Blood was flowing from a wound in his
forehead. Near his hand was a revolver, still smoking.
But, in addition to this frightful spectacle, my attention was
attracted by another object. At two feet from the body, upon the
floor, I saw a playing-card. It was the seven of hearts. I picked
it up. The lower extremity of each of the seven spots was pierced
with a small round hole.
* * * * *
A half-hour later, the commissary of police arrived, then the
coroner and the chief of the Surete, Mon. Dudouis. I had been
careful not to touch the corpse. The preliminary inquiry was very
brief, and disclosed nothing. There were no papers in the pockets
of the deceased; no name upon his clothes; no initial upon his
linen; nothing to give any clue to his identity. The room was in
the same perfect order as before. The furniture had not been
disturbed. Yet this man had not come to my house solely for the
purpose of killing himself, or because he considered my place the
most convenient one for his suicide! There must have been a motive
for his act of despair, and that motive was, no doubt, the result
of some new fact ascertained by him during the three minutes he was
alone.
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