Part 27 (1/2)
”You were here on that fatal morning, and you then told me a fact which has puzzled me ever since, namely, that my poor friend committed suicide at Monte Carlo months before. Do you not think you were mistaken, when you recollect that he died only half an hour after you left me?”
”What I told you was the truth,” she replied. ”I was present when he took his own life.”
”At Monte Carlo?”
”At Monte Carlo!”
”Well, how do you account for the fact that for six or seven months afterwards he was here, in London, occupying his seat in the House of Commons, and mixing with his friends, when, if what you say is truth, he was then lying in a grave in the suicides' cemetery at La Turbie?”
”I do not attempt to reason,” she responded, in a voice which sounded so strange that it appeared far distant, while the cup she still held was shaken by a slight tremor. ”I only tell you the true facts. It was myself who identified your friend, and gave his name to the Administration of the Casino.”
”And you say he killed himself because he lost everything?”
”That is what I surmise. Those who have good fortune at the tables do not generally seek the last extremity.”
”But I knew nothing of his visit there. Even his man was in ignorance,”
I said. ”I cannot help thinking that there must be some mistake. It must have been a man who resembled him.”
”I know that he went to the Riviera secretly.”
”Why?”
”Because he had devised some system which, like many others before him, he felt certain must result in large winnings, and he did not tell his friends his intentions lest they might jeer at him. He went; he lost; and he killed himself!”
”But he lived in London afterwards!” I protested. ”I saw him dozens of times--dined with him, played billiards with him, and was visited here by him. He could not possibly have been dead at the time!”
”But he was dead!” she declared. ”Strange though it may seem, I am ready to swear in any court of law that I was present when Roderick Morgan, the member for South-West Suss.e.x, committed suicide in the Salle Mauresque at Monte Carlo. That fact can no doubt be established in two ways: first, by the register of deaths, and secondly, by exhumation of the body.”
”But when Roddy was here in London, dining, smoking, and talking with me, how can I believe that he was already dead?”
”It was for a brief s.p.a.ce that he came back to his own home,” she responded, in that same far-away voice, turning her eyes full upon me.
”And did not life leave him suddenly, in a manner which has since remained a mystery?”
”No,” I answered determinedly, my mind fully made up. ”Not altogether a mystery. The police have discovered many things.”
”The police!” she gasped. ”What have they discovered?”
”They do not generally tell the public the result of their investigations,” I answered. ”But they have found out that he received a visitor clandestinely half an hour before his death, and further, that he was murdered.”
”Murdered!” she exclaimed, with an uneasy glance and stirring in her chair. ”Do they suspect any one?”
”Yes,” I replied. ”They suspect his visitor; and they have discovered that this mysterious person who came to see him immediately before his death was a woman!”
Her lips compressed until they became white and bloodless, and the light died from her countenance. She tried to speak, but her tongue refused to utter sound, and she covered her confusion by placing her teacup upon the table.
”Have they found out who it was who called upon him?” she inquired at last, in a low, faltering voice.
”They have a strong suspicion,” I said firmly. ”And they are resolved that the one responsible for his death shall be brought to justice.”
”There is no proof that he was murdered,” she declared quickly.