Suicide

From the cottage I proceeded to Kingsley's. He was in readiness,
and waiting me. We drove directly to Edgerton's lodging-house,
the appointed hour of four being at hand. Kingsley only alighted
from the carriage, and entered the dwelling. He was absent several
minutes. When he returned, he returned alone.

"Edgerton is either asleep or has gone out. His room-door is locked.
The landlord called and knocked, but received no answer. He lacks
manliness, and I suspect has fled. The steamboat went at two."

"Impossible!" I exclaimed, leaping from the carriage. "I know
Edgerton better. I can not think he would fly, after the solemn
pledge he gave me."

"You have only thought too well of him always," said the other, as
we entered the house.

"Let us go to the room together," I said to the landlord. "I fear
something wrong."

"Well, so do I," responded the publican. "The poor gentleman has
been looking very badly, and sometimes gets into a strange wild
taking, and then he goes along seeing nobody. Only last Saturday
I said to my old woman, as how I thought everything warn't altogether
right HERE,"--and the licensed sinner touched his head with his
fore-finger, himself looking the very picture of well-satisfied
sagacity. We said nothing, but leaving the eloquence to him, followed
him up to Edgerton's chamber. I struck the door thrice with the
butt end of my whip, then called his name, but without receiving
any answer. Endeavoring to look through the key-hole, I discovered
the key on the inside, and within the lock. I then immediately
conjectured the truth. William Edgerton had committed suicide.