The Best Policy Part 27

The clerk looked at the letter, uncertain as to what he ought to do.

Finally, he decided to get the Chicago police department on the long-distance telephone.

"Jonas Kalin has been here for two days under an a.s.sumed name," he reported, "but his ident.i.ty was discovered only after he had taken the night boat back to Chicago. He left a letter. It is sealed and addressed to Sidney Kalin."

"We'll notify Kalin and meet the boat," was the prompt reply. "Hold the letter until you hear from Kalin."

A little later Kalin called up the hotel and instructed that the letter be mailed to him at once. As Jonas was already on his way back, nothing would be gained by having its contents transmitted by telephone. He was beyond reach until the boat arrived.

It was an anxious little crowd that waited at the wharf for the arrival of the boat. There were Albert and Sidney Kalin, two detectives and some newspaper men. The news of Jonas Kalin's sojourn across the lake was already in the morning papers, having come by telegraph, and there was natural curiosity to learn the reason for this strange procedure. In addition, there was an undefined and unexpressed feeling that there might be a tragedy back of it. In any event, there was a mystery.

The boat reached its dock before five o'clock, but the state-room pa.s.sengers had the privilege of sleeping until seven, so only the excursionists who had been obliged to sit up all night left the boat at once. There were many of these, however-a weary and disheveled lot of individuals, groups and couples straggling along to the dock. They were talking of something that had happened during the night, or was supposed to have happened. Something or some one certainly had gone over the rail, for the splash was distinctly heard, and an excitable pa.s.senger had raised the cry of "Man overboard!" The boat had been stopped, but investigation had failed to discover an actual witness to any such accident, although two people were sure they had seen something in the water just after the splash. The captain, however, insisted that it was all the result of some nervous person's imagination.

To Albert and Sidney Kalin these rumors brought sinking hearts and a great dread. It took them a little time to locate the state-room that had been occupied by their father, but a description of him, coupled with the name he had used at the hotel, enabled them to do it.

His valise alone was found.

Several people remembered the haggard man who had tramped the deck so restlessly. He seemed to be in great mental distress, anxious only to keep away from all companions.h.i.+p, and no one could recall having seen him after the cry of "Man overboard!" Even the captain had finally to admit that it was probable he had lost a pa.s.senger, although, of course, no blame whatever attached to him or to any of the boat's crew.

Then came the letter that had been forwarded from the hotel. It was pathetically brief and to the point, as follows:

"My Dear Sons: The insurance money will pull you through. It is all that I can give you. Your success is dearer to me than anything else in the world. Your affectionate father,

Jonas Kalin.

Of course, Dave Murray read the story in the papers-all but the letter.

That was brought to him later by Albert Kalin.

"We wish to give you all the facts, without reservation," Albert explained. "Father did this for us to save the firm, to save an almost priceless invention." The young man choked a little. "We have hoped against hope that his letter might prove to be capable of some other interpretation, or that he may have changed his mind after writing it, and we have left no stone unturned-"

"Neither have we," said Murray quietly. "Perhaps we know more than you."

"Have you got trace of him?" asked Albert quickly, and his face showed a dawn of hope that could not be misunderstood: he actually believed his father dead and would welcome any evidence to the contrary. It was not the expression of a man who was princ.i.p.ally interested in the payment of the insurance money, although he was naturally presenting his and his brother's claim.

"I am sorry to say we have not," replied Murray, "but neither have we any proof of death."

Albert plainly showed his disappointment at Murray's first statement, and it was a moment or two before he replied to the second.

"I do not know your rules or aims," he said, "but it is possible-indeed almost probable, under the circ.u.mstances-that there never will be any absolute proof of death. It-it happened in mid-lake, you know."

"Our aim," returned Murray, "is to pay every claim that we are convinced is just, without resorting to any quibbling or technical evasions, but we have to be careful. In saying this, I am merely stating a general proposition, without particular reference to this affair. Indeed, I concede that the presumption of death is unusually strong in this case.

I shall be glad to have any facts bearing on it that you can give me."

Albert fully reviewed the circ.u.mstances as he knew them, to all of which Murray listened attentively.

"I shall make a complete report to the home office," said Murray at the conclusion of the recital. "Of course, after the lapse of a certain period there is a legal presumption of death, anyhow, but it is possible that the circ.u.mstantial evidence may be deemed strong enough to warrant an earlier settlement. Knowing the ostensible motive, I appreciate the value of time to you, and I a.s.sure you the company has no desire to delay matters longer than is necessary to a.s.sure itself of the justice of the claim."

After Albert had departed, Murray went over the case carefully, and the evidence seemed quite convincing. In the first place, there could be no question as to a very strong motive. There was the certainty of ruin, which the death of Jonas alone could avert, and, after a lapse of two years from the date of the policy, suicide did not invalidate it.

Therefore, by his own sacrifice, he could purchase a bright future for his sons. Then there could be no doubt that he had been depressed and worried for some time, and latterly unquestionably had brooded on the subject of self-destruction. In a talk with one man he had spoken of it as "self-elimination," but he had spoken more bluntly to Benson at the club. There could be no doubt now that he contemplated such action at that time, and that he had reference to it when he told his sons he had discovered a way to raise the necessary money. Everything indicated that his troubles had made him temporarily insane.

Then there was the evidence of the woman to whom he had resigned his state-room on the boat, and of various other pa.s.sengers who had noted his restlessness and his misery. One woman even a.s.serted 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 circ.u.mstantial 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 h.e.l.l, 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 G.o.d 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.

"He purchased and took with him a second-hand suit of clothes and a wig," explained Albert. "He cut off his whiskers and mustache, so that he appeared as a man who had neglected to shave for a week-a pretty good disguise in itself, for father was always neat and clean. The clothes he had worn went overboard with a weight attached, which accounts for the splash, and he himself raised the cry of 'Man overboard!' After that he kept out of the light, and he had little difficulty in slipping ash.o.r.e while we were hunting his state-room. His mental distress was real, for he was leaving all he held dear and condemning himself to exile."

"Well," commented Murray, "I guess the circ.u.mstances would have fooled any one, for his whole previous life made him about the last man who would be suspected of anything of that sort."

"And now," said Albert, "my brother and I are prepared to make a cash settlement with you on any basis that you deem satisfactory."

AN INCIDENTAL DISCOVERY

The applicant for insurance was nervous and ill at ease, but that alone was not sufficient to make Dave Murray suspicious. A man taking out his first policy is very often nervous-he dreads the physical examination in many instances. He may think he is all right, but he fears the possibility of some serious latent trouble. If there is anything radically and incurably wrong with the average man, he prefers not to know it. He may not say so, but he does. He goes before the medical examiner with the fear that he may learn something disagreeable.

"I'm fairly contented now," he says to himself, if he happens to be practical enough to put his thoughts into words, "but life will be a haunting h.e.l.l to me if I learn that I am not a good risk. That will mean at least the probability of an early death. It will not change conditions, but it will seem to bring death nearer."

These thoughts do not come to the very young man, but they do come to the man who has pa.s.sed, or is pa.s.sing, the optimism of youth. In the words of Dave Murray, "One of the great annoyances of the life insurance business is that the very young man is too well and strong to want to be insured, and the man of middle age is afraid of learning that he is not as well and strong as he thinks he is. We have to fight optimism first and cowardice later. Theoretically, the 'risk' ought to be caught young, but, practically, it is easier to catch him when he has begun to appreciate the responsibilities of life. The optimism is more difficult to overcome than the cowardice."

Nevertheless, the man who has neglected to take out insurance when he could get the best rate is likely to be nervous when he applies for it later, however hard he may try to conceal the fact. And Elmer Harkness was nervous. He was a year short of forty, apparently in the best physical condition, but he was unusually nervous. He hesitated over his answers to the most ordinary questions, he corrected himself once or twice, and he betrayed a strong desire to get through with the ordeal in the quickest possible time. When, at last, he was able to leave, the physician having completed his examination, he gave a very audible sigh of relief.

"There's something about this I don't like," commented Murray a little later.

"What?" asked the doctor.

"That's the trouble," returned Murray. "I can't say exactly what it is, but I have a feeling that something is wrong. We've had nervous men here before. Remember the fellow who was brought up by his wife and who would have ducked and run if he could have got the chance? He was nervous enough, but not in the same way. He was afraid he would find he was going to die next week, but this fellow was s.h.i.+fty. How does he stand physically, doctor?"

"Fine," answered the doctor. "You couldn't ask a better risk."