him drop red counters on his paper after coups had been called, and heard Levett mutter, `By jove, it is too hot!'— but unlike the two young men she had concluded that Cumming was playing fair. Simple she may be, but she has her country’s instinct for anything to do with money and sharp practice, and her unerring eye had spotted what they had missed …

'For I was positive, Harry, that he did not drop his counters until after the Prince had paid the wagers, and what he was doing was laying his wager for the next coup. Well,' says she earnestly, 'that was not cheating, was it? But they thought it was, you see. They did not understand that he was playing that French system of his, the coup de thingamabob which was mentioned in court last week—I did not understand it myself till I read about it in the papers and realised he was telling the truth when he said he did not cheat. But at the time, of course, I did not know about the French coup thing … and while I did not think he was cheating, how could I be sure, when they thought he was, and I supposed they knew more about the game than I did? In any event,' she concluded cheerfully, 'it did not signify whether he had cheated or not, so long as they thought he did. Do you see, my love?'

Heaven forfend that I should ever fail to grasp something that was clear to her, but as I gazed into those forget-me-not eyes fixed so eagerly on mine I had to confess myself somewhat buffaloed, and begged her to continue, which she did at length, and gradually light began to dawn. Later that night, after the game, Count Lutzow (the cabbage-eating poont-fancier whom she fleeced at back-gammon two nights later) had come to her like Rumour painted full of tongues, with news that a scandalous crisis was at hand: Sir William Gordon-Cumming had been seen cheating, and watch was to be kept on him the following night. How Lutzow had heard this, God alone knows, for according to what was said in court young Wilson had confided his suspicions to no one on the Monday night except Levett and, later, his mother: but there you are, Lutzow had got wind of it somehow. Sly bastards, these squareheads. Of course, he swore dear Lady Flashman to silence …

I could hold in no longer. 'But dammit all, girl, why didn’t you say something then? You believed he hadn’t cheated, and that Wilson and Levett were mistaken … and yet you let ’em lay a trap for him on the following night —for that’s what it was—'

'I should think I did!' cries she. 'It was then I saw my chance to be revenged on him. Whether he’d cheated or no' the first night, I could make sure he was seen to cheat on the Tuesday, when every eye would be on him. It was ever so easy,' she went on serenely. 'I begged Lady Coventry to give me her place beside him, and—forgive me, dearest, and do not be too shocked—I put my knee against his, and smiled `couthie and slee', to fetch him, for he always had a fancy to me, you know, and men are so vain and silly, even an old dame like me can gowk them … well, it was no work at all to have him put his hand on mine to guide me in making my bets, and I saw to it that he kept it there, and made a flirt of it, our hands together whenever we wagered … and that is how counters came to be on his paper when they should not have been—'

This was too much. 'Of all the nonsense! Don’t tell me you can palm a gaming-chip—as if you were Klondike Kate! Why, it would take a top sharp, a first-rate mechanic—'

'Harry,' says she quietly, and held out her hand, the empty palm towards me. 'Take my hand, love … yours on the back of mine, so … and now we lay them down … and then we take them away …'

So help me God, there was the little round lid of the mustard pot on the cloth which had been bare. I gaped, struggling for speech.

'My God … where on earth did you learn that?'

'Oh, ever so long ago—from that friend of yours in the 11th Hussars, what was his name? Brand? O’Brien? It’s the simplest sleight of hand, really—'

'Bryant! That damned toad!'

'Please, Harry, do not thunder! He was the cleverest conjurer, you remember—'

'He was a low, conniving blackguard! D’you know he once laid a plant on me, made me out a cheat and swindler in front of Bentinck and D’Israeli and half the bloody country …' A dreadful suspicion struck me: had the loathsome Bryant been another of her fancy-men? 'When the blue blazes did you know him?'

'Oh, how can I remember? ’Twas years and years since, about the Crimea time, I think, when we were acquainted with Lord Cardigan, and O’Brien or Brand was one of his officers, and showed me ever so many diverting tricks—surely you mind how I used to amuse Havvy and wee Selina with them? No, well, you must have been from home … At all events,' says she reasonably, 'if O’Bryant once embarrassed you with his jiggery-pokery … would that be the time Papa sent you away to Africa? My, he was a dour man when he wanted to be … well, you can see it was not hard for me to do the like by Billy Cumming, was it?'

There is a tide in the affairs of men when you simply have to chuck it—as, for example, when you learn that the wife of your unsuspecting bosom is a practised thimblerigger who has used her flash arts to ruin an innocent man. For it must all be true: she could never have invented anything so wild—and it fitted the facts and solved the mystery. And while no normal being would even have thought of such a thing, or had the audacity to attempt it, Elspeth has always been that alarming mixture of an idiot and a bearcat for nerve. Being a poltroon myself, I blurted out the first thing that came into my head.

'But, dear God—suppose you’d been caught?'

'Fiddlesticks! Have I not just shown you? And who,' she looked droll, 'would ever suspect dear old Lady Flashman? Once, perhaps, I was a wee bit gallus, when he was playing with his pencil, and I took his hand as though to write something between us … and pushed a counter over the line. And the silly gommerils all swore in court that he had done it! Why, I was as safe as Coutts' !'

D’you know, looking at that angelic smile, and contemplating what she’d done, I was almost scared of her, for the first time in fifty years. My Elspeth, whose kindly, feckless good nature I’d taken for granted, had confessed with shameless satisfaction to a crime that would have shocked Delilah. If she’d burned Cumming at the stake she couldn’t have done worse by him … and suddenly I found myself thinking of Sonsee-Array and Narreeman and the Dragon Empress and the Amazons and Ranavalona (I’ve known some fragile little blossoms in my time) and their genius for finding a man’s tenderest spot and twisting till he squeals … and realising that my gentle helpmeet was their sister under her cream and roses skin. Well, ex Elspetho semper aliquid novi, thinks I, who’d have believed it, and thank God she’s on my side. But what, in the name of all that was wonderful, could Cumming have done to drive her to such a monstrous revenge?

'I don’t care to' say!' was her astonishing reply when I demanded to be told (not for the first time, you’ll note). Her smile had vanished. 'It was too … too outre for words!'

Her vocabulary being what it is, that might mean anything from farting to high treason. I felt an icy clutch at my innards, of rage against Cumming for whatever atrocious offence he might have given her, and of fear that I might be expected to do something dangerous about it, like offering to shoot the swine. But I couldn’t leave it there. Having told her appalling tale with happy abandon, she was now plainly uneasy at my question, frowning and looking askance. 'Please do not ask me,' says she.

I knew roaring and pounding the table wouldn’t serve, so I waited, pushed back my chair, and patted my knee. 'Here, old lady,' says I, and after a moment she came round and seated herself on my creaking thigh. 'Now then, you’re bound to tell me, you know, and I shan’t be a bit angry either, honest Injun. You can kick twenty Cummings into the gutter, and I’ll lose no sleep, ’cos I know my girl wouldn’t do such a … such a thing without good cause. But I must know why you paid him out—and why you didn’t tell me all about it that night at Tranby.' I gave her a squeeze and a kiss and my quizziest Flashy smile. 'We’ve never had any secrets from each other, have we?' I’ll fry in Hell, no doubt about it.

'I couldn’t tell you then,' says she, nestling against my shoulder. 'I feared you would be angry, and might … might tell people … no, no, you would not do that, but you might have done something, I don’t know what, to … to interfere, and spoil it, and prevent him meeting his just deserts, the dirty beast!' Only Elspeth can talk like that with a straight face; comes of Paisley and reading novels. Her mouth was drooping, and there were absolute tears in her eyes. 'You see, I knew what I had done was dreadful and … and dishonourable—and you are the very soul of honour!' She said it, God help me. 'The chevalier sans peur et sans reproche, that’s what the Queen called you, I heard her—'

'Bless me, did she?'

'—and if I had told you at Tranby, why, you would have been in such a fix, on the horns of Tantalus, whether to speak out, which I knew you wouldn’t ever do, for my sake, or else be an … an accomplice in my dishonourable deed! And that would not have done!' She dabbed her eyes with her sleeve. 'So I had to be silent, and deceive you, and I’m so sorry for that, dearest, I truly am—but not for what I did to Billy Cumming, and if you blame me, I can’t

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