‘Perhaps you’d better tell me exactly what happened,’ said Professor Fordney kindly to the agitated man.
‘Well,’ continued Palmer, ‘Frank has been despondent and talked of suicide for some time. I thought exercise and the open air would do him good, so I suggested a vacation at my place in the country.
‘We’d been there three days, and he seemed in much better spirits. Then, Thursday morning, after we’d been fishing an hour or so, he said he thought he’d try another stream about a mile away. I was having good luck, so I told him to go ahead and I’d meet him at the cabin later.
‘About eleven o’clock, when I’d caught my limit, I started back. As I neared the cabin, I seemed to have a premonition of trouble, and ran the last few yards. When I opened the door, God! I’ll never forget it! I’d got there not more than five minutes behind him, and yet there he lay—dead! That hideous look on his face! It haunts me! Why couldn’t I have been just a few minutes earlier?
‘A whiskey bottle on the table and the glass which smelled of cyanide told me the story. He’d done it, after all! I’ll never forgive myself,’ Palmer concluded with a sob.
‘Had you any visitors while at camp?’ asked Fordney.
‘No, we hadn’t seen anyone for two days.’
‘Did your friend smoke?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Was the door open or closed when you arrived?’
‘Why, closed.’
‘And the windows?’
‘Closed, too, Professor.’
‘If you’re innocent, Palmer, why are you lying?’ demanded Fordney.
