Читать книгу Queen of Hearts - Fred M. White - Страница 7

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It took an hour's successful golf in favourable circumstances to bring Tom Gilchrist back to his customary good humour and even then he could not help an allusion to the unfortunate happenings of the morning in which Mona Catesby had played so offensive a part.

"Oh, what does it matter?" Ian Vascombe laughed. "Besides, it comes to the same thing in the long run."

"Oh, does it?" Tom scoffed. "If you think I am going to marry the girl to please my uncle or anybody else, you are mistaken. Nothing would induce me to. I am going to see my uncle tonight and have it out with him."

"Better be careful," Ian suggested. "You don't want to find yourself out in the cold with nothing to do."

Gilchrist nodded grimly.

"You leave that to me," he said. "When the old man sees I have made up my mind he may change his."

But, as matters turned out, the anticipated interview failed to materialise. When, at length, Gilchrist got back to his rooms he found his uncle's faithful servant awaiting him. It transpired that Sir Walter had been spending the afternoon at a public display of the dansant where he had contrived to slip on the polished floor and damage his ankle.

"No, nothing serious, sir," Withers explained. "Only Sir Walter will have to lie up for a day or two."

"He won't like that," Tom grinned.

"No, sir, certainly not, sir. He told me to come round here and ask you if you would call at the flat about half-past eight tonight for a game of bridge. He has a friend coming and wants you to bring someone with you."

"Yes, tell Sir Walter I will come," Tom said. "Say I will be there at the time and that I will ask Mr. Vascombe to come along as well. I am sorry to hear what you have to say, but I suppose it is only a matter of a day or two?"

With that Withers departed, and Tom proceeded to ring up Ian Vascombe on the telephone. In a few minutes the matter was arranged and, after an early dinner, the two young men strolled as far as Royal Mansions where they found the semi-invalid eagerly awaiting them.

"It is a most confounded nuisance," Sir Walter said. "No, there isn't much the matter. The doctor says if I rest my foot I shall be able to get out by the end of the week. It is very good of you youngsters to come round here tonight and amuse an old man, and I am grateful."

"Oh, that's all right, sir," Vascombe said. "I am rather keen on bridge myself and one does not often get a chance of a game with a player of your calibre."

"Who is our fourth, uncle?" Tom asked.

"Oh, a man named Lechmere. You don't know him, but he is one of the best players in London. Now, then, Tom, get the table out and make the room comfortable. I think Withers has seen to our creature comforts. Yes, apparently everything is on the side board and you will find a couple of packs of new cards in the top drawer of the secretaire. We shall have to wait upon ourselves, but you won't mind that."

"Where is the ever faithful Withers?" Tom asked.

"Oh, it's Withers night out," Sir Walter explained. "He offered to stay in, but I have discovered that he was going to some theatrical entertainment with a friend of his, so I told him he need not trouble about me. I can manage to hobble as far as my bedroom and look after myself."

"Yes, but who lets Withers in?"

"Why, himself, of course. He has his own latchkey and I have mine. And, in case of accidents, there is a spare one hanging up in the hatstand in the hall. When we are not using our keys we always hang them up there."

"Then you don't lock the front door?"

"Very rarely. When Withers is off duty he comes and goes as he likes, and there are occasions when I am pretty late myself. The latch is a patent one, something after the Vale style, so I don't have to worry about burglars."

Gilchrist proceeded to put out the table and the cards when the telephone bell rang. At a sign from Sir Walter, Tom took the receiver off the hook.

"I am very sorry, uncle," he said at length. "But that is your friend Lechmere. He says he has been unexpectedly detained at the very last moment and can't possibly get here tonight. Is there anybody I can ring up?"

"What an infernal nuisance," Sir Walter cried. "I can't think of anybody for the moment."

"May I make a suggestion?" Vascombe asked. "I know a man who would be only too pleased to come. I believe he is an excellent player, though I have never sat down with him."

"Oh, that will do, anybody will do," Sir Walter cried. "What is the name at your friend? Do I know him?"

"I don't think so. I only know him through business. He is called Mortimer Heek."

"Oh, it doesn't matter his name or who he is as long as he fills the gap. If you happen to know his telephone number, ring him up. If you don't, go and fetch him."

A quarter of an hour later Vascombe returned to the flat with the rather mysterious-looking individual who was known to his acquaintances as Mortimer Heek. He came into the room, calm and self-possessed and bowed gravely to his host. In the strong light of the electrics Sir Walter studied the features of his guest. Then his bland, friendly expression changed for an instant and he seemed on the verge of an outbreak. Then, as quickly, his mood altered and he was expressing himself politely enough to the newcomer.

"Very kind of you to come to our aid like this," he said. "And I am greatly obliged to you. Will you kindly sit down, Mr. Heek? Now, let us cut for partners."

They proceeded to cut in the usual way and, for the next hour or two, the game proceeded without much conversation between the players. They were all keen enough on the cards and sufficiently interested in the science of bridge to ask for nothing in the way of social amenities. Then, at the end of a second hour, when a rubber had finished, Gilchrist rose to his feet and walked to the sideboard.

"I think we are forgetting our obligations, uncle," he said. "I suggest that before we cut for a new rubber we will have a whisky and soda apiece. Mr. Heek, may I?"

"Not for me, if you please," the man called Heek said gravely. "I never drink. But if I may be permitted, I will take another of these excellent cigarettes of Sir Walters."

"Shall I mix for you, uncle," Gilchrist asked.

Sir Walter shook his head.

"Oh, well, if you don't mind me having one myself, and I am sure you are ready, Ian. Say when."

They sat down again with the tumblers placed on the corners of the table. A few hands had been played before, in reaching for one of the packs of cards which it was his turn to shuffle, Sir Walter overturned one of the glasses of amber fluid so that it spread over the table, deluging the best part of the pack he was gathering together in a liquid stream.

"How infernally clumsy of me," Sir Walter cried. "And what an infernal nuisance. I am afraid we shan't be able to use that pack again and I haven't another one in the house. Mop up the table, Tom, and I will see what can be done."

With that, he gathered up the sodden cards and pitched them in a heap on the floor. In his slow, observant way, Mortimer Heek watched the proceedings.

"You have no other cards, Sir Walter?" he asked.

"Haven't I just said so," Sir Walter said a little irritably. "When I play bridge I like to use fresh cards every evening and Withers either destroys or otherwise gets rids of them, afterwards. I suppose we can try and manage with one pack, but it will be most infernally awkward."

"Are you sure you have no others?" Heek asked.

"Well, no," Sir Walter said. "Yes, by Gad, I have. Not that I am particularly anxious to have them used but, in the circumstances, I see no alternative."

"Oh, I suppose you mean that wonderful pack of yours," Tom cried. "You know the one I mean Ian. You saw the Queen of Hearts this morning."

"By Jove, I should think I did," Ian cried. "A most wonderful pack of cards, Heek. Made and designed in China three hundred years ago. The loveliest work, painted on ivory. I never saw anything like it."

Heek combed his beard with his long slim fingers.

"Is that so," he said gravely. "It will be a great privilege and pleasure to see those cards."

Sir Walter took a little key from his watch-chain and handed it to Gilchrist. Tom took the key as directed and opened a drawer in the secretaire from which he produced the carved ivory box in which the precious cards were hidden. Then they were thrown on the table, and, after being duly admired by Heek were used in the game as if nothing had happened. It seemed almost a sacrilege to put such works of art to so common a usage, but, in the circumstances, there was nothing else to be done and, so long as Sir Walter was agreeable it was not for anybody else to demur.

And so the game went on with varying fortunes till the clock was pointing towards the hour of twelve and then, once more, the telephone bell rang.