Then there was the evidence of the woman to whom he had resigned his state-room on the boat, and of various other passengers who had noted his restlessness and his misery. One woman even asserted that she had said to a companion at the time that there was a man who contemplated some desperate act. It seemed probable that he had planned to jump overboard that first night, but had been deterred, either by lack of a favorable opportunity or because his courage failed him. His actions at the hotel, and especially at the dock, were wholly consistent with this theory, and the blunt note he left was further evidence of mental derangement. Although his purpose in no way affected his policy, a man in his right mind would hardly have stated it so frankly; indeed, a sane man probably would have tried to give the appearance of accident to his death. Finally, he had boarded the return boat and was missing when the boat reached Chicago, although his strange actions had directed particular attention to him during the early part of the trip. After a brief delay the company paid the policy. The circumstantial evidence could hardly be more convincing, and the body of a man who drowned himself in mid-lake might never be recovered. * * * * * It was several years later that Albert Kalin called upon Murray and introduced himself a second time. “We have just heard from father,” he said. “What!” cried Murray. “He died in South America,” explained Albert; “died there miserably—not because of any poverty, but because he was an exile and felt that he was a swindler. He left a letter which was forwarded to us. His life, he said, had been one long torture since that night on the boat, and he had a thousand times regretted that he did not actually throw himself into the lake. I fear,” added Albert sadly, “that he really did commit suicide finally. He made one dying request. I would like to read it to you.” Albert took a letter from his pocket and read this paragraph: “My life as an exiled swindler has been hell, but I have seen the Chicago papers and I know that I saved the firm and the invention and that you have prospered. That has been my only consolation. It would have been some relief if I could have communicated with you, but I would not make you a party to my crime. Now, at last, I ask you to do something for the old man: Refund to the insurance company every cent you received, less the premiums I actually paid. Refund it all, if necessary, but make my record clear. That was the only dishonest act of a long business career, and God only knows how I have suffered for it. You have prospered, you can do this, and I know you will. It is that alone that gives me consolation as my period of punishment at last draws to a close.” “How did he do it?” asked Murray, before Albert could speak.