great annoyance to have to pay out to the bank when we had been dealt two kings, and got another when we asked for a third card, and the Prince’s cards were the sorriest rags, but they made eight, and that was the better hand, but it seems hard that three kings should be worth nothing at all …'
I took her gently by the arm and steered her away from the drawing-room door to an alcove at the end of the corridor, for I could see there was only one way, and that was to come out with the thing plump and plain. 'Did you see Cumming at any time add counters to his stake after the Prince had declared the result of the hand?'
She took her lower lip gently in her teeth—a tiny gesture of puzzlement which has been turning my heart over since 1839. 'You mean after the Prince had said who had won?'
'Precisely.'
She frowned. 'But, then … it would be too late to add w his stake, surely?'
'That’s the whole point. Did he, at any time, after the result had been called, place any counters beyond the line?'
'Which line?'
'The line,' I replied through gritted teeth, 'round the edge of the cloth on the table.' It was like talking to a backward Bushman. 'The line beyond which the stakes are placed.'
'Oh, is that what the line was for? I thought it was just for the look of the thing.' She reflected for a moment, and shook her head. 'No … I cannot think that I saw him putting out more counters, after …' As realisation dawned, the forget-me-not eyes opened wide, and her lips parted. 'Why, Harry, that would have been cheating!'
'Begad, you’re right! So it would … but you never saw him do any such thing—with his hands, or a pencil —'
'Gracious, no! Why, I should have checked him at once, and told him it would not do—that he had made a mistake, and must …' And at that she stopped short, staring at me, and slowly her alarm changed into the oddest old-fashioned look, and then she smiled—that old teasing cherry-lipped Elspeth pout that used to have me thrusting the door to and wrenching at my breeches. To my astonishment I saw that her eyes were suddenly moist as she shook her head and came close to me, putting a gloved hand up to my whiskers.
'Oh, Harry, my jo, ye sweet old thing!' murmurs she. 'Is that why you’re tasking me with all these daft questions—because that clavering auld clype Owen Williams has told you that Billy Cumming put his hand on mine once or twice at the baccarat?' She laughed softly, loving-sad, and stroked my withered cheek. 'To be sure he did —but only to guide me in placing my wagers, silly! And you’re still jealous for your old wife, wild lad that you are— well, I’m glad, so there! Come here!' And she kissed me in a way which any decent matron should have forgotten long ago. 'As though I’ve ever wanted to fetch any man but you,' says she fondly, straightening my collar. 'Supposing I still could. Now, if you’ll give me your arm to the drawing-room, I dare say Mrs Wilson will be serving tea.'
The deuce of it is, when Elspeth turns a conversation topsy-turvy, all wide-eyed innocence, you can never be sure whether it’s witlessness or guile. She’s always been ivory from her delightful neck upwards, but that don’t mean she can’t wheedle a duck from a pond when so minded. Knowing her vanity ('Supposing I still could', my eye!) I didn’t doubt that she believed my inquiries had been prompted by pure jealousy, to her immense gratification, lovingly expressed … still, there was something to do with Cumming that she wasn’t telling. Well, perhaps it was something I’d be better for not knowing; one thing seemed clear, for what it was worth: whoever had seen him cheating, she had not.
I left her prattling over the cups to Lady Coventry and on the spur of the moment decided not to visit the Prince to see how his fine frenzy was coming along, but to call on the principal in the case, as promising more information—and entertainment. Faced with ruin and dishonour, Cumming should be an interesting spectacle by now, and a little manly condolence from old comrade Flashy might well lead him to do something amusing. The more mischief the better sport, as the great man said.
He was taking it well, I’ll say that, standing before his mantel, every inch the Guardee, rock steady and looking down his aristocratic nose. I guessed he was a volcano ready to erupt, though, and when he’d dismissed his valet I took him flat aback by holding out my hand, avoiding his grip—and seeking his pulse. I do love to startle ’em.
'What the deuce?' cries he, pulling free.
'A touch fast, not much. You’ll do.' In fact, I hadn’t found his pulse. 'Seen the Prince, have you?'
'So you’ve heard! Yes, I have seen his highness.' He eyed me with profound dislike. 'I suppose you too believe this filthy slander?'
'Why should you think that?' says I, taking a chair.
'Those other idiots do—Williams and Coventry! And the Prince! And when did you ever believe good of anyone?'
'Not often, perhaps. But then, they don’t often deserve it. In your case, as it happens, I’m probably the only man in this house who is not convinced that you played foul.'
His sneer vanished in astonishment, and he took a pace forward, only to stop in sudden doubt. 'You’re not? Why?' Leery of me, you see; many people are.
'Because it makes no sense.' I told him my reasons, which you know, and with every word his expression lightened until he was looking almost hopeful, in a frantic way.
'Have you said this to the Prince? What did he say, in heaven’s name?'
I shook my head. 'Didn’t persuade him—or Coventry and Williams. Can’t blame ’em altogether, you know; the evidence is pretty strong, on the face of it. Five witnesses—'
'Witnesses?' cries he. 'Damned imbeciles! Two idiot women, a parcel of boys who know nothing—what’s their word worth?' Almost in an instant the cool Guardee was gone, and he was standing before me, fists clenched and eyes wild, voice shaking with fury. Strange how a man can show a calm front and a stiff lip when all the world’s agin him, but drop a sympathetic word and all the rage and indignation will come bubbling out, because he thinks he’s found a friend to confide in.
'How can they believe it?' he stormed. 'My God, Flashman, how can they? Men who’ve known me twenty years and more—trusted friends! As though I would … stoop to this … this damned infamy! And for what?' There were tears in his eyes, and if he’d stamped and torn his hair I’d not have been surprised. 'For a few paltry pounds? By heaven, I’ll throw it back in their faces—'
'Not if you’ve any sense, you won’t,' says I, and he stared. 'Might be taken for an admission of guilt. You won it fair and square, did you? Then you keep it.' Sound advice, by the way.
'That’s the whole point, though,' I added, sitting forward and giving him my eye. 'Now, Cumming, don’t start tearing the curtains, but tell me, straight out … did you cheat?'
He was breathing hard, but at that he stiffened, and answered straight. 'I did not! On my word of honour.'
He was telling the truth, no question. Not because he said so, but because of what I’d seen and heard from the moment I’d entered the room. I don’t claim to be an infallible judge of my fellow man (and woman); I can be deceived, and put no faith in oaths and promises, however solemn. But I’ve been about, and if I knew anything at all, Gordon-Cumming’s demeanour, in and out of anger, rang true.
'Very good. Now, these witnesses—are they lying?'
That set him away again. 'How the blazes should I know? The whole thing is abominable! What’s it to me whether they’re lying or not? Pack of idiots and prying women! Who cares what they say! Let me tell you, Flashman, their foul charges don’t matter a straw to me—they’re worthless! But that men like Williams and … and the Prince, whom I counted a friend—that they should turn against me … that they can bring themselves to believe this vile thing—my God, and that you, of all people, should be alone in having … having faith in me …'
I dare say he didn’t mean it to sound like an insult, but it did, and I found myself liking him even less than usual. He had gulped himself silent with outrage, so I resumed.
'You haven’t answered. Are they lying?'
'I neither know nor care!' He paced about and stopped, glaring at the wall. 'Oh, I suppose not! The damned fools must think they saw something wrong, but who knows with ignorant young asses like those? What do they know of card play, even, or how such games are conducted? Tyros and schoolboys—that dummy Levett! That he should think for a moment—'
'Stop vapouring, and keep your head,' I told him. 'Dammit, man, I’m trying to help you!' I wasn’t, but there.
