Flashman And The Tiger

Husbands tend to lose their reason rather, after a while, too, so lest you should suffer likewise I’ll relieve her account with a précis: she had heard Levett say Wilson must be mistaken, and Wilson had told him to look for himself. Lady Flashman, scenting mischief breast-high, had also fixed her bonny blue gimlets on the suspect, seen him drop red counters on his paper after coups had been called, and heard Levett mutter, `By jove, it is too hot!'—but unlike the two young men she had concluded that Cumming was playing fair. Simple she may be, but she has her country’s instinct for anything to do with money and sharp practice, and her unerring eye had spotted what they had missed …

"For I was positive, Harry, that he did not drop his counters until after the Prince had paid the wagers, and what he was doing was laying his wager for the next coup. Well," says she earnestly, "that was not cheating, was it? But they thought it was, you see. They did not understand that he was playing that French system of his, the coup de thingamabob which was mentioned in court last week—I did not understand it myself till I read about it in the papers and realised he was telling the truth when he said he did not cheat. But at the time, of course, I did not know about the French coup thing … and while I did not think he was cheating, how could I be sure, when they thought he was, and I supposed they knew more about the game than I did? In any event," she concluded cheerfully, "it did not signify whether he had cheated or not, so long as they thought he did. Do you see, my love?"

Heaven forfend that I should ever fail to grasp something that was clear to her, but as I gazed into those forget-me-not eyes fixed so eagerly on mine I had to confess myself somewhat buffaloed, and begged her to continue, which she did at length, and gradually light began to dawn. Later that night, after the game, Count Lutzow (the cabbage-eating poont-fancier whom she fleeced at back-gammon two nights later) had come to her like Rumour painted full of tongues, with news that a scandalous crisis was at hand: Sir William Gordon-Cumming had been seen cheating, and watch was to be kept on him the following night. How Lutzow had heard this, God alone knows, for according to what was said in court young Wilson had confided his suspicions to no one on the Monday night except Levett and, later, his mother: but there you are, Lutzow had got wind of it somehow. Sly bastards, these squareheads. Of course, he swore dear Lady Flashman to silence …

I could hold in no longer. "But dammit all, girl, why didn’t you say something then? You believed he hadn’t cheated, and that Wilson and Levett were mistaken … and yet you let ’em lay a trap for him on the following night—for that’s what it was—"

"I should think I did!" cries she. "It was then I saw my chance to be revenged on him. Whether he’d cheated or no' the first night, I could make sure he was seen to cheat on the Tuesday, when every eye would be on him. It was ever so easy," she went on serenely. "I begged Lady Coventry to give me her place beside him, and—forgive me, dearest, and do not be too shocked—I put my knee against his, and smiled `couthie and slee', to fetch him, for he always had a fancy to me, you know, and men are so vain and silly, even an old dame like me can gowk them … well, it was no work at all to have him put his hand on mine to guide me in making my bets, and I saw to it that he kept it there, and made a flirt of it, our hands together whenever we wagered … and that is how counters came to be on his paper when they should not have been—"

This was too much. "Of all the nonsense! Don’t tell me you can palm a gaming-chip—as if you were Klondike Kate! Why, it would take a top sharp, a first-rate mechanic—"

"Harry," says she quietly, and held out her hand, the empty palm towards me. "Take my hand, love … yours on the back of mine, so … and now we lay them down … and then we take them away …"

So help me God, there was the little round lid of the mustard pot on the cloth which had been bare. I gaped, struggling for speech.

"My God … where on earth did you learn that?"

"Oh, ever so long ago—from that friend of yours in the 11th Hussars, what was his name? Brand? O’Brien? It’s the simplest sleight of hand, really—"

"Bryant! That damned toad!"

"Please, Harry, do not thunder! He was the cleverest conjurer, you remember—"

"He was a low, conniving blackguard! D’you know he once laid a plant on me, made me out a cheat and swindler in front of Bentinck and D’Israeli and half the bloody country …" A dreadful suspicion struck me: had the loathsome Bryant been another of her fancy-men? "When the blue blazes did you know him?"