Part 1 (1/2)
Loaded Dice.
by Ellery H. Clark.
PART I
THE FOOTHOLD
LOADED DICE
CHAPTER I
A GAME OF BRIDGE AT THE FEDERAL
Half-way up the slope of the tall hill, beyond the park, looking far out over the city to where, in the distance, the broad blue waters of the bay sparkle and gleam in the suns.h.i.+ne, stands the Federal Club.
Serenely it has held its place there for more than half a century, alike undaunted by winter snows and unmoved by all the beauty of springtime's bud and blossom, by the cloudless blue of summer skies and the lingering glory of autumn's scarlet and gold. And ever, year by year, with tolerant interest, it has watched the great, new, busy city beneath it grow and grow, stretching always farther and farther away to north and south and east and west in eager, resistless advance. Regret and compa.s.sion and longing for the old, pleasant days of its youth, all of these the club has known, as it has seen green field and swamp and meadow vanish for ever, and crowded office-building and mill and factory spring up and reign in their stead. And thus it stands there to-day, looking quietly on at the rus.h.i.+ng tide of life below, a type of the life of the older city, aristocratic, dignified and reserved.
The year was 1904; the month, August; the time, late evening. The long, low-ceilinged card room was all but deserted, the shades drawn, the lights turned low. The round, green-topped tables, appearing to the eye like some field of giant mushrooms, stood in orderly rows, their outlines blending faintly with the dark oak paneling in the gloom. In the far distance, at the end of the room, a waiter, white-ap.r.o.ned, napkin on arm, hovered expectantly, for generous winners did not always heed the club's injunction regarding tips. Thus he made a pretense of dusting the tables, and waited, biding his time.
Over by the window, where the faint cooling breeze from the bay stole softly in, four men were finis.h.i.+ng their rubber of bridge. Vanulm, the portly brewer, prosperous, kindly, slow of speech, resolute of purpose, saying little, smiled often; from time to time, when perplexed as to the proper play, stroking his dark, closely-cropped beard with his large white hand. His partner, young Harry Palmer, scrupulously well dressed, carefully groomed, showed in his every action the handicap of having been born with more money than brains, of never having had to lift a finger to help himself, and, drifting with the tide, of never having wasted a thought on anything outside his own pleasures and how best to gratify them. Many times a millionaire, he had but recently come into his fortune, and was making a sincere and honest effort to spend as much of it as he could in the shortest possible time. His thoughts, seemingly, were far from being on the fall of the cards.
At times he sought restlessly to urge on the speed of the game; again, as if trying to get control of unruly nerves, he made an effort to pull himself together and strove to play leisurely, with a pretense at thought, the frown on his weak, good-natured face, however, deceiving no one. d.i.c.k Gordon, the stock broker, reputed to be one of the handsomest men about town, dark, saturnine, played in silence, his whole mind centered on the game, noting each card as it fell with observant, inscrutable gaze. The last of the four, little Mott-Smith, was the typical briefless barrister, who had sacrificed whatever chance of success he might have had in his profession for the dangerous charm of dabbling in the stock market, and whose continual struggles to keep above water financially had been severe enough fully to account for the nervous and worried expression that had now become habitual with him.
Vanulm recorded the score of the hand just ended, and laid his pencil aside.
”Game apiece, Gordon,” he said, ”and we're twenty-six to four on the rubber. Your deal. And your cut, Harry.”
Young Palmer lit another cigarette with an elaborate show of nonchalance. In obedience to that curious law of our nature which makes us admire and aspire to be that which we are not, Palmer's fondest ambition was to be known as a humorist. Therefore, before cutting, he made a feeble and misguided effort to raise a smile.
”Oh, I say, Vanulm,” he drawled, ”don't be in such a deuced hurry to get their coin. It's bad form, you know, and besides, it's twice as much fun to keep them worrying.”
From neither Vanulm nor Gordon was the hoped-for smile forthcoming.
Mott-Smith, indeed, laughed, but nervously and with apprehension. For him, bridge at five cents a point was not in any sense a pleasurable pastime, but a serious and indeed a somewhat dangerous occupation.
Gordon, observing him, smiled faintly as he dealt with the mechanical dexterity born of long practice, each card falling quickly and smoothly from his skilful fingers. Tall, dark and unusually fine looking, he was by all odds the most noticeable man of the four; perhaps, indeed, the only one who would have attracted attention in almost any company. His face, especially when he smiled, was attractive beyond all question, and yet something in his expression hard to define made it difficult to say whether the charm was that of good or of evil.
As the last card fell, he gathered up his hand, sorting it quickly, yet without haste. Then, scanning his cards carefully for a moment, he smiled again as he looked up and met his partner's anxious gaze.
”Sorry, partner,” he said, with a trace of mockery in his tone, ”but I'll have to ask you to name a trump.”
Mott-Smith's thin, nervous face was a study in conflicting emotions.
Anxiety, caution, resolve, all were recorded there, until finally his regard for the laws of the game triumphed, and in a voice which he tried hard to make appear firm and determined, he announced, with real heroism, ”Partner, we'll try it without.”
Vanulm studied his cards for a moment only; then asked the conventional, ”May I play?”
Palmer's face flushed. ”No, by Jove, I'll be hanged if you may!” he exclaimed. ”I'm going over.”
Mott-Smith sighed with the air of one thoroughly accustomed to unpleasant surprises and reversals of fortune. ”Perfectly satisfied,”