The facts came to light long afterwards, but at the time there were only two who knew.
It was his last failure.

Late one evening I received a hurriedly-scrawled note from his wife, begging me to come round.
"A terrible thing has happened," it ran; "Charley went up to his study after dinner, saying he had some 'tidying up,' as he calls it, to do, and did not wish to be disturbed.

In clearing out his desk he must have handled carelessly the revolver that he always keeps there, not remembering, I suppose, that it was loaded.

We heard a report, and on rushing into the room found him lying dead on the floor.

The bullet had passed right through his heart." Hardly the type of man for a hero! And yet I do not know.