"I must go to them. Perhaps something can be done. Doris——" he broke off, unable to continue, and turned away sharply.
Jamieson looked at him sympathetically.
"Why don't you go round to Brakely Square?" he suggested. "There may be new developments—possibly a mistake. You note that the body has not been discovered."
Out upon the pavement, Frank caught a passing taxi.
He drove first to the city offices which were Farrington's headquarters. A short talk with the chief clerk was more than enlightening. A brief note in the handwriting of the millionaire announced his intention, "tired of the world," to depart therefrom.
"But why?" asked the young man, in bewilderment.
"Mr. Doughton, you don't seem to quite realize the importance of this tragedy," said the chief clerk, quietly. "Mr. Farrington was a financial king—a multi-millionaire. Or at least, he was so considered up till this morning. We have examined his private books, and it now appears that he had speculated heavily during the last few weeks—he has lost everything, every penny of his own and his ward's fortune. Last night, in a fit of despair, he ended his life. Even his chief clerk had no knowledge of his transactions."
Doughton looked at him in a kind of stupefaction. Was it of Farrington the man was talking such drivel? Farrington, who only the week before had told him in high gratification that within the last month he had added a cool million to his ward's marriage portion. Farrington, who had, but two days ago, hinted mysteriously of a gigantic financial coup in the near future. And now all that fortune was lost, and the loser was lying at the bottom of the Thames!
"I think I must be going mad," he muttered. "Mr. Farrington wasn't the kind to kill himself."
"It is not as yet known to the public, but I think I may tell you, since you were a friend of Farrington's, that Mr. T. B. Smith has been given charge of the matter. He will probably wish to know your address. And in the meantime, if you run across anything——"