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."