“It all fits in with what we know of the case,” commented Murray, “except the heart trouble. That sounds like the mysterious Harkness. Could you have possibly made any mistake in your examination, Doctor?”
“Certainly I could,” admitted the company’s physician ruefully. “None of us is infallible, but I’ll swear there were no indications of any heart trouble when I examined him. Still, the heart is a mighty deceptive organ. There may be trouble without any indications of it and there may be indications without any trouble. I once knew of a man whose heart seemed to skip a beat once in so often, but the best of medical talent was unable to discover the cause of it, and the man lived to a good old age. I don’t claim infallibility, but I never examined a man who seemed freer from any indications of heart trouble.”
“I wonder,” said Murray thoughtfully, “if Harkness’ employer has heard of his death.”
An insurance company is merciless in following up evidence of attempted fraud, but, lacking such evidence, it is wise to conduct investigations with extreme delicacy. A reputation for unnecessary intrusion or harshness, for a lack of sympathy with the bereaved, for any action that implies a suspicion of dishonesty when the proof is lacking, may do a great deal of harm. Every reputable company is anxious to pay all honest claims with as little inconvenience to the beneficiaries as is compatible with safety. Such investigation as may be necessary in some exceptional case is conducted as unobtrusively as possible.
In this instance, the ordinary proof of death would have been accepted without question were it not for the mystery of the “heart trouble” that was supposed not to exist. This, combined with the report on the other Harkness, was annoying, and, to satisfy himself, Murray sent a man to the wholesale house where Harkness had been employed. The result was reassuring, so far as any question of fraud was concerned. The other clerks were then taking up a subscription to send some flowers to the funeral, and his illness and death had been reported promptly to the head of the department in which Harkness had worked. Furthermore, he was registered as living at the Sixty-fourth Street flat, to which place he had moved from 2313 Wesson Street.
“It seems to be all right,” remarked Murray. “This is the man we insured on the strength of your report, Doctor, and I guess the only thing we can do is to charge you up with an error of judgment. Fortunately, it’s only a three-thousand-dollar policy.”
“I don’t understand it,” said the doctor gloomily. “I wish we could demand an autopsy.”
“Hardly justifiable, in view of the circumstances,” returned Murray. “We have the affidavit of a first-class physician, and we know that it’s the same man, so the autopsy would be only to satisfy your curiosity. My own curiosity deals with the Wabash Avenue man who was refused. I wish we could locate him, although I don’t see that it would have any bearing on this case. He seems to have disappeared utterly. Perhaps he’s dead.”
Before dismissing the matter from his mind, Murray reviewed the facts carefully. There had been an application to another company from a man living at 1176 Wabash Avenue, which had been refused because of heart trouble, but the city directory for that year gave no Harkness at that address. It did give an Elmer Harkness at another address, however, which coincided with the story told by the Harkness he had insured.
“Somebody,” mused Murray, “must have been trying to beat the other company. That’s the best I can make out of it, although I can’t see why he should have assumed this Elmer’s name and antecedents. It’s a most extraordinary case.”