There was his name.

He had shot himself in a room in a hotel in St.Louis.She ran her eye down the column, hardly able to read.

In heavier type than the rest was the letter they had found on him: MY DEAREST CONSTANCE, When you read this I, who have wronged and deceived you beyond words, will be where I can no longer hurt you.

Forgive me, for by this act I am a confessed embezzler and forger.

I could not face you and tell you of the double life I was leading.