“Horrible,” drawled the sheriff.
“And he said further,” continued the man of the law, “that the suiciding decedent was probably afflicted with some species of psychical neurosis.”
“Domine miserere!” murmured the guardian of order. “So the travelling Æsculapius testified, and as the coroner was quite unable to spell the craft terms, he simply wrote down in the record that Doctor Leon Dupey of Cincinnati, after a careful examination, had pronounced Brown Hirst dead, which was far less prolix and entirely true.”
“That coroner,” observed White Carter, “should be United States Senator from Kansas.”
Huron took up the note and put it with the other papers.
“I judge this to be a plain case of suicide,” he said. “I have carefully compared the writing with these letters. It is certainly Brown Hirst's writing. Still, men do not act without a motive, and I see no justifiable motive.”
“Well,” said the sheriff, “I happen to know that financially the Octagon Coal Company is somewhat 'groggy.' How will that answer for a motive ad interim? Or, as the sensible would say, in the meantime?”
“Good,” said the prosecuting attorney. Then he took a pencil from his pocket, and wrote on the back of the decedent's letter “Suicide. Motive—business depression,” and replaced the papers in the safe.
The sheriff arose. “The legend you have subscribed is probably correct,” he drawled, “but the ways of Providence are varied and mystic, and I think I shall make some observations in my own right.” Then he went out.