“Don’t be a fool,” said I. “We’ve got no time for hysterics. Something’s got to be done.”
“Yes, of course,” he said. “Yes—something must be done. A doctor, or something. All right, old man. Give me another drink and I’ll be as right as rain.”
I gave him another small one and took some myself. That seemed to clear my mind a little.
“How far are we from Manaton?”
“About three miles, I think—or a little over.”
“Well,” I said, “I suppose somebody there will have a telephone, or can send a messenger. One of us had better get along there as fast as possible and get on to the police.”
“Police?”
“Yes, of course, you ass. They’ve got to know.”
“But you don’t suppose there’s anything wrong about it?”
“Wrong? Well, there’s a dead man—that’s pretty wrong, I should think. He must have died of something. Did he have a heart, or fits, or anything?”
“Not that I know of.”
I surveyed the distasteful bed again.
“It looks more as though—he’d eaten something—”
I stopped, struck by an idea.