"This man's dead!" he said in quick, matter-of-fact tones. "Is anyone with him?"
The train officials glanced at Hetherwick. But Hetherwick shook his head.
"I don't know him," he answered. "There was another man with him—they got in together at St. James's Park. You saw the other man," he continued, turning to the conductor. "He jumped out as you came in here, and ran up the stairs, saying that he was going for some doctor, close by."
"I saw him—heard him, too," assented the conductor. He glanced at the stairs and the exit beyond. "But he ain't come back," he added.
"You had better get the man out," said the doctor. "Bring him in to some place on the platform."
A station policeman had come up by that time; he and the railwaymen lifted the dead man and carried him across the platform to a waiting-room. Hetherwick, feeling that he would be wanted, followed in the rear, the doctor with him. It struck Hetherwick with grim irony that as soon as they were off it, the train went on, as if careless and indifferent.
"Good heavens!" he muttered, more to himself than to the man at his side. "That poor fellow was alive, and, as far as I could see, in the very best of health and spirits, five minutes ago!"
"No doubt!" observed the doctor dryly. "But he's dead now. What happened?"
Hetherwick told him briefly.
"And the other man's—gone!" remarked the doctor. "Um! But I suppose nobody thought of detaining him. Now—if he doesn't come back—eh?"