No other clews were revealed, so we went down to the study. The guests of Kastle Krags had not gone back to their beds. They sat in a little white-faced group beside the window, talking quietly. Marten beckoned the sheriff to his side.
“What have you found out, Slatterly?” he asked.
He spoke like a man used to having his questions answered. There was a note of impatience in his voice, too, perhaps of distrust. Slatterly straightened.
“Nothing definite. Nealman has unquestionably vanished. His bed hasn’t been slept in, but is ruffled. Undoubtedly it was his voice we heard. I think I’ll be able to give you something definite in a little while.”
“I’d like something definite now, if you could possibly give it. That’s two men that have disappeared in two nights—and we seem to be no nearer an explanation than we were at first. This isn’t a business that can be delayed, Mr. Slatterly.”
“If you must know—I think both men committed suicide.”
“You do!”
“It certainly is the most reasonable theory, in spite of all there is against it.” Then he told of Nealman’s financial disaster, of the Bible open on his desk, and all the other points he had to back his theory.
“And I suppose Florey swallowed his knife, and threw his own body into the lagoon!” Fargo commented grimly.
Slatterly turned to him, his eyes hard and bright. “We’ll have your jokes to-morrow,” he reproved him sternly. “Of course some one else did that. I’ve got a theory—not yet proven—to explain it, but I can’t give it out yet.”