Lord Peter Views the Body · The Unprincipled Affair of the Practical Joker (2/2)

It seemed as though everybody had something respectable this time⁠—though Wimsey was not to be depended upon, frequently going the limit upon a pair of jacks in order, as he expressed it, to keep the pot a-boiling. He became peculiarly obstinate now, throwing his chips in with a flushed face, in spite of Melville’s confident air.

The Colonel got out, and after a short time Biggs followed his example. Melville held on till the pool mounted to something under a hundred pounds, when Wimsey suddenly turned restive and demanded to see him.

“Four kings,” said Melville.

“Blast you!” said Lord Peter, laying down four queens. “No holdin’ this feller tonight, is there. Here, take the ruddy cards, Melville, and give somebody else a look in, will you.”

He shuffled them as he spoke, and handed them over. Melville dealt, satisfied the demands of the other three players, and was in the act of taking three new cards for himself, when Wimsey gave a sudden exclamation, and shot a swift hand across the table.

“Hullo! Melville,” he said, in a chill tone which bore no resemblance to his ordinary speech, “What exactly does this mean?”

He lifted Melville’s left arm clear of the table and, with a sharp gesture, shook it. From the sleeve something fluttered to the table and glided away to the floor. Colonel Marchbanks picked it up, and in a dreadful silence laid the joker on the table.

“Good God!” said Sir Impey.

“You young blackguard!” gasped the Colonel, recovering speech.

“What the hell do you mean by this?” gasped Melville, with a face like chalk. “How dare you! This is a trick⁠—a plant⁠—” A horrible fury gripped him. “You dare to say that I have been cheating. You liar! You filthy sharper. You put it there. I tell you, gentlemen,” he cried, looking desperately round the table, “he must have put it there.”

“Come, come,” said Colonel Marchbanks, “no good carryin’ on that way, Melville. Dear me, no good at all. Only makes matters worse. We all saw it, you know. Dear, dear, I don’t know what the Army’s coming to.”

“Do you mean you believe it?” shrieked Melville. “For God’s sake, Wimsey, is this a joke or what? Biggs⁠—you’ve got a head on your shoulders⁠—are you going to believe this half-drunk fool and this doddering old idiot who ought to be in his grave?”

“That language won’t do you any good, Melville,” said Sir Impey. “I’m afraid we all saw it clearly enough.”

“I’ve been suspectin’ this some time, y’ know,” said Wimsey. “That’s why I asked you two to stay tonight. We don’t want to make a public row, but⁠—”

“Gentlemen,” said Melville more soberly, “I swear to you that I am absolutely innocent of this ghastly thing. Can’t you believe me?”

“I can believe the evidence of my own eyes, sir,” said the colonel, with some heat.

“For the good of the club,” said Wimsey, “this couldn’t go on, but⁠—also for the good of the club⁠—I think we should all prefer the matter to be quietly arranged. In the face of what Sir Impey and the Colonel can witness, Melville, I’m afraid your protestations are not likely to be credited.”

Melville looked from the soldier’s face to that of the great criminal lawyer.

“I don’t know what your game is,” he said sullenly to Wimsey, “but I can see you’ve laid a trap and pulled it off all right.”

“I think, gentlemen,” said Wimsey, “that, if I might have a word in private with Melville in his own room, I could get the thing settled satisfactorily, without undue fuss.”

“He’ll have to resign his commission,” growled the Colonel.

“I’ll put it to him in that light,” said Peter. “May we go to your room for a minute, Melville?”

With a lowering brow, the young soldier led the way. Once alone with Wimsey, he turned furiously on him.

“What do you want? What do you mean by making this monstrous charge? I’ll take action for libel!”

“Do,” said Wimsey coolly, “if you think anybody is likely to believe your story.”

He lit a cigarette, and smiled lazily at the angry young man.

“Well, what’s the meaning of it, anyway?”

“The meaning,” said Wimsey, “is simply that you, an officer and a member of this club, have been caught red-handed cheating at cards while playing for money, the witnesses being Sir Impey Biggs, Colonel Marchbanks, and myself. Now, I suggest to you, Captain Melville, that your best plan is to let me take charge of Mrs. Ruyslaender’s diamond necklace and portrait, and then just to trickle away quiet-like from these halls of dazzlin’ light⁠—without any questions asked.”

Melville leapt to his feet.

“My God!” he cried. “I can see it now. It’s blackmail.”

“You may certainly call it blackmail, and theft too,” said Lord Peter, with a shrug. “But why use ugly names? I hold five aces, you see. Better chuck in your hand.”

“Suppose I say I never heard of the diamonds?”

“It’s a bit late now, isn’t it?” said Wimsey affably. “But, in that case, I’m beastly sorry and all that, of course, but we shall have to make tonight’s business public.”

“Damn you!” muttered Melville, “you sneering devil.”

He showed all his white teeth, half springing, with crouched shoulders. Wimsey waited quietly, his hands in his pockets.

The rush did not come. With a furious gesture, Melville pulled out his keys and unlocked his dressing-case.

“Take them,” he growled, flinging a small parcel on the table; “you’ve got me. Take ’em and go to hell.”

“Eventually⁠—why not now?” murmured his lordship. “Thanks frightfully. Man of peace myself, you know⁠—hate unpleasantness and all that.” He scrutinised his booty carefully, running the stones expertly between his fingers. Over the portrait he pursed up his lips. “Yes,” he murmured, “that would have made a row.” He replaced the wrapping and slipped the parcel into his pocket.

“Well, good night, Melville⁠—and thanks for a pleasant game.”

“I say, Biggs,” said Wimsey, when he had returned to the cardroom. “You’ve had a lot of experience. What tactics d’you think one’s justified in usin’ with a blackmailer?”

“Ah!” said the K.C. “There you’ve put your finger on Society’s sore place, where the Law is helpless. Speaking as a man, I’d say nothing could be too bad for the brute. It’s a crime crueller and infinitely worse in its results than murder. As a lawyer, I can only say that I have consistently refused to defend a blackmailer or to prosecute any poor devil who does away with his tormentor.”

“H’m,” replied Wimsey. “What do you say, Colonel?”

“A man like that’s a filthy pest,” said the little warrior stoutly. “Shootin’s too good for him. I knew a man⁠—close personal friend, in fact⁠—hounded to death⁠—blew his brains out⁠—one of the best. Don’t like to talk about it.”

“I want to show you something,” said Wimsey.

He picked up the pack which still lay scattered on the table, and shuffled it together.

“Catch hold of these, Colonel, and lay ’em out face downwards. That’s right. First of all you cut ’em at the twentieth card⁠—you’ll see the seven of diamonds at the bottom. Correct? Now I’ll call ’em. Ten of hearts, ace of spades, three of clubs, five of clubs, king of diamonds, nine, jack, two of hearts. Right? I could pick ’em all out, you see, except the ace of hearts, and that’s here.”

He leaned forward and produced it dexterously from Sir Impey’s breast-pocket.

“I learnt it from a man who shared my dugout near Ypres,” he said. “You needn’t mention tonight’s business, you two. There are crimes which the Law cannot reach.”