The Greatest Works of Melville Davisson Post: 40+ Titles in One Edition. Melville Davisson Post
"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."
"Jeb," drawled the sheriff, "you are long on motives. Everything must have a motive stamped in red ink on its face. Can't you allow an obscure citizen to change his permanent residence and retain his reasons? The gentleman has said in his communication that his reasons are of no moment to the law. Can't you take the gentleman's word for it? It is n't courteous, Jeb. By the way, where is the corpse of the decedent?"
"Within the sacred jurisdiction of the coroner."
"And the medical fraternity?" inquired the sheriff.
"Doctor Hart is over in Jacktown putting the finishing touches, it is said, on old Pap Dolan, so the coroner called in a miracle doctor from Cincinnati."
The sheriff chuckled. "Miracle doctor," he drawled, "is good—is very good."
The prosecuting attorney assumed the air of an instructor.
"Healers," he began, "may be set down, for the purposes of a proper classification, under three great heads or grand divisions, namely, 'yarb doctors,' 'old-line practitioners,' and 'miracle doctors.' Under the first class may be grouped those persons who seek to effect cures by means of the virtues of shrubbery, as well as that vast army of rural healers known along the watershed of the Alleghanies as 'bleeders' and 'steamers.' Under the second great division are included those grave professional persons supposed to be learned in the mysteries of the human economy, who, for a fixed consideration, guess at the ill, and thrust in a chemical: while the third and final division is composed of those mysterious healers who affect to thwart dissolution by means of marvellous knowledge or marvellous skill peculiar to themselves.
"The species of the first grand division infest all that great tract of country bounded by a timber line. The second great class obtains in the cities and villages, and affect buggies, drugs, and sombre dress. The third class is a by-product of congested civilization, and begins usually with a patent lotion, and ends usually with a hospital."
White Carter waved his fat hand. "But, if your honor, please," he interrupted, "what did the miracle doctor say?"
"He said," replied the prosecuting attorney, "that Brown Hirst was a compound fracture from the sustentaculum tali to the tripod of Haller; and from the tripod of Haller to the corpus callossum, he was a simple fracture."
"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.
II
It is quite plain," said Randolph Mason, "that you have fallen into the usual blunder of the common rogue. If you had wished to rob the insurance companies, you could easily have accomplished your end without perpetrating this crime, and thus assume the hazard of discovery and criminal prosecution."
Robert Gilmore looked sharply at the counsellor.
"You mean that I am seeking advice late?"
"Precisely," said Mason. "It is the characteristic error of the witless."
"Well," observed the coal operator, "in desperate positions one usually relies on one's-self; confederates are dangerous, and usually expert advice is difficult to obtain." Then he laughed. "I could not advertise for sealed bids on how the thing should be done. I did the best possible under the circumstances, and I rather thought that I had made a clean job of it."
"That delusion," muttered Mason, "is common with the amateur. Indeed, it is the mark of him. This killing was useless. You could have gotten on as well without it."
The keen, gray eyes of Robert Gilmore twinkled. "I should be interested to know how?" he said.
"At this late hour," answered Randolph Mason, "my advice upon that point can be of no importance. Suggestions after the fact are of little interest and of no value. You have now to consider some method by which you may place yourself permanently beyond the reach of the law. This is no problem of slight moment, and, in order to meet it properly, I must know the details of this blundering business."
The coal operator's face grew grave and thoughtful. "I presume," he began, "that the priest and the attorney are accustomed to require details and accurate confessions. I am president of the Octagon Coal Company, as I have said, and reside in the city of Philadelphia, where I have been engaged in active business for several years. My life beyond that time cannot be a matter of any special importance. I may add, however, that I had been engaged with a foreign company as a fire insurance adjuster for the State of Illinois for some years before coming to the East. It was while acting as an adjuster of losses that I first met with Brown Hirst.
"An unusually large fire occurred in one of the suburban towns near Chicago, destroying almost an entire block, and I was sent out by my company to adjust the loss. Upon my arrival in the town I found