His voice, unnaturally cheerful, brought a frown to the doctor's face. "Don't move, please. Keep silent, now." The disk slid across his chest and settled above his ribs, on the right side this time, with its load of discomfort. "Marvellous ... extraordinary! One's read of it, of course, but never come across it ... my first experience." The great man stood erect, perplexity at end, a vast enthusiasm glowing in his eyes. Suddenly he divined the patient's anxiety. "Nothing to worry about," he added soothingly. "You can dress now. Your heart's perfectly sound." He walked away to his writing table, still engrossed in thought. McTaggart felt an immense relief that swamped curiosity. The ordeal was over, and life still smiled at him. He tumbled into his clothes and groped for his collar stud, which, with the guile of these wayward things, had crept away to hide.