Free Murder on the Blackboard by Stuart Palmer

an official announcement made by Mr. Shamus Donnell, president of the Irish Hospitals’ Sweepstakes Commission at the conclusion of the drawing late today, won the name of Kangaroo Lad, favorite for the Midlands Derby. This last great race of the season will be run two weeks from today, and the holder of the lucky one-pound ticket, said to be one A. Halloran of New York City, is certain to receive a prize of from five hundred pounds if Kangaroo Lad merely enters the race, to a possible five thousand to ten thousand if he shows, places, or wins. Other tickets winning—”
    Slowly Janey Davis put down the newspaper. Her red little mouth was open, and she expelled a deep breath.
    Then she jumped to her feet and ran across the room to the mantel which hung above a fireplace boasting only a gas heater. She fumbled for a moment among a little pile of letters and papers there. Then she paused.
    “Wait a minute,” she said. “Wait—I remember.” She ran to the bookcase, and searched busily through its shelves.
    She found at last a little limp leather volume, with a gold cross on its cover. She brought it out to the table, and flipped through the leaves.
    “Anise put it somewhere in her prayer book because she thought it would bring us good luck!” said Janey Davis. “Now if I can find it … I told her not to put it here. I said it was bad luck to use a prayer book for such a purpose, but I guess I was wrong. Here it is!”
    She drew forth a large oblong stiff cardboard, bright cerise in color, with an emerald green border of tortuous engraving. It bore the scrolled insignia of the Irish Hospitals’ Sweepstakes, and the number embossed across its face was 131313.
    Janey Davis was breathless. “The prayer book brought her good luck after all!”
    “Such good luck that tonight she lies, a blackened thing of horror, in the City Morgue,” Miss Withers reminded her. “Such luck that her skull was broken in the darkness, and her face streaked with blood, and then cast into the fire….”
    “Stop! Stop, I tell you!” The girl drew back, her hands to her lips. The lottery ticket whirled to the floor like an autumn leaf. But Janey Davis stooped to snatch it.
    “It’s half mine,” said the girl. “Why, I even loaned her the money for her half. She came home, all excited, saying that she had a chance to get a very lucky number, and would I go halves with her? The ticket was five dollars, and I paid it. They only allow space for one name, and she put hers down, but we were halves on it. Why—”
    “You’re going to have to prove that,” Miss Withers told her. “Don’t you see what a position this puts you in? Half of that ticket may be worth, let me see—even with taxes and things, it might mount up to twenty thousand dollars if that horse comes in ahead of the other horses.”
    Janey looked bewildered. “But—why should that have anything to do with me? My half is my half. We agreed on that. Bob Stevenson was here when we talked about it, he’ll bear me witness. Why should her death have anything to do with this?”
    “If she was dead—you had the ticket,” Miss Withers pointed out. “The whole ticket is worth more than half, and I imagine one would have little difficulty in getting the name changed. Believe me, my dear, the police are going to make things very difficult for you, even if you can prove that you bought this ticket for Anise.”
    “I can! I can prove that. Look here!” Janey ran to the mantel, and took up a folded black leather oblong. “Here’s my check book—the stub will show. See?”
    She riffled the stubs, and then displayed one which gave evidence that on September sixth she had drawn a check for the amount of five dollars to Anise Halloran, lowering her account from eighty-seven dollars to eighty-two.
    “And if the police won’t believe that, they can look at the cancelled check and see for themselves,” Janey declared. She snatched up a long manila envelope, and dumped out its