by G. A. Henty
He stood somewhat carelessly at first, but as they sparred for an opening he became more careful, and presently hit out sharply. Mark leaped back, and then, springing forward, struck out with his left; Gibbons only just stopped it and then countered, but Mark was out of reach again.
“That is good enough,” Gibbons said; “I can see Jack has taught you pretty nearly all there is to know. We will just take those hits again. You were right to get away from the first, but the second time you should have guarded with your left, and hit at my chin with your right. That jumping back game is first rate for avoiding punishment, but you have got to come in again to hit. You took me by surprise that time, and nearly got home, but you would not do it twice,” and so the lesson went on for three quarters of an hour.
“That will do for today, sir; I am getting blown, if you are not. Well, I can tell you I have never had a more promising pupil, and I have brought forward two or three of the best men in the ring; no wonder that Jack cannot do much with you. Give me six months, every day, and you should have a turn occasionally with other men, and I would back you for a hundred pounds against any man now in the ring.”
Three or four days later Mark received a message that the chief wanted to speak with him that afternoon, and he accordingly went down.
“I’ve got a job for you, Mr. Thorndyke; it is just the sort of thing that will suit you. There is a house in Buckingham Street that we have had our eye on for some time; it is a gambling house, but with that we have nothing to do unless complaints are made, but we have had several complaints of late. It is a well got up place, and there are a good many men of title frequent it, but men of title are not always more honest than other people; anyhow, there are some rooks there, and several young fellows of means have been pigeoned and ruined. They are mighty particular who they let in, and there would be very little chance of getting my regular men in there. Now, you are a stranger in London, but you have friends here, and no doubt you could get introduced. We want to know if the play is fair; if it isn’t, we would break the place up altogether. We know enough to do it now; but none of the poor beggars who have been ruined will come forward, and, indeed, haven’t any idea, I think, that they have lost their money in anything but a run of bad luck.
“One young fellow blew his brains out last week, and his father came here with a list of what are called debts of honor, which he found in his room. There they are, and the names of the men they are owed to; of course some of them have been fairly won, but I have a strong suspicion that those I have marked with a cross have not been. For instance, there is Sir James Flash, a fellow who was turned out of White’s two years ago for sharp practice with cards; there is John Emerson, he is a man of good family, but all his friends have given him up long ago, and he has been living by his wits for the last five years. The others marked are all of the same sort. Now, what I want you to do is to become a frequenter of the place; of course you will have to play a little, and as you are a stranger I expect that they will let you win for a bit; but if not the old gentleman has placed 200 pounds in my hands for the expenses.”
“I could play with my own money,” Mark said rather warmly.
“You forget, Mr. Thorndyke,” the chief said firmly, “that at the present moment you are a member of my force, and that you go to this place in that capacity, and not as Squire of Crowswood; therefore you must, if you please, do as I instruct you. The gentleman will be ready to pay that sum. As you see, the amounts entered here total up to nearly 10,000 pounds. He said that it will ruin him to pay that sum, but that he must do so rather than his son should be branded as a defaulter. I have advised him to write to all these people saying that it will take him some time to raise the money, but that he will see that nobody shall be a loser by his son’s debts. I have told him in the meantime that I will endeavor to get proof that the play was not fair, and in that case he would, of course, refuse to pay any of the claims on that ground; and you may be sure that if unfair play was proved none of those concerned would dare to press their claims.”
“Then my function would be simply to watch?”
“Yes, to watch, and to bring me word of anything you may observe. You see, without making a public scandal, if it could be found that a man was discovered cheating, and the way in which he was doing it, one would be able to put so strong a pressure on him, that not only might he be forced to abstain from going to any club, but would be frightened into giving up any IOUs he might hold.”
“I shall be glad to do the best I can, sir; but frankly I know next to nothing of cards, and should have but little chance of detecting anything that might be going on, when it must be done so cleverly that experienced gamblers, watching a man closely, fail to see anything wrong.”
“I quite understand that; but one of my men has made a study of the various methods employed by gamblers to cheat, and although it would take you years to learn how to do it yourself, a few hours’ instruction from him would at least put you up to some of their methods, and enable you to know where to look for cheating. The man is now waiting in the next room, and if you will take two or three hours daily with him, say for a week, you ought to be able to detect the doings of these fellows when to others everything seems right and above board. You may have no inclination for cards, but knowledge of that sort is useful to anyone in society, here or anywhere else, and may enable him either to save his own pocket or to do a service to a friend.”
Mark was greatly interested in the tricks the man showed him. At first it seemed to him almost magical, after he himself had shuffled the cards and cut them the dealer invariably turned up a king. Even admitting he might have various places of concealment, pockets in the lining of the sleeve, in the inside of the coat, and in various other parts of the dress, in which cards could be concealed and drawn out by silken threads, it did not seem possible that this could be done with such quickness as to be unobserved. It was only when his teacher showed him, at first in the slowest manner, and then gradually increasing his speed, that he perceived that what seemed impossible was easy enough when the necessary practice and skill had been attained. The man was indeed an adept at a great variety of tricks by which the unsuspecting could be taken in.
“I ought to know,” he said. “I was for three years in a gambling house in Paris, where every other man was a sharper. I have been in places of the same sort in Belgium, Holland, Germany, and Italy. At first I was only a boy waiter, and as until evening there was nothing doing at these places, men would sometimes amuse themselves by teaching me tricks, easy ones to begin with, and when they saw I was sharp and quick handed they went on. After a time I began to work as a confederate, and at last on my own account; but I got disgusted with it at last. A young fellow shot himself at the table of the gambling house at Rome, and at another place I was nearly killed by a man who had lost heavily—do you see, it has left a broad scar right across my forehead?—so I gave it up.
“I was in the French police for a time, and used to watch some of the lower hells. I was nearly killed there once or twice, and at last I came back here. My French chief gave me a letter to the chief, and I was taken on at once, for, talking as I do half a dozen languages, and being acquainted with most of the swell mobsmen of Paris, I was just the man who happened to be wanted here at the time. Since I came over I have done a good deal in the way of breaking up hells where sailors and others are plundered. But, you see, I cannot be used for the higher class of work; my nose has been broken, and I have half a dozen scars on my face. I hate the sight of cards now. I have seen so much of the ruin they do, and have, I am sorry to say, taken a hand so often in doing it, that save showing someone who would use the knowledge in the right way how the tricks are done, nothing would persuade me to touch them again. However, as a protection, the knowledge is as useful as it is dangerous when used the other way. It would take you ten years to learn to do these tricks yourself so well as to defy detection; but in a very short time, by learning where to keep your eyes, you would get to d
etect almost any of them.
“You see, there are three methods of cheating: the first by hidden cards, the second by marked cards, the third simply by sleight of hand, this being generally used in connection with marked cards. These tricks require great skill and extreme delicacy of touch, for the marks, which are generally at the edge of the cards, are so slight as to be altogether imperceptible save to a trained hand. There are also marks on the back of the cards; these are done in the printing, and are so slight that, unless attention were attracted to them, no one would dream of their existence.”
In the course of a week’s practice Mark learned where to look for cheating; he could not indeed follow the fingers of his instructor, for even when he knew what was going to be done, the movements were so rapid that his eye could not follow them, and in nine cases out of ten he was unable to say whether the coup had been accomplished or not; but he could see that there was a slight movement of the fingers that could only mean that something was being done.
“It would be a good thing,” he said one day, “if every young fellow before going out into the world were to have a course of such instruction as you are giving me; he would learn, at least, the absolute folly of sitting down to play cards with strangers. He would see that he could be robbed in fifty different ways, and would be at the absolute mercy of any sharper. I never had any inclination for gambling, but if I had been inclined that way you would have cured me of the passion for life.”
The week’s instruction was lengthened to a fortnight, and at the end of that time Mark went to Dick Chetwynd.
“Do you know, Dick,” he said, “a gambling place in Buckingham Street?”
“I know that there is a hell there, Mark, but I have never been in it. Why do you ask?”
“I have rather a fancy to go there,” he replied. “I hear that, although a good many men of fashion haunt the place, the crowd is rather a mixed one.”
“It has a bad name, Mark; I have heard some queer reports about it.”
“Yes, so have I. I should think that it is a very likely place for a man like Bastow to go to if he has any liking for play. Of course he would get up as a gentleman. At any rate, I have been making what inquiries I can in some of the thieves’ quarters, and have come to the conclusion that he is not likely to have taken up his abode there, and I don’t think I can do better than make a round of some of these doubtful houses. I should like to begin with this, and then work downwards.”
“Well, I dare say I could manage it, Mark; I know half a dozen men who play there; they say there is more fun and excitement to be got than at White’s or Crockford’s, or any of those places. Some men, of course, play high, but a good many who go there only risk a few guineas; some go because it is the proper thing at present for a man about town either to play or to bet on horses or cock fights, or to patronize the ring; and, after all, it is easier to stroll for an hour or two of an evening into comfortable rooms, where you meet a lively set and there is champagne always going, than it is to attend races or prize fights.”
Very few days passed that Mark did not go in for half an hour’s chat with his friend, and two days after this conversation Dick said:
“By the way, Mark, I have arranged for us to go to that hell tonight; young Boldero, who is a member of my club, told me some time ago that he played there sometimes. I met him yesterday evening, and said that I had a fancy to go and have a look at it, and that a friend of mine from the country also wanted to go; he said at once that he would take us there.
“‘I should advise you not to play much, Chetwynd,’ he said; ‘sometimes they play uncommonly high, and there are some fellows who have wonderful luck. Of course, on ordinary occasions, when the play is low, you could stake a few guineas there as well as elsewhere, but when really high play is on we small fish always stand out. All I can say is that I have never seen anything that savors of foul play in the smallest degree; but you understand how it is, if one man happens to have a big run of luck, there are always fellows who go about hinting that there is something wrong in it. However, it is a jolly place to drop into, and, of course there is no occasion to play always, and if one loses one is likely to win on the next race or on the next fight.’”
Accordingly that evening Mark met Boldero, whom he had once or twice before seen in Dick’s company, and the three went together to the house in Buckingham Street. Boldero nodded to the doorkeeper as he went in, and they then proceeded upstairs and entered a handsome room, with comfortable sofas and chairs, on which a dozen men were seated, for the most part smoking. Several champagne bottles stood on the tables, and all who liked helped themselves. Boldero was known to several of those present, while two or three were also known to Dick. Boldero introduced them both to his friends. One of these was the Hon. John Emerson, a man of some five and thirty, with a languid air and a slight drawl.
“Glad to make your acquaintance, sir,” he said to Mark. “Have you been long in town?”
“Two or three months only,” Mark replied.
“Is this your first visit here?”
“Yes, this is my first visit to any place of the sort, but I thought that I should like to go the rounds before I went home again.”
“Quite so. Going to punt a few guineas, I suppose?”
“Yes, I suppose that is the right thing to do.”
“Well, everyone who comes is expected to do a little that way; there is no occasion to play high.”
“Oh, I should not like to do that,” Mark said innocently; “indeed, I know very little about cards.”
“Oh, that is quite immaterial so long as you only play games of chance; in fact, you don’t want to know anything about them. You see others staking their money, some on one side of the table, and some on the other; you place your money whichever side you like, and take your chance. There is no skill in it. Some people play on what they call a system, but there is nothing in it; you have just as much chance if you put your money down blindfolded. If luck is with you, you win; if luck is against you, you lose.”
After chatting for a few minutes Mark went with his two companions upstairs. The room they now entered was furnished as a drawing room, except that in the middle was a table, round which some fifteen people were seated, while as many more looked on; round the room were several small tables, on which were packs of cards. These were for those who preferred to play piquet or ecarte, two or three couples being so engaged. Mark knew enough of cards to know that hazard was being played at the large table. There was an inner room, and Mark strolled across and looked in. It was at present untenanted; it contained a center table capable of holding four, and two or three small ones, with two chairs set in readiness to each.
“That is where the heavy play goes on,” Boldero said. “None of your four or five guineas wagers there, fifties and hundreds are nearer the mark, and I have seen a thousand wagered many a time. It is exciting work even looking on, I can tell you; what it must be for the players I cannot say, but I should think it must be frightful.”
Mark took up his stand at the hazard table, and after looking on for some little time began to play. Beginning with guineas, he gradually, as luck favored him, played five guineas, and after half an hour’s play won fifty. Then luck turned, and in a few minutes he had lost all he won.
“You ought to have stopped, Mark,” Dick said reproachfully, as he stepped back from his place, which was at once filled by one who had been standing behind him.
The play in the inner room had now begun, and Mark went in and joined those who were looking on. In half an hour one of the players had had enough, and a young man said to Emerson, who was standing on the other side of the table:
“Now, Mr. Emerson, will you give me my revenge?”
“I would really rather not, Mr. Cotter. The luck has been so one sided lately that I would rather leave it alone.”
“But it may turn tonight,” the other said. “At any rate, I will try it, if you have no objection.”
There was a certa
in eagerness in the young man’s voice that caused Mark to watch him closely. He was a good looking young fellow, but his face was not a strong one; and although he evidently tried to assume an appearance of indifference as he sat down, there was a nervous movement of his fingers. Mark took his place behind him as play began. The game was ecarte, and for a time Emerson lost.
“I think the luck has changed, Mr. Cotter, but as we generally raise the stakes after playing for a bit, I am ready to do so. Shall we make it fifty pounds again?”
“With pleasure,” the young man said.
He won the next two games, then for some time they won alternately.
“Shall we say a hundred again?” he said.
“As you like,” Emerson replied. “We don’t seem to get much forwarder either way at present.”
A considerable number of lookers on had now gathered round. So far Mark, although watching the fingers of the opposite player intently, had seen no sign whatever of unfair play. He now redoubled his attention. Cotter won the first game, his adversary the three next. Mark noticed now that after looking at his hand Emerson looked abstractedly, as if meditating before taking the next step; there was no expression in his face, but Mark fancied that his eyes rested for a moment on the man standing next to himself. He looked at his watch and then, as if finding the hour later than he had expected, moved away from his place, and presently joined Dick, who was standing with Boldero on the other side of the table.
“Who is that man playing with Emerson?” he asked in a whisper.
“He is the son of Cotter, the head of Cotter’s Bank, in Lombard Street.”
As the men were standing two or three deep round the table, Mark could not see the table itself, but this mattered little, for his attention was entirely directed towards the man standing behind Cotter’s chair. He saw that after glancing down at the young man’s hand he looked across as if seeing what Emerson was going to do; sometimes his eyes dropped for an instant, at other times there was no such movement, and after noticing this four or five times, and noticing the course Emerson took, he had no doubt whatever in his own mind that the movement of the man’s eyes was an intimation to Emerson of the nature of Cotter’s hand. The young man had lost four games in succession; he had grown very pale, but showed no other signs of agitation. Presently he said: