A Dangerous Fortune - Ken Follett [65]
Micky turned over his cards and showed a five and a four. Edward had a four showing, and turned over a worthless king and another four, making eight. His side had lost.
Solly turned up a two and a four, making six. The right side had also lost to the banker.
And Tonio was ruined.
He turned pale and looked ill, and muttered something that Micky recognized as a Spanish curse.
Micky suppressed a smile of triumph and raked in his winnings—then he saw something that took his breath away and stopped his heart with dread.
There were four fours of clubs on the table.
They were supposed to be playing with three decks of cards. Anyone who noticed the four identical fours would immediately know that extra cards had somehow been added to the pack.
It was a hazard of this particular method of cheating, and the chances of its happening were roughly one in a hundred thousand.
If the anomaly were seen, it would be Micky, not Tonio, who was ruined.
So far no one had spotted it. Suits had no significance in this game, so the irregularity was not glaring. Micky picked up the cards swiftly, his heart beating hard. He was just thanking his stars that he had got away with it when Edward said: “Hang on—there were four fours of clubs on the table.”
Micky cursed him for a blundering elephant. Edward was just thinking aloud. Of course he had no idea of Micky’s scheme.
“Couldn’t be,” said Viscount Montagne. “We’re playing with three decks of cards, so there are only three fours of clubs.”
“Exactly,” said Edward.
Micky puffed on his cigar. “You’re drunk, Pilaster. One of them was a four of spades.”
“Oh, sorry.”
Viscount Montagne said: “At this time of night, who can tell the difference between spades and clubs?”
Once again Micky thought he had got away with it—and once again his elation was premature.
Tonio said belligerently: “Let’s look at the cards.”
Micky’s heart seemed to stop. The cards from the last hand were placed on a pile which was shuffled and reused when the pack ran out. If the discards were turned over, the four identical fours would be seen, and Micky would be finished.
Desperately he said: “I hope you’re not questioning my word.”
This was a dramatic challenge to make in a gentlemen’s club: it was not very many years since such words would have led to a duel. People at the neighboring tables began to watch what was happening. Everyone looked at Tonio for his response.
Micky was thinking fast. He had said that one of the fours had been a four of spades, not clubs. If he could produce the four of spades from the top of the discard pile he would have proved his point—and with luck no one would look at the rest of the discards.
But first he had to find a four of spades. There were three. Some might be in the discard pile on the table, but the odds were that at least one was in the pack they had been playing with, which was in his hand.
It was his only chance.
While all eyes were on Tonio, he turned the pack so that the cards faced him. With infinitesimal movements of his thumb he exposed a corner of each card in turn. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on Tonio, but held the cards within his vision so that he could still read the letters and symbols in the corners.
Tonio said stubbornly: “Let’s look at the discards.”
The others turned to Micky. Steeling his nerve, he carried on fiddling with the pack, praying for a four of spades. In the midst of such drama no one remarked on what he was doing. The cards in contention were in the pile on the table, so it would seem to make no difference what he did with those in his hand. They would have to look quite hard to see that behind his hands he was sorting through the pack, but even if they did so they would not immediately realize he was up to no good.
But he could not stand on his dignity indefinitely. Sooner or later one of them would lose patience, abandon courtesy, and pick up the discards. To gain a few precious moments he said: “If you can’t lose like a man, perhaps you oughtn’t to play.” He felt a slight sweat break out on his forehead.