“Was Blefken with you?”
“Until five minutes ago.”
“He has been attacked,” declared Cardona, stepping aside, so all could see the body plainly. “Outside, all of you! We’ve got to get Jerry Middleton! Hurry, you three” — he indicated the guests — “and you, Stokes, get headquarters.”
Morgan was the first to respond. He advanced, stepped past Blefken’s form with a hasty glance, and dashed out through the side door. Carew followed him. Stokes scurried to the telephone in the lounge. Only Doctor Rossiter stopped, as he neared the body of Charles Blefken.
“I’m the physician,” he said quietly.
“Right,” replied Cardona.
Rossiter was leaning over the body, making a close examination. Cardona stood back and watched him.
“Shouldn’t you hold every one here?” the physician questioned coolly.
“Ordinarily, yes,” was Cardona’s blunt response. “But I see situations quickly. You were all together. You were all alarmed. I know what was going on. I have been here all evening. That’s my business, doctor; I’m attending to it. You have your business. I hope you can be of aid.”
“Not now,” came the doctor’s quiet voice.