To which she answered, “Oh, no! I am sure it is he, for I have been writing to him under that name and at that address.” Just at this moment Dessie, the oldest daughter, called me to one side and said, “Do you think papa is really dead?” I replied that I feared so, but that her mother should not be told until we were certain of it. She said, “I don’t think he is. Last spring, when I was sick and he was leaving me, he told me that if I ever heard that he was dead not to believe it, as some work he was going to do might require him to have people think so for a time.” I asked her if he had told her mother of this, and she said, “No; her father had told her not to tell any one.” As soon as a favorable opportunity occurred, I said to Mrs. Pitezel, “Did Ben ever say anything to you about not worrying if you heard of his death?” She replied, “Yes;” and, after stopping a moment, added, “If he has gone and done that without letting us know, leaving us to worry ourselves to death, I could almost wish he was dead. Is it the insurance matter?” “I guess it is,” I replied, in such a tone that she would think that I knew it to be so. She then asked if he would get the money all right, and I told her that it would be paid to her, if anyone. She asked, “Where is Ben now?” I replied that it was his plan to go South at once. She said, “Well, I do not want him writing to me; all his letters for me must go to you; and the children need not know but that he is really dead, for they would certainly tell of it; they are young, and will soon get over the worry.” I asked if the insurance policy was there in the house, and she said, “I do not know; I will see; he ought to have given it to you if he was going through with it so soon; it may be in Chicago among some things stored in a warehouse there.” I did not allow her to look for it at that time, as she was too ill yet from her shock to do so, but instructed her to look for it next morning, and if well enough, to bring all the papers she had to my attorney’s office. Some question then arose as to whether she could find this office, and she remembered that at the time of my arrest her husband had called there and had brought home one of their cards, which she said was still among some of his papers, and with this she could find her way.[4] At about 9 o’clock, the family being more quiet at the time, I returned to the hotel for the night, and I feel sure that Mrs. Pitezel at the time of this visit, which was the first confidential talk I had ever had with her, had no previous knowledge of an intention to perpetrate a fraud upon this company other than a vague idea that under certain conditions and at a more remote time it might have been carried out, which was the exact condition of affairs as they had existed upon the day of Pitezel’s death.