Moreover, if Thorpe was nervously upset, Hastings was, too, and neither man knew exactly what to do.
"Well, you must get a doctor," Thorpe went on, a little peevishly. "You're responsible in cases of emergency——"
"Me responsible, sir? What do you mean, Mr. Thorpe?"
"Nothing to make you look like that. But you're in a position of responsibility, and it's up to you to do something. Now, do it."
"Yes, sir." The tone of authority brought Hastings to his senses. He was responsible in a case like this, and he went to the telephone. He called the superintendent, who did not live in the building, and asked him to come at once, and to bring a doctor. Then, his work done, he left the room, and Thorpe was alone with his dead comrade.
But McClellan Thorpe made no move. He sat still on the edge of the chair, his face turned away from Blair's bedroom and toward the outer door.
At last Somers, the superintendent, arrived, and with him was Doctor Frost.
They went straight to Blair's bedroom, scarcely speaking to Thorpe.
"Hastings tells me he's dead," Somers merely said, as he passed Thorpe's chair.
With practiced experience, the doctor examined the body.