THE GIRL IN HIS HOUSE
came a rap on the door, and Armitage sprang toward it.
One glance at Bordman was enough for the doctor. He caught up the telephone and called for an ambulance.
"Bad?" asked Armitage.
"He's been bad for a long while. By the look of him, he's been a dead man for a month gone. He must have kept on his feet by sheer will. Who is he?"
"My old real-estate agent. He went away some months ago; but he went away too late. Poor devil!"
Poor devil indeed! thought Armitage. All his beautiful plans had come to naught. A sick man the day he absconded, probably. Not a bit of joy out of the deed, only misery, mental and physical. Why had he done it?
"He is really dying?"
"Yes. I'll give him a few hours. The next fit of coughing will be his last. There, he's coming around. But don't talk to him. We'll get him over to the hospital first."
"I'll go along with you. He hasn't a soul in the world to look after him, so far as I know."
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