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just now. And the thought of his dying all alone.... D’you
think he knew he was going to die?’
Philip remembered what Cronshaw had said. He won-
dered whether at that last moment he had been seized with
the terror of death. Philip imagined himself in such a plight,
knowing it was inevitable and with no one, not a soul, to
give an encouraging word when the fear seized him.
‘You’re rather upset,’ said Dr. Tyrell.
He looked at him with his bright blue eyes. They were not
unsympathetic. When he saw Cronshaw, he said:
‘He must have been dead for some hours. I should think
he died in his sleep. They do sometimes.’
The body looked shrunk and ignoble. It was not like any-
thing human. Dr. Tyrell looked at it dispassionately. With a
mechanical gesture he took out his watch.
‘Well, I must be getting along. I’ll send the certificate
round. I suppose you’ll communicate with the relatives.’
‘I don’t think there are any,’ said Philip.
‘How about the funeral?’
‘Oh, I’ll see to that.’
Dr. Tyrell gave Philip a glance. He wondered whether he
ought to offer a couple of sovereigns towards it. He knew
nothing of Philip’s circumstances; perhaps he could well
afford the expense; Philip might think it impertinent if he
made any suggestion.
‘Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do,’ he said.
Philip and he went out together, parting on the doorstep,
and Philip went to a telegraph office in order to send a mes-
sage to Leonard Upjohn. Then he went to an undertaker