"What is the physician's report?" the former asked.
The inspector seemed to come back from a brown study.
"Ah! Upon Lord Dredlinton? A very good report from your point of view,
Mr. Wingate. Lord Dredlinton's death was due to exhaustion, but the
doctor certifies that he was suffering, and has been for some time, from
advanced valvular disease of the heart."
"He had not the appearance," Wingate observed, "of being a healthy man."
"He certainly was not," Shields admitted. "On the other hand, with great
care he might have lived for some time. The immediate cause of his death
was the strain of--what shall we call it, Mr. Wingate--this orgy?"
"An excellent word," Wingate agreed, his eyes fixed upon his companion.
The inspector lifted one of the packs of cards which had been dashed upon
the table and looked at them thoughtfully.
"Poker," he murmured. "By the by, where are the chips?"
"The chips?" Wingate repeated.
"Poker is one of those games, I believe, which necessitates the use of
counters or the handling of a great deal of money."
Wingate shrugged his shoulders. He made no reply. Shields took up one of
the bottles of champagne, held it to the light, poured out the remainder
of its contents and gazed with an air of surprise at the froth which
crept up the glass.
"Dear me!" he exclaimed.
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