THE DEATH-CARD
If the appearance of the room was amazing, that of the dead woman was
not less so. The body was lying loosely in an armchair, with sprawling
legs and arms, like a saw-dust doll. The head lay limply on the
shoulder, and a yellow cord--evidently torn from a near curtain--was
bound tightly round the lean throat The distorted face, the protruding
tongue, the bulging eyes, and discoloured skin, all showed that the
poor creature had been strangled in the most remorseless manner.
Before her was placed a low cane table, on the yellow coverlet of
which a pack of cards was spread out face downward, but in the lap of
the dead woman lay another card with the face upward. It was the ace
of spades. Mrs. Presk noting it for the first time gave a screech of
mingled horror and surprise.
"The death-card!" she gasped, stepping back. "Lord! how awful!"
"What do you mean by the death-card?" asked Gebb, sharply.
"Why!" said Mrs. Presk, astonished at the question, which to her
seemed unnecessary, "it's the card in the pack as stands for death.
When you turn up the ace of spades you know it's time to order your
coffin."
"Rubbish!" said Gebb. "Humbug!" roared the inspector; and they both
shrugged their shoulders to show their contempt for such superstition.
Mrs. Presk shook her head gloomily. "Talk won't alter the matter!" she
said, pointing to the card. "There's the death-token, and there's the
corpse; what do you make of that?"
"I make this," said Gebb, dryly; "that the murderer must be a person
of imagination."
"He ought to be shot, the blackguard," growled Lackland, "play-acting
with a corpse. I wonder what they were fooling with cards for? Looks
like a madman's work to me. What do you say, Gebb?"
Gebb said nothing at the moment. He was examining the dead woman, who
was arrayed with unusual splendour quite in keeping with the room, yet
too richly for the front parlour of a fifth-rate lodging-house.
Miss Ligram's body was that of an old woman close upon sixty years of
age, with a wrinkled face, and a profusion of silvery white hair
turned back in the style of Marie Antoinette. It was dressed in an
old-fashioned dinner-dress of white silk, trimmed with valuable lace,
and this was designed so as to show the lean neck and bony arms of the
wearer. Anything more incongruous than that poor clay clothed in such
costly garments can scarcely be imagined. It seemed to accentuate the
grimness of the crime, almost to elevate a sordid murder to the level
of tragedy.
"Did Miss Ligram usually dress like this?" asked Gebb, turning to Mrs.
Presk.
"Every evening!" replied the landlady, promptly.
"She must have been eccentric!" was Gebb's comment on this reply.
"Very eccentric, sir. I don't think she was quite right here." And the
landlady tapped her head significantly.
"A Crazy Jane?" questioned Lackland.
"She was and she wasn't," answered Mrs. Presk, enigmatically. "She
wasn't mad enough to be shut up, but she acted in a queerer way than
most people. Look at this room, and all its lights; every night it was
the same. She usually dined off a chop and potatoes, yet she dressed
in silk and lace to eat them. And----" Thus far Mrs. Presk with her
eyes on the corpse had proceeded volubly, when suddenly--still staring
at the dead woman--she stopped, and her jaw dropped. Motionless as a
stone image she stood looking; and then with an ejaculation she ran
out of the room. The detective and the inspector looked at her
vanishing form, looked at the corpse, looked at one another, and
failed to understand her action.
"What the devil does that mean?" said Gebb, with surly amazement.
"Only the devil knows," retorted Lackland, grimly; "but if that jade
is hiding anything of importance the sooner we get it out of her the
better. You're a bit of a lawyer, Gebb, so I'll bring back Mrs. Presk,
and you'll examine her!"
"No!" said Gebb, detaining his friend; "let her go now. I'll get the
truth out of her to-morrow."
"By George you will, will you!" grumbled Lackland, annoyed that his
advice was not taken; "and what if you don't get charge of the case?"
"I'll grin and bear it, I suppose!" retorted the other; "but I'll work
my hardest to be given the handling of this affair, for it strikes me
that it will prove a sight more difficult than either of us guesses.
This room's a rum one, ain't it? And that pack of cards aren't there
for nothing. Then there is the dead woman's dress, and the landlady's
queer conduct. Oh, you can bet, inspector, there's a jolly lot more in
these things than meets the eye, and I'm the man to find out what they
all mean."
"You can blow your own trumpet, I see!" said Lackland, dryly.
Gebb laughed, in nowise embarrassed. "My trumpeter's dead from
over-work," he replied coolly. "If I don't praise myself no one else
will. However, I'll see to-morrow if the big wigs will let me run this
show in my own way. Now you go and look round the house, Lackland, and
leave me here to examine the room."
"What about the body?" asked the inspector, dominated by Gebb's strong
will.
"We'll let it lie here as it is, until the doctor comes. I told that
policeman who brought Mrs. Presk to the station to knock up an M.D."
"By George, sir, one would think you were inspector here!" spluttered
the indignant Lackland. "Am I nobody?"
"You're a good fellow--too good to get your monkey up for nothing. You
let me look after this murder myself. I'll do you a good turn some
other time."
"Well, I'll let you have your own way for once. You're no fool, I will
say," muttered Lackland, and withdrew to look through the house. He
knew that Gebb was very clever, and in his heart was not unwilling to
avail himself of the detective's assistance. Therefore, he left him to
his own devices, and set out to seek Mrs. Presk in the kitchen. Having
found her, he made her show him the house, but judiciously refrained
from commenting on her late conduct. He left the elucidation of that
to Gebb.
Left to himself, the detective examined the dead woman and the room
with minute attention to detail, keeping up a running commentary the
while on his discoveries. He had a habit of talking aloud when alone,
as if to emphasize his opinions, and, while examining the boudoir,
soliloquized with appropriate actions like a stage-player.
"The furniture is quite in order," he murmured, his keen eyes roving
hither and thither. "Therefore there can have been no struggle. The
murderer was no intruder, but was expected. A visitor! perhaps a
friend! He--let me presume the criminal to be a man--he no doubt
entered, and was kindly received by the deceased. Here is a bottle,
and two glasses with wine in each; so the two were friendly enough to
drink in company. There is a chair on either side of this table
whereon the cards are laid out The dead body remains in the one
nearest the wall; so I expect the visitor sat in the other with his
back to the door. Were they playing cards? I think not, as in that
case the whole pack would not be laid out in this fashion. I have it!"
cried Gebb, smiting his open palm with his fist, "the visitor was
telling Miss Ligram's fortune. He placed the cards in that position
and told her to draw one. She drew the ace of spades, which yet lies
in her lap, and when face to face with the omen of death he killed
her."
Here the detective paused to consider if he was correct in assuming
the assassin to be a man. Fortune-telling--especially by cards--is
usually indulged in by the other sex. But would a woman, however
cruel, have so brutally strangled her unsuspecting hostess, and--as it
may be assumed--friend? Gebb examined the chair on which the visitor
had sat, and found traces of tobacco ash.
"Cigarette ash?" he pronounced it after an examination, "the quality
is fine and quantity small. The visitor was a man and he was smoking.
H'm! That is not like a professional fortune-teller. Such a one would
be too desirous of impressing his dupe to spoil the gravity of the
situation by smoking. The man must have been a friend, and he probably
told the woman's fortune in this way to throw her off her guard. Let
us look further."
The chair in which the dead body was lying, stood some little distance
from the hangings of the wall. These, as Gebb discovered on further
examination, had been draped back with a cord to reveal a small oil
painting; but the cord--which had a loop at either end to slip over a
brass nail, concealed beneath the hangings of satin--had been deftly
removed (not torn) from its peg, and flung round the victim's neck. On
the floor behind the chair Gebb picked up a half-burnt cigarette,
which had smouldered out. With this in his hand he returned to the
centre of the room and looked once more at the cards. These attracted
him strangely.
"Without doubt the fortune-telling was a trick," he said aloud. "The
man set out the cards, and while his victim was selecting one he
lighted a cigarette, and rose to stroll round the room. Not suspecting
any danger--which shows, by the way, that she must have trusted
him--his victim let him pass behind her chair. While there, he slipped
the loops of the cord off the nail. Then when she turned up the
death-card--a pure coincidence, no doubt--he threw the cord over her
head and choked her before the poor wretch had time to call out for
assistance. He then robbed the body at his leisure, and left the
house. It's as clear as day."
Presuming that the murderer had gone out by the front door, Gebb left
the room and went into the passage. To his surprise he found that the
front door was locked, but, as the detective noted, not bolted.
"He must have locked it after he left the house," thought Gebb, "and
no doubt did so to prevent intrusion and a too sudden discovery of his
crime. I expect he threw away the key when outside. In the front
garden most probably; I'll look."
Before he could put his design into execution, which he intended doing
by passing out the back way, Mrs. Presk arrived downstairs with the
intelligence that Inspector Lackland was still searching the upper
portion of the house for traces of the assassin, but could find
nothing and no one. "So," said she, "I expect the wretch ran away
after killing poor Miss Ligram."
"By the front door," Gebb informed her, "and he locked it after him."
"Did he?" said Mrs. Presk, with a stare; "now that's queer."
"Why?" asked the detective, sharply.
"Because Miss Ligram always kept the front door locked, and the key in
her pocket. That was one of her queer ways which I never could abide."
Without a word Gebb returned to the Yellow Boudoir, and searched in
the pocket of the dead woman. Sure enough he found therein a large key
which Mrs. Presk immediately declared to be that of the front door.
Gebb was puzzled, as this discovery upset much of his previous
reasoning.
"In that case the man could not have cleared out by the front," he
said, "as not having the key he could not lock the door after him. Let
us see the back door; he may have escaped in that direction."
"The back door was locked," said Mrs. Presk, promptly. "I had the key
in my pocket when I went to the lecture."
"Was the door locked when you returned?" asked Gebb, more puzzled than
ever.
"Yes, sir, it was. I had no thought that anything was wrong until I
came upstairs and saw the corpse; though, to be sure," added Mrs.
Presk, suddenly, "I fancied it strange that the lights should be
burning so late in Miss Ligram's boudoir. I saw them from the road,
you know, Mr. Gebb; and the sight gave me a turn, I can tell you."
"He must have got out through a back window," murmured Gebb.
"Indeed, he didn't, sir. When I brought 'Tilda out of her faint in the
kitchen I looked at all the windows in the basement; they are all
bolted and barred proper. 'Tilda and me's both careful on account of
burglars."
Gebb pinched his chin and shook his head in a perplexed manner; after
which he walked to the window of the yellow room and examined it
carefully. It was fastened by a snick, the position of which showed
that the window was closed, and could not have been used as an exit.
"Let alone the danger of the cove being seen by a chance policeman,
and taken up as a burglar," mused Gebb, "what about the upstairs
windows, Mrs. Presk?"
"They're all locked, sir. Mr. Inspector examined every one."
"Then the man must be in the house still," was Gebb's final
conclusion.
"He isn't," insisted Mrs. Presk, with a startled glance over her
shoulder; "we've looked under all the beds, and into all the rooms and
cupboards. Unless he is like a sparrow on the house-top, I don't know
where he can be."
"Well, there doesn't seem any way by which he could get out," said
Gebb, in a vexed tone. "Did you hear any sound in the house when you
arrived home?"
"No, I didn't, sir. I went up to see if Miss Ligram was ill, as I
noticed that her room was lighted up, then I saw the corpse, and
called 'Tilda, who ran up and fainted. She ain't got my nerves, Mr.
Gebb."
"Did you lock the back door when you came in?"
"Lawks, no, sir! 'Tilda and me was in such a flurry to see if Miss
Ligram was ill that we just left the door anyhow.
"When you went upstairs was the door closed to?"
"I think so," replied Mrs. Presk, after a pause, "for 'Tilda banged
it to; but it wasn't locked, I'll take my dying word on that."
"When you came for the police did you leave by that door?"
"Yes, I did; by the back door, as Miss Ligram kept the front one
locked."
"Was it closed when you went out?"
Mrs. Presk looked up suddenly, rather alarmed. "No sir, it wasn't,"
said she in startled tones, "It was--as you might say--ajar."
"Aha!" said Gebb, triumphantly, "then you may depend upon it, Mrs.
Presk, that when you came home the assassin was in the house."
"In the house!" gasped Mrs. Presk. "Lor, sir! it ain't possible."
"Yes! he did not know where to find the front-door key; and
discovering that the back door was locked, he just hid himself in the
kitchen until you and the servant went upstairs to look on his
handiwork. Then he slipped out to escape the consequences."
Mrs. Presk's knees gave way, and she was fain to sit down--as far away
from the dead body as possible however. "It's past believing," she
moaned, rocking herself to and fro. "Lord! what an escape 'Tilda and
me's had from being strangulated. Ugh!" she shuddered, "look at that
poor soul, sir, ain't it enough to freeze your blood."
"Did it freeze yours, that you ran out of the room?" asked Gebb,
hoping to take her unawares.
"No! a'wasn't that!" whispered Mrs. Presk, turning pale, "but I was
afeard!"
"Of what?" asked the detective, rather puzzled.
"Of you, sir," was the unexpected reply.
"Indeed! then you know something about the matter?"
"Yes!" issued from the landlady's pale lips, "I--I noticed something."
"What did you notice?"
"I daren't tell you."
"You must!"
Mrs. Presk rose and hastily made for the door. Before she could reach
it Gebb had placed his back against it. "You don't leave this room
until I know what you are hiding."
"I'm hiding nothing!" burst out Mrs. Presk, "haven't you got eyes?"
She pointed towards the dead woman. "Look!" she cried "Look!"