“It’s too bad Lotta Crabtree wasn’t here to see it. She might have offered you a new career as a stage actress.”
“Don’t make fun of me, John. I didn’t strike a false note with Lady One-Eye, I’m certain of that.”
“You really enjoy playing the Rose, don’t you?”
Yes, she did. It wasn’t often that she was able to operate undercover, and when she did it was usually in a rather commonplace role—that of a milliner in Silver City, Idaho, for instance, when she’d been with the Pinkerton’s Denver office and had first met John. Portraying a character like the Rose held a certain amount of girlish pleasure, in the same way dressing up in costume had when she was a child growing up in Chicago.
Her smile prompted him to say, “Even though the Lady did succeed in plucking you like a chicken?”
“I wouldn’t say I was plucked, exactly.”
“How much did you lose? The entire fifteen hundred McFinn provided?”
“Yes. Mostly on that last hand.”
“A straight to your three jacks. Luck of the cards, or did she manufacture her own luck?”
“Oh, I’m fairly sure she’s a skin-game artist,” Sabina said. “One of the best I’ve seen or heard of.”
“Were you able to spot her gaff?”
“I think so. But she’s so proficient at it that it took me most of the night. I wouldn’t have seen it at all if I hadn’t spent those weeks with Jim Moon at the Oyster Ocean in Denver a few years ago, learning his bag of tricks. It boils down to manipulating the cards so she knows her opponent’s hole card on at least half the hands she deals.”
In gathering the cards for her deal, Sabina explained, Lady One-Eye dropped her own last hand on top of the deck, the five cards having been arranged so that the lowest was on top and the highest second in line. As she did this she gave the five cards a quick, almost imperceptible squeeze, which produced a slight convex longitudinal bend. During the shuffle, she maneuvered the five-card slug to the top of the deck. Then, just before offering the deck for the cut, she buried the slug in the middle, at the point where her opponent tended to cut each time. The slight crimp in the cards ensured that the slug would be returned to the top. All she had to do then was to deal fairly, flexing the deck once or twice first to take out the slug’s bend. The first card she dealt, which she knew from memory, was therefore the opponent’s hole card. And her hole card, the second in line, was always higher.
“Clever,” John said. “The advantage is small, but for a sharp it’s enough to control almost any game.”
Sabina dipped her chin in agreement. “But I’ll need to play her once more—or rather, the Saint Louis Rose will—to make absolutely sure I’m right about her gaff. An hour or so should do it. If, that is, Mr. McFinn will stake me to another five hundred.”
“He will if you tell him what you suspect.”
“I’m not sure I should until I’m certain. And he was already bemoaning the loss of tonight’s fifteen hundred.”
“He agreed to finance your gambling. Another five hundred won’t matter to him if his star attraction is quietly exposed as a cheat and it saves the Gold Nugget from being shut down.” The broad wink again. “Of course, if he does refuse I could finance the Rose’s game myself in exchange for her favors.”
His boldness had increased since she had allowed him to keep company with her outside the office, and in a weak moment had gone with him to his bachelor flat one evening after dinner, and as always it exasperated her. There was a time and place for such forward banter, and while they were engaged in an undercover investigation was neither of those. She said as much, sternly. He pretended to pout, but had the good sense not to make any further unwelcome comments.
“To get back to business,” Sabina said, “I don’t intend to lose to Lady One-Eye again tomorrow night. I know ways to counteract her trick, thanks to Jim Moon.”
“At any rate, if you’re convinced, we’ll put an end to the matter as soon as the game is finished. The sooner McFinn sends her packing, the better off he’ll be. There’s more trouble afoot than the possibility of someone else with a keen eye tumbling to the Lady’s trick.”
“What do you mean? Jack O’Diamonds’ attentions to Lily Dumont?”
“Yes. And the overprotectiveness of Jeffrey Gaunt, a gent I wish I knew more about.”
“I could make some discreet inquiries in the morning. As discreet as the Saint Louis Rose is likely to be, that is.”
“A good idea. Anything else the Rose can find out, too, especially regarding Diamond’s affair with Lily and the threatening note.” He paused before adding, “It’s more than possible now that the threat is genuine.”
“Now? Has something happened?”
“At Lily’s cottage half an hour ago. Two rounds from a heavy revolver nearly took my head off.”
“John! Someone tried to kill you? Who?”
“I didn’t get a look at him. Or her. Too dark.”
“There was no light where you were?”
“No.”
“Then whoever it was couldn’t see you clearly, either.”
“Only a dark shape as I left the cottage,” John said. “If you’re thinking he might have mistaken me for someone else, you’re right, I may not have been the intended target.”
“Jack O’Diamonds?”
“Or Lily. Or Glen Bonnifield, if it wasn’t Bonnifield who did the shooting.”
“Is he the reason you went to her cottage?”
“One of them. Lily’s involvement with Diamond seems more than a simple dalliance. It occurred to me that she might have written the note.”
“Why her?” Sabina asked. “What would she hope to gain by it? Unless—”
“Unless Diamond and Lily are in cahoots, the addition of his name to the note was a red herring, and the plan not an attempt to drive Lady One-Eye away but to pave the way for her murder. In that case, the blame would be attached to the anonymous letter writer, a deranged local, and no suspicion would fall on them.”
“Did you find evidence to incriminate her?”
“None. No bottle of green ink.”
Sabina said thoughtfully, “If Bonnifield is the jealous sort he seems to be, he could be the author of the note.”
“He could, though he doesn’t strike me as the type to resort to written warnings. He was in the Gold Nugget tonight, glaring daggers at both Lily and Jack.”
“Yes, I noticed. I don’t like that shooting business tonight, John. You’re right that it portends more serious trouble than we first believed.”
“We had both better be on our guard tomorrow,” he said. “Take your derringer along to the Gold Nugget, just in case.”
“It’s already handy in my bag.” She couldn’t resist adding, “And knowing that, aren’t you glad you didn’t foolishly try to kiss me and take me to bed just now?”
* * *
When she was alone again, Sabina finished divesting herself of the rest of her doxy’s costume, put on her nightgown, and got into bed. It was a feather bed and she sank into it gratefully. But despite the lateness of the hour, her weariness after the long, intense poker match with Lady One-Eye, sleep eluded her. Her thoughts roamed here and there, first over the complicated nature of their investigation, then on John and their relationship.
For their first five years as partners in Carpenter and Quincannon, Professional Detective Services, she had insisted on a strict business-only policy, fending off his periodic advances with ease for she believed his only personal interest in her was the typical male’s: seduction and conquest. Likely that was the case in the beginning, but his intentions had gradually changed, his feelings for her growing more respectful, deepening into the kind of affection that, if not exactly love, is the next thing to it. His campaign to take her to bed was now something quite differently motivated, she was sure—the passion of a man eager for a long-term liaison, perhaps even marriage.
Her own feelings for him had changed, too, softened in return. But
just how tender she still wasn’t sure. She could never love any man as she had loved Stephen, yet there were different kinds, different degrees of love. For five years now she had remained faithful to Stephen’s memory, but she was a healthy woman in the prime of her life. It would be easy enough to succumb to John’s advances—she had come close, very close, that night at his flat after the one long, passionate kiss she had permitted (and, yes, greatly enjoyed)—but she’d promised herself she would not give herself to him unless he asked for her hand in marriage.
Would her answer be yes if he did? She wasn’t quite sure, perhaps wouldn’t be until, if, and when. Would she consent to sleep with him even if her answer were no? She wasn’t quite sure of that, either, although his kisses, particularly the one that night in his flat, had awakened feelings in her that had lain dormant for five long years …
4
SABINA
In the morning she spent the better part of half an hour once again turning herself into the Saint Louis Rose.
First she pinned up her hair, then carefully applied pancake makeup and rouge—just enough of both to enhance the somewhat bawdy appearance of a lady gambler without crossing the line into that of a strumpet. The false eyelashes were appropriate enough at night, but in the daylight they would be grotesque; she left them off. Although her svelte figure had no real need of a corset, she wriggled her way into the one she’d brought and tightened the straps. In deference to the summer heat, she donned the lightest of her three Rose costumes, a yellow silk dress with a bosom cut somewhat less boldly low than her evening attire. She had a little trouble with the red wig. Dratted thing wouldn’t fit as it should, requiring a number of repinnings.
She smiled with wry satisfaction at the image of herself, or rather of the Saint Louis Rose, in the gold-framed wall mirror. She really did enjoy this sort of playacting, but only on a limited basis. How professional actresses could endure all the time and effort necessary to prepare for regular performances was beyond her.
It was a quarter of nine when Sabina shouldered the folded, gaily colored parasol, the final fillip to her costume, and left the room, locking the door behind her. John had told her he would be taking the Nevada County Narrow Gauge train to Nevada City early this morning, so there was no need to stop at his room. They had arranged to meet at three P.M. on the City Hall green to discuss the day’s inquiries.
She descended the staircase to the lobby. The young desk clerk watched with avid eyes as she crossed to the dining room. She favored him with a smile and a broad, bold wink that caused him to blush noticeably and avert his gaze. Oh, what a wicked wench the Saint Louis Rose was! Nothing at all like the proper, well-bred Sabina Carpenter.
Among the several people having breakfast in the dining room were Lady One-Eye and Jeffrey Gaunt. It was no surprise to find them there; the Holbrooke’s dining facilities were open to the public and they reportedly served the best fare in Grass Valley. The poker sharp wore either the same long-sleeved black dress as the night before or its twin; her brother was also garbed in his usual black frock coat and striped gray trousers—an outfit that put Sabina in mind of a mortician. They were presently engaged in what, judging from their expressions, was a rather intense conversation. Sabina detoured to a stop alongside their table.
“Good morning, Mr. Gaunt. Hello, dearie.”
Gaunt nodded, Lady One-Eye fixed her with her Cyclopian stare. Neither of them spoke.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Yes, we do mind,” Lady-One Eye said in her icy drawl. “Find someone else to annoy.”
“You’ll find me more than annoying when we play poker again tonight, dearie, for I’ll be the one to do the trimming.”
“Like hell you will.”
Sabina laughed. “Such language from an alleged lady,” she said mockingly, and hip-swayed to an empty table not far away.
Gaunt and Lady One-Eye resumed their conversation, in voices too low for Sabina to hear. They seemed to be at odds about something, she tight-lipped with evident anger, he calm and stoic. The attention Jack O’Diamonds was paying to Lily Dumont, perhaps?
A waitress brought Sabina’s breakfast order: two eggs, a large slice of ham, bread and butter, coffee. An expense-account meal, not that paying for it herself would have deterred her. Thank goodness she was blessed with a metabolism to match her considerable appetite. Unlike most other women she knew past the age of thirty, she never gained weight no matter how much she ate or how rich the food.
She was mopping up the last of the egg yolk with a morsel of bread when Lady One-Eye abruptly shoved back her chair, levered herself upright, and limped out with the support of her gold-knobbed cane. Gaunt remained seated, watching his sister until she disappeared into the lobby. Then he removed a small, black ledger book from the inside pocket of his coat and began making pencil notations in it.
Sabina dabbed at her mouth with her cloth napkin, stood, adjusted her dress, and once again approached Gaunt’s table. Without being invited, she sat down in the chair Lady One-Eye had occupied. “Toting up your sister’s winnings from last night?” she asked.
He sat back, regarding her with his frosty blue eyes. “That is no concern of yours.”
“Yes it is, since a fair lot of that money was mine until the last hand. It will be mine again tonight, plus a good deal more.”
“So you stated earlier.” Gaunt closed the ledger book, returned it to his coat pocket. “I wouldn’t be so confident if I were you, Miss Rose.”
“Miss Rose. Hoo! I do like a courtly Southern gentleman.”
Gaunt said nothing. The deep, wide cleft in his chin was somewhat disconcerting when seen up close like this. On most men such a cleft would have been an attractive feature, but not on him. It gave his face a different kind of sinister cast from his sister’s, as if a hole had been bored below his mouth, or a bullet had once been lodged there and dug out to leave a crater.
“Are you and the Lady from New Orleans?” Sabina asked.
“Who told you that?”
“No one. Your accents suggest it. Not so?”
“Louisiana, yes. N’Orleans, no. Baton Rouge.”
“But your sister’s played her share of poker in the Vieux Carré, no doubt, same as I have. On the Mississippi River packets, too—I expect that’s where Jack O’Diamonds once did much of his gambling. Surprising our paths never crossed until now.”
“Yes, isn’t it.”
“But I’m known as the Saint Louis Rose for good reason. That city was my home base for some time before I came west. The Lady and Jack do much business in the Missouri Belle or any of the other Saint Louie parlors?”
“Some.”
“Must have been before my time,” Sabina said. “Where else has she plied her talents?”
“Various places.”
“Austin? San Antonio? Tombstone?”
“Various places, as I said.”
“Where are you bound after Grass Valley? Another town in the Mother Lode? San Francisco?”
“That hasn’t been decided yet.”
“But you will be on your way soon?”
“You think so? Why?”
“The kettle’s getting a bit hot here, wouldn’t you say?”
“No, I wouldn’t. Why should you think that?”
“I have eyes, mister. Good, sharp eyes.”
Gaunt refused to take the bait. “You’re quite inquisitive, aren’t you, Miss Rose,” he said flatly.
“I like to know who I’m dealing with. Especially when I’ve been trimmed as neatly as I was last night.”
“That is the second time this morning you have used the word ‘trimmed.’ I don’t care for your inference.”
“What inference?”
“That my sister is anything but an extremely skilled poker player.”
“Well, now, the thought did cross my mind.”
Gaunt’s mustache twitched. “Lady One-Eye has no need of trickery,” he said. “She is in a class by herself.”
&n
bsp; “Oh? Has she ever sat at table with Poker Alice?”
“Not yet. It will be a match for the ages when she does.”
“If she does. And if she’s as honest as you claim she is. Poker Alice would spot a mechanic straightaway, no matter how skilled her gaff.”
“So would you, I should think, if you possess the credentials you claim to have.”
“I’ve been fooled before by expert mechanics, but not for long. I intend to keep an extra sharp eye on the cards when the Lady and I play tonight.”
Gaunt’s piercing gaze remained fixed on her for several more seconds. Then, abruptly, without so much as a by-your-leave, he pushed to his feet and walked out.
* * *
There was no sign of Jack O’Diamonds, Lily Dumont, or Lady One-Eye when Sabina entered the Gold Nugget. One of the bartenders told her that Amos McFinn was in his office.
The little man was in his usual jittery state. “It’s about time you reported, Mrs. Carpenter. I—”
“The Saint Louis Rose,” she reminded him.
“Yes, yes, there’s no one else here. Well? What’s your opinion of Lady One-Eye’s game after losing to her last night? Is she honest or not?”
“I’d rather not say just yet. I’ll have to play her once more before I can be sure.”
“But you think she may be a clever sharp, is that it?”
“You’ll have my answer tonight, Mr. McFinn. Another hour at table with her ought to be sufficient, win or lose. For which I’ll need an additional stake.”
McFinn made a groaning sound. “How much this time?”
“Five hundred.”
“For a total of two thousand if you lose again and she’s honest.”
“And full restitution if she’s not.”
He went to a large Mosler safe behind his desk, removed five hundred dollars in greenbacks. “I’d rather forfeit the two thousand,” he muttered as he handed the money to Sabina. “My house percentage on her winnings already amounts to twice as much.”
Sabina tucked the bills into her bag without comment.
“Do you have anything else to report?” McFinn asked.
“Again, not yet. I had a conversation with Jeffrey Gaunt a few minutes ago, but it yielded nothing of import.”
The Bags of Tricks Affair Page 3