“I was nearly twenty years younger than he, Mr. Carter, but our married life was a uniformly happy one, though not as gay and festive as he perhaps would have preferred. I am inclined to be domestic, while he was of a volatile nature, having neither a strong or stable character. I frankly admit, Mr. Carter, that he was subservient to my will and wishes.” “I understand you,” said Nick. “I have no children, and I keep only two servants, aside from a chauffeur, whom I occasionally employ,” Mrs. Darling continued. “My husband’s habits were good, as the world goes, and I noticed nothing unusual in his conduct until about three months ago.” “And then?” “I then thought he appeared strangely reticent, at times very self-absorbed and less frank and affectionate than before. I asked him whether there was anything wrong, but he assured me to the contrary, though he seemed a bit irritated because I questioned him.” “I follow you.” “Later, Mr. Carter, he appeared quite despondent, and I feared that his business troubled him. He said that my fears were groundless, and that his business was never better. He went from bad to worse. He said very little at home, and remained in town evenings much more frequently than in years past, which I attributed to his seeming depression and his desire to find relief in the excitement and diversions of the city.” “Did you occasionally accompany him?” Nick inquired. “Very seldom. He did not seem inclined to have me do so.” “Was he addicted to drink?” “Only moderately. I never saw him intoxicated, nor anything like it.” “Proceed.” “About two weeks ago, Mr. Carter, he decided to sell his business, saying that he was sick of it and would try something else. I remonstrated with him, telling him that he was making a mistake, and that it is not easy for a man over fifty to make such changes profitably.” “That is very true, Mrs. Darling.” “It had no effect upon him, however, and he let the business go,” she replied, sadly shaking her head. “During the following week he was at home part of each day, but he spent most of the afternoons and evenings in town. On Tuesday, one week ago yesterday, he appeared unusually nervous and depressed. I missed him soon after lunch, and supposed he had gone into town. I had an appointment with my dentist and was absent from two o’clock until nearly six. When I returned home--well, Mr. Carter, the end had come.” “You mean?” questioned Nick gravely. “My husband had committed suicide--or was the victim of foul play.” “H’m, I see!” Nick drew up in his chair. “Were you in any uncertainty at that time, Mrs. Darling, as to the cause of his death?” “No, not at that time, Mr. Carter,” she quickly informed him. “I know what you have in mind--that I should have called in the police immediately. I did not then, however, nor at any time until yesterday, have even a thought of anything but suicide. The circumstances suggested nothing else.”