It took Grey an age to look down at the weight. The bottom was unmarred.
'I said, 'What about the weight?'' Stupid fool, Smedly-Taylor thought contemptuously as he watched Grey search for the hole. What a fool! I could eat him for breakfast and not notice it.
'It's not the one I gave you,' Grey choked. 'It's not the same. It's not the same.' '
'You're quite wrong. It's the same one.' The colonel was quite calm.
He continued, his voice benign and solicitous. 'Now, Grey, you're a young man. I understand that you want to stay in the army when the war's over.
That's good. We can use intelligent, hard-working officers. Regular Army's a wonderful life. Certainly. And Colonel Samson was telling me how highly he thinks of you. As you know, he's a friend of mine. I'm sure I could prevail upon him to add to my recommendation that you should be granted a permanent commission. You're just overwrought, understandably so.
These are terrible times. I think it's wise to let this matter drop. It would be ill-advised to involve the camp in a scandal. Very ill-advised. I'm sure you understand the wisdom of this.'
He waited, despising Grey. At just the correct time - for he was an expert
- he said, 'Do you want me to send your recommendation for captaincy to the Camp Commandant?'
Grey slowly turned to the paper, eying it with horror. He knew that the colonel could give or withhold, and where he could give or withhold, he could also slaughter. Grey knew he was beaten. Beaten. He tried to speak, but so vast was his misery that he could not speak. He nodded and he heard Smedly-Taylor say, 'Good, you can take it as read that your captaincy is confirmed. I feel sure my recommendation and Colonel Samson's will add tremendous weight to your being granted a permanent commission after the war,' and he felt himself go out of the room and up to the jail hut and dismiss the MP and he didn't care that the man looked at him as though he were mad. Then he was alone inside the jail hut. He shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed within the cell and his misery erupted and he wept.
Broken.
Ripped apart.
Tears wet his hands and face. His spirit whirled in terror, teetering on the brink of the unknown, then fell into eternity…
When Grey came to, he was lying on a stretcher being carried by two MP's. Dr. Kennedy was clomping ahead. Grey knew that he was dying but he did not care. Then he saw the King standing beside the path, looking down at him.
Grey noticed the neat polished shoes, the trousers' crease, the tailor-made Kooa, the well-fed countenance. And he remembered that he had a job'to do. He could not die yet. Not yet, Not while the King was well-creased and polished and well fed. Not with the diamond in the offing. By God, no!
'We'd better make this the last game,' Colonel Smedly-Taylor was saying.
'Mustn't miss the show.'
'Can't wait to get an eyeful of Sean,' Jones said, sorting his cards. 'Two diamonds.' He opened smugly.
'You've the luck of the devil,' Sellars said sharply. 'Two spades.'
'Pass.'
'Not always the luck of the devil, partner,' Smedly-Taylor said with a thin smile. His granite eyes looked at Jones. 'You were pretty stupid today.'
'It was just bad luck.'
'There's no excuse for bad luck,' Smedly-Taylor said, studying his cards.
'You should have checked. You were incompetent not to check.'
'I've said I'm sorry. You think I don't realize that it was stupid? I'll never do that again. Never. I never knew what it was like to be panicked.'
'Two no trumps.' Smedly-Taylor smiled at Sellars. 'This'll make it rubber, partner.' Then he turned to Jones again. 'I've recommended that Samson take over from you — you need a 'rest.' That'll take Grey off the scent - oh yes, and Sergeant Donovan'll be Samson's Quartermaster Sergeant.' He laughed shortly. 'It's a pity we have to change the system, but it doesn't matter. We'll just have to make sure that Grey's busy on the days the false weights are used.' He looked back at Sellars. 'That'll be your job.'
'Very good.'
'Oh, by the way, I fined Marlowe a month's pay. He's in one of your huts, isn't he?'
'Yes,' Sellars said.
'I was soft on him, but he's a good man, comes from a good family — not like that lower-class sod Grey. My God, what a bloody nerve — to think I'd recommend him for a permanent commission. That's just the sort of guttersnipe we don't need in the Regular Army. My God, no! If he gets a permanent commission it'll be over my dead body.'
'I quite agree,' Sellars said with distaste. 'But with Marlowe you should have made it three months' pay. He can afford it. That damned American's got the whole camp tied up.'
'He has for the time being.' Smedly-Taylor grunted and re-examined his cards once more, trying to cover his slip.
'You've something on him?' Jones asked tentatively. Then he added,
'Three diamonds.'
'Blast you,' Sellar said. 'Four spades.'
'Pass.'
'Six spades,' Smedly-Taylor said.
'Do you really have something on the American?' Jones asked again.
