"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 Sussex, 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 space 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.
"Neither is there any proof that he died from natural causes," I argued.
Then I added, "Was it not strange, Aline, that you should actually have
told me of my friend's death on the very morning that he died?"
"It was certainly a very remarkable coincidence," she faltered; after a
pause adding: "If he has been murdered, as you suspect, I hope the
police will not fail to discover the author of the crime."
"But you declared that Roddy was already dead!" I cried, dumbfounded.
"Certainly!" she answered. "I still maintain the truth of my
statement."
"Then you do not believe he was murdered?"
She shrugged her shoulders without replying.
For an instant I gazed into those eyes which had once held me
spell-bound, and said--
"The truth is already known to the police. Roddy Morgan was murdered by
a woman, swiftly, silently, and in a manner which showed firm
determination and devilish cunning. You may rest assured that she will
not escape."
She started. Her face was blanched to the lips, and she sat before me
rigid, open-mouthed, speechless.