search for him, face downward in a little green-scummed pool, which lay
at the foot of the garden. There was no sign of any violence, and the
water was but two feet deep, so that the jury, having regard to his
known eccentricity, brought in a verdict of suicide. But I, who knew
how he winced from the very thought of death, had much ado to persuade
myself that he had gone out of his way to meet it. The matter passed,
however, and my father entered into possession of the estate, and of
some 14,000, which lay to his credit at the bank.
One moment, Holmes interposed, your statement is, I foresee, one of
the most remarkable to which I have ever listened. Let me have the date
of the reception by your uncle of the letter, and the date of his
supposed suicide.
The letter arrived on March 10, 1883. His death was seven weeks later,
upon the night of May 2nd.
Thank you. Pray proceed.
When my father took over the Horsham property, he, at my request, made
a careful examination of the attic, which had been always locked up. We
found the brass box there, although its contents had been destroyed. On
the inside of the cover was a paper label, with the initials of K. K.
K. repeated upon it, and Letters, memoranda, receipts, and a register
written beneath. These, we presume, indicated the nature of the papers
which had been destroyed by Colonel Openshaw. For the rest, there was
nothing of much importance in the attic save a great many scattered
papers and note-books bearing upon my uncle s life in America. Some of
them were of the war time and showed that he had done his duty well and
had borne the repute of a brave soldier. Others were of a date during
the reconstruction of the Southern states, and were mostly concerned
with politics, for he had evidently taken a strong part in opposing the
carpet-bag politicians who had been sent down from the North.
Well, it was the beginning of 84 when my father came to live at
Horsham, and all went as well as possible with us until the January of
85. On the fourth day after the new year I heard my father give a
sharp cry of surprise as we sat together at the breakfast-table. There
he was, sitting with a newly opened envelope in one hand and five dried
orange pips in the outstretched palm of the other one. He had always
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