“Then you think he died a natural death?” he asked, suddenly turning on his companion.  “You don’t think there’s—­anything wrong?”

The doctor shook his head calmly.

“I think he died of precisely what I should have expected him to die of,” he answered.  “Heart failure.  It came upon him quite suddenly.  You see, he was in the act of taking off his boots.  He is a little fleshy—­stout.  The exertion of bending over and down—­that was too much.  He felt a sharp spasm—­he sat back—­he died, there and then.”

“There and then!” repeated Allerdyke mechanically.  “Well—­what’s to be done!” he went on.  “What is done in these cases—­I suppose you know?”

“There will have to be an inquest later on,” answered the doctor.  “I can give evidence for you, if you like—­I am staying in Hull for a few days—­for I can certainly testify to what I had observed.  But that comes later—­at present you had better acquaint the manager of the hotel, and I should suggest sending for a local medical man—­there are some eminent men of my profession in this town.  And—­the body should be laid out.  I’ll go and dress, and then do what I can for you.”

“Much obliged,” responded Allerdyke.  “Very kind of you.  What name, sir?”

“My name is Lydenberg,” replied the stranger.  “I will give you my card presently.  I have the honour of addressing—?”

Allerdyke pulled out his own card-case.

“My name’s Marshall Allerdyke,” he answered.  “I’m his cousin,” he went on, with another glance at the still figure.  “And, my conscience, I never thought to find him like this!  I never heard of any weakness on his part—­I always thought him a particularly strong man.”

“You will send for another medical man?” asked Dr. Lydenberg.  “It will be more satisfactory to you.”

“Yes, I’ll see to that,” replied Allerdyke.  He turned to look at the night-porter, who was still hanging about as if fascinated.  “Look here!” he said.  “We don’t want any fuss.  Just rouse the manager quietly, and ask him to come here.  And find that chauffeur of mine, and tell him I want him.  Now, then, what about a doctor?  Do you know a real, first-class one?”

“There’s several within ten minutes, sir,” answered the night-porter.  “There’s Dr. Orwin, in Coltman Street—­he’s generally fetched here.  I can get a man to go for him at once.”

“Do!” commanded Allerdyke.  “But send me my driver first—­I want him.  Tell him what’s happened.”

He waited, standing and staring at his dead cousin until Gaffney came hurrying along the corridor.  Allerdyke beckoned him into the room and closed the door.

“Gaffney,” he said.  “You see how things are?  Mr. James is dead—­I found him sitting there, dead.  He’s been dead some time—­hours.  There’s a doctor, a foreigner, I think, across the passage there, who says it’s been heart failure.  I’ve sent for another doctor.  Now in the meantime, I want to see what my cousin’s got on him, and I want you to help me.  We’ll take everything off him in the way of valuables, papers, and so on, and put ’em in that small hand-bag of his.”