"
The doctor rose to his feet.
"Nothing more can be done," he pronounced. "Keep the people out
of here whilst I go and fetch my hat and coat. Afterwards, I'll
take the body to the mortuary when the ambulance arrives."
An attendant pushed his way through the crowd of people on the
inner side of the door.
"Miss Daisy Hyslop, young lady who was with Mr. Bidlake, has just
fainted in the ladies' room, sir," he announced. "Could you
come?"
"I'll be there immediately," the doctor promised.
The rest of the proceedings followed a normal course. The police
arrived, took various notes, the ambulance followed a little
later, the body was removed, and the little crowd of guests,
still infected with a sort of awed excitement, were allowed to
take their leave. Francis and Wilmore drove almost in silence to
the former's rooms in Clarges Street.
"Come up and have a drink, Andrew," Francis invited.
"I need it," was the half-choked response.
Francis led the way in silence up the two flights of stairs into
his sitting-room, mixed whiskies and sodas from the decanter and
syphon which stood upon the sideboard, and motioned his friend to
an easy-chair. Then he gave form to the thought which had been
haunting them both.
"What about our friend Sir Timothy Brast?" he enquired.
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