has taken a fearful
drop--if he had bought heavily on margin his whole fortune might have
been wiped out. Blair is a prominent speculator on the exchange.
Industrials refer, of course, to industrial stocks. Fletcher Nealman was
Mr. Nealman's uncle, supposed to be a man of great wealth----"

"Then you think--Nealman was ruined financially?" He paused, seemingly
studying his hands. "I wonder if it could be true."

"You mean of course--the same thing that you guessed about Florey.
Suicide?"

"Yes. I'll admit there's plenty against it."

"If suicide--why did he cry for help?"

"Many a man cries for help after he's started to do himself in. The
darkness scares 'em, when it's too late to turn back. That wouldn't
puzzle me at all. Killdare, do you know the importance of example?"

"I know that what one man does, another's likely to do."

"I'm not saying that Nealman killed himself, but listen how much there
is to say for such a theory. You're right--what one man does, another's
likely to do. A curious thing about suicides, Weldon tells me, is that
they usually come in droves. One man sets an example for another. Say
you're worrying to death about something, sick perhaps, or financially
ruined, and you hear of some fellow--some chap you know, perhaps, a man
you respect almost as much as you respect yourself--suddenly getting out
of all his difficulties all nice and quiet--with one little click to the
head? Isn't it likely you'd begin thinking about the same thing for
yourself? Call it mob psychology--I only know it happens in fact.

"I'm more confident than ever that Florey did himself in, on account of
his sickness. Here was Nealman, worried to death over money matters,
holding a lot of options on a falling market. It's true that we didn't
find Florey's knife, but who can say but maybe Nealman himself threw it
into the lagoon, and dragged the body afterward, so that no one would
guess it was suicide. He liked Florey--he didn't want any one to know
he had done himself in. Maybe he was thinking already about doing the
same thing to himself, and in such a case he'd been glad enough to have
some one hide the evidence of suicide. To-day he gets word of a final
smash, and he stays all day in his room, brooding about it. To-night
comes this heat--enough to drive a man crazy. Maybe he just called out
to make us think it was murder. Proud men don't usually want the world
to know that they've killed themselves.

"Then there's