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When Joseph Van Dorn next replied to the caller, it ith a benign chuckle, though if the coht have retreated hastily

“No, sir I will not ‘produce’ an eht a private detective red-handed Clearly thehere in front of ister your complaint with the Navy Secretary e lunch toards to Mrs Dillon”

Van Dorn replaced the earpiece on its hook, and said, “Apparently, a tall, yellow-haired gent with a mustache knocked down some navy yard sentries who attempted to detain him”

Bell displayed a row of even white teeth “I iine he’d have surrendered quietly if they hadn’t tried to beat hientler “Now, Miss Langner There is so I must show you”

He produced a photographic print, still daraph of Langner’s suicide note He had snapped it with a 3A Folding Pocket Kodak caiven hiraph with his hand to spare Miss Langner the deranged raving

“Is this your father’s handwriting?”

She hesitated, peered closely, then reluctantly nodded “It looks like his handwriting”

Bell watched her closely “You seem unsure”

“It just looks a little… I don’t know! Yes, it is his handwriting”

“I understand that your father orking under great strain to speed up production Colleagues who greatly ad driven hard, perhaps beyond endurance”

“Nonsense!” she snapped back “My father wasn’t casting church bells He ran a gun factory He demanded speed And if it were too much for him he would have told me We’ve been thick as thieves since my mother died”

“But the tragedy of suicide,” Van Dorn interrupted, “is that the victim can see no other escape from the unbearable It is the loneliest death”

“He would not have killed himself in that manner”

“Why not?” asked Isaac Bell

Dorothy Langner paused before she answered, noting despite her grief that the tall detective was unusually handsoth That combination was a quality she looked for in men but found rarely