“The Tarot!” cried Kincaid, excitedly. “Of course!”
Murphy rolled her eyes. “Oh, not the tarot again, Kincaid, that’s your answer to everything.”
“No, it fits perfectly, don’t you see? That’s why he killed Miss Haversham after Montmorency, the museum curator, died, and why Lady Postelwaite is so gravely ill! That means the next to die must be –“
“Yes! You’ve got it! Murphy, I think this is it! We’ve got him, we’ve got him!”
Murphy threw her arms around him in excitement and they whirled around. It went on a little too long for comfort and they moved apart suddenly, both a little embarrassed and confused. “But, Kincaid,” Murphy began.
“The Fool, of course, where’s the Fool?” Kincaid snapped his fingers. “He’s got the Magician and the High Priestess; unless Dr. Gupta can identify the poison he’ll soon have the Empress, too, but what about the Fool? Unless he’s not using the Rider-White sequencing, but then…”
“…or, no, then he’d…”
Lightning flashed and the lights went out and Murphy screamed, high and shrill.