“Jeb,” said the sheriff, “it is a part of the etiquette of suicide. No man effects his exit without a parting word. It would be bad form, Jeb, frightfully bad form.”
“So you guessed it?”
“No,” replied the sheriff, wearily, “my gray matter was allowed me for the purpose of utility. I concluded.”
The prosecuting attorney selected a letter from the package of papers and passed it over to the sheriff. That official examined the envelope carefully, then he slowly opened it and spread the enclosed letter out on the desk before him.
“Octagon Coal Company,” he read slowly, “Miners and Shippers of Coal and Coke, Welch, West Virginia. Robert Gilmore, President. Brown Hirst, Business Manager. All agreements are contingent upon strikes, accidents, and other delays unavoidable or beyond our control.”
The sheriff paused for a moment. “Written at the office,” he observed, “with a pen, on the company's stationery.”
The guardian of order removed his eyeglasses, wiped them carefully, replaced them on his nose, and continued:
“The officers of the law are informed that I, Brown Hirst, have taken my own life, deliberately and at a time when I am in the full possession of my faculties. My reasons for so doing are of no importance to the law, and are accordingly withheld. This statement is made merely for the purpose of preventing any inference of murder, and for no other purpose.—Brown Hirst.”
The sheriff replaced the letter in its envelope. “That,” he said, “Is a sensible communication. By the very highest flame on the altar of folly, it is an exceedingly sensible communication. Where did you find it?”
“The coat and vest,” replied the lawyer, “were found lying carefully folded over the railing of the bridge. This letter was in the breast pocket of the coat. Hirst evidently went about his death with great deliberation. Still, I see no motive for suicide.”