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died in his chair before he could pull out that first card.
In fact, Meyer looked as if at any moment he might have a stroke. He was
deathly pale, and the perspiration was dropping off his chin on to his shirt
front. For all he knew, his first card might be a disaster.
At last, reasoning that Bond might be void in his own long suits, spades and
hearts, he led the knave of diamonds.
It made no difference what he led, but when M.'s hand went down showing
chicane in diamonds, Drax snarled across at his partner. "Haven't you got
anything else, you dam' fool? Want to hand it to him on a plate? Whose side
are you on, anyway?"
Meyer cringed into his clothes. "Best I could do, Hugger," he said miserably,
wiping his face with his handkerchief.
But by this time Drax had got his own worries.
Bond trumped on the table, catching Drax's king of diamonds, and promptly led
a club. Drax put up his nine. Bond took it with his ten and led a diamond,
trumping it on the table. Drax's ace fell. Another club from the table,
catching Drax's knave.
Then the ace of clubs.
As Drax surrendered his king, for the first time he saw what" might be
happening. His eyes squinted anxiously at Bond, waiting fearfully for the next
card. Had Bond got the diamonds? Hadn't Meyer got them guarded? After all, he
had opened with them. Drax waited, his cards slippery with sweat.
Morphy, the great chess player, had a terrible habit. He would never raise his
eyes from the game until he knew his opponent could not escape defeat. Then he
would slowly lift his great head and gaze curiously at the man across the
board. His opponent would feel the gaze and would slowly, humbly raise his
eyes to meet Morphy's. At that moment he would know that it was no good
continuing the game. The eyes of Morphy said so. There was nothing left but
surrender.
Now, like Morphy, Bond lifted his head and looked straight into Drax's eyes.
Then he slowly drew out the queen of diamonds and placed it on the table.
Without waiting for Meyer to play he followed it, deliberately, with the 8, 7,
6, 5, 4, and the two winning clubs.
Then he spoke. "That's all, Drax," he said quietly, and sat slowly back in his
chair.
Drax's first reaction was to lurch forward and tear Meyer's cards out of his
hand. He faced them on the table, scrabbling feverishly among them for a
possible winner.
Then he flung them back across the baize.
His face was dead white, but his eyes blazed redly at Bond. Suddenly he raised
one clenched fist and crashed it on the table among the pile of impotent aces
and kings and queens in front of him.
Very low, he spat the words at Bond. "You're a che& "
"That's enough, Drax." Basildon's voice came across the table like a whiplash.
"None of that talk here. I've been watching the whole game. Settle up. If
you've got any complaints, put them in writing to the Committee."
Drax got slowly to his feet. He stood away from his chair and ran a hand
through his wet red hair. The colour came slowly back into his face and with
it an expression of cunning. He glanced down at Bond and there was in his good
eye a contemptuous triumph which Bond found curiously disturbing.
19
He turned to the table. "Good night, gentlemen," he said, looking at each of
them with the same oddly scornful expression. "I owe about £15,000. I will
accept Meyer's addition."
He leant forward and picked up his cigarette-case and lighter.
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Then he looked again at Bond and spoke very quietly, the red moustache lifting
slowly from the splayed upper teeth. "I
should spend the money quickly, Commander Bond," he said.
Then he turned away from the table and walked swiftly out of the room.
PART TWO: TUESDAY, WEDNESDAY
CHAPTER VIII
THE RED TELEPHONE
ALTHOUGH HE had not got to bed until two, Bond walked into his headquarters
punctually at ten the next morning. He was feeling dreadful. As well as
acidity and liver as a result of drinking nearly two whole bottles of
champagne, he had a touch of the melancholy and spiritual deflation that were
partly the after-effects of the benzedrine and partly reaction to the drama of
the night before.
When he went up in the lift towards another routine day, the bitter taste of
the midnight hours was still with him.
After Meyer had scuttled thankfully off to bed, Bond had taken the two packs
of cards out of the pockets of his coat and had put them on the table in front
of Basildon and M. One was the blue pack that Drax had cut to him and that he
had pocketed, substituting instead, under cover of his handkerchief, the
stacked blue pack in his right-hand pocket. The other was the stacked red pack
in his left-hand pocket which had not been needed.
He fanned the red pack out on the table and showed M. and Basildon that it
would have produced the same freak grand slam that had defeated Drax.
"It's a famous Culbertson hand," he explained. "He used it to spoof his own
quick-trick conventions. I had to doctor a red and a blue pack. Couldn't know
which colour I would be dealing with."
"Well, it certainly went with a bang," said Basildon gratefully. "I expect
he'll put two and two together and either stay away or play straight in
future. Expensive evening for him. Don't let's have any arguments about your
winnings," he added. "You've done everyone and particularly Drax a good turn
tonight. Things might have gone wrong. Then it would have been your fingers
that would have got burned. Cheque will reach you on Saturday."
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