like little sharp knives - 'high and clean against all attack . .. whereas, otherwise, how they could chuckle and leer in all the little houses! How the shopkeeper would smack his lips over the harlotry of your daughter. ...'
'For God's sake,' Chaumont whispered, starting forward, 'stop torturing him!'
' ... The harlotry of your daughter, her mean little part as a white-slaver and pimp. ... And I could save you all this, Colonel, honourably and easily, if you would still take a gambler's chance!'
The voice was breaking. It said huskily:
'Still I don't see ...'
'Well, let me explain. Have you that cyanide at hand?'
The voice whispered: 'It is in my desk. In a little bottle. Sometimes in the last months I have thought.. .'
'Take it out, Colonel. Yes, do as I say! Take it out now, and set it on the desk in front of your eyes. Instant death, honourable death, is there. Look at it for a moment.'
There was a pause. Bencolin's leg had begun to swing faster; his tight smile broadened, and his eyes smouldered.
'You see it? A flash, and you die. A father, grieving with sorrow over the death of his daughter, has died and left for all of them a great name. Now - have you a deck of cards there? ... No, I am not joking! ... You have? Excellent. Now, monsieur, this is what I propose....
'You shall draw two cards at random. The first for me, the second for you. You are there alone. No one shall ever know what these cards are - but you shall tell me over this phone....'
Chaumont let out a gasp. The monstrous significance of this dawned on me suddenly.
Bencolin went on: 'If the card which you draw for me is higher than your own, you shall lock up that cyanide and wait for the arrival of the police. Then - the horrors of the trial, the mud, the scandal, and the guillotine. But if
For a long time there was no reply. The little nickelled telephone hung there in Bencolin's hand, become now a terrible thing. I pictured the old man in his dusky library, his bald head gleaming in the lamplight, his tight jaw buried in his collar, and the shaggy-hung eyes staring at the bottle of cyanide.... The tin clock ticked steadily....
'Very well, monsieur,' the voice said. You could sense a breaking-point close at hand. The voice became dry, hardly audible: 'Very well, monsieur. I will accept your challenge. A moment until I get the cards.'
Marie Augustin breathed, 'You devil! ... You're — '
She was clasping her hands together. All of a sudden her father let out a sort of giggling laugh which was horrible. His red eyes goggled with admiration, and you could hear the joints crack in his fingers as he rubbed his hands together. His head continued its bobbing; he seemed to be nodding in appreciation. .. .
More dragging ticks of the clock, another coal that rattled in the fireplace, and the distant cry of an auto horn. .. .
‘I am ready, monsieur,' the voice from the telephone squeaked, loudly and clearly.
'You shall draw, then, for me - and think what it means.5
(Gardens of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, rustling tattered leaves in the night. The gleaming backs of the cards, and a hand fumbling at them.)
I almost jumped out of a crawling skin when the voice announced:
'Your card, monsieur, is the five of diamonds.'
'Ah,' said Bencolin, 'not very high, Colonel! It should be easy to beat that. So very easy. And now think of all I have told you, and draw for yourself.'
His half-closed eyes travelled up mockingly to mine. ...
'Well, Colonel?' asked the detective, raising his voice slightly.
There was a rasp in the telephone. Chaumont whirled with a pale face.
The squeaky voice faltered. You could hear a gasp. ... Then there was a little tremble, as of breath through lips curled in a smile; and a small crash of glass dropped on hardwood.
The voice, clear and firm and courteous, rang out: 'My card, monsieur, is the three of spades. I shall await the arrival of the police.'
the end
