The three occupants of the other chambers, men I knew, entered, and endeavoured to restore their friend to consciousness. But all efforts were in vain. A doctor from Burlington Street was quickly fetched, and after a brief examination pronounced that life had been extinct about half an hour, but there being no sign of violence he could make no surmise as to the cause of death without a post-mortem.
Roddy had evidently been sitting beside the fire reading the newspaper and smoking when he expired, for at his side his cigar had dropped and burned a hole in the carpet, while the newspaper was still between his stiffening fingers.
A detective and a constable were very soon on the scene, but as the doctor expressed an opinion that it was a case of sudden death, most probably from syncope, the appearance of the body leading to that conclusion, the plain-clothes officer merely made a few notes, and awaited with me the return of the man Ash, in order to question him.
In the meantime the others left the presence of the dead, and I had an opportunity of glancing round the place. I was well acquainted with Roddy’s chambers, for I often smoked with him of an evening, therefore I knew their arrangement almost as well as I knew that of my own. But this discovery was to me a staggering blow. Over the mantel-shelf was a mirror, and stuck in its frame were a truly miscellaneous collection of cards of invitation for all sorts and descriptions of festivities. One card, however, attracted my attention as being unusual, and I took it down to examine it. It was not a card of invitation, but a small, oblong piece of pasteboard ruled in parallel squares, each column being headed by the letter “N,” alternate with the letter “R.” In the squares were hurriedly scribbled a curious collection of numbers.
At first I could not recollect where I had seen a similar card before, but it suddenly dawned upon me that it was one of those used by professional gamblers at Monte Carlo, to record the numbers which come up at the roulette-table, the “R” standing for Rouge, and the “N” for Noir. The discovery was interesting. I carefully examined the pencilled figures, and saw they were in Roddy’s own hand.
Did not this bear out Aline’s allegation that he had been to Monte Carlo?
I said nothing to the detective, but replaced the card in the frame of the mirror.
The detective strolled around the other rooms in an aimless sort of way, and when he returned I asked—
“What is your opinion of this affair?”
“I really don’t know, sir,” he answered in a puzzled tone. “It may be suicide.”