“No. It didn’t occur to me. My uncle didn’t commit suicide.”
“You have only your beliefs as to that?”
“Yes, but they are enough. I know him too well. I’m sure he didn’t commit suicide.”
“How did he appear when you talked to him—excited, frenzied? Did he seem changed at all?”
“I think he was somewhat excited. His eyes were very bright. I wouldn’t call him desperate, however. He was dressed in the flannels he had worn when he went to his room. Of course he looked dreadfully worn and tired—he had been through a great deal that day. As you know he had just heard about his frightful losses on the stock exchange, wiping out his entire fortune and even leaving some few debts.”
“You went away quietly—at once? Leaving him to read the Bible?”
“Very soon. We talked a few minutes, perhaps.”
Then the coroner began upon a series of questions that were abhorrent to every man in the room. There was nothing to do, however, but to listen to them in silence. The man was within his rights.
“You say that Nealman was your uncle?” he asked.
The girl’s eyes fastened on his, and narrowed as we watched her. “Of course. My father’s brother.”