Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine #6 Page 4

  “Richmond!” he shouted suddenly. “Fetch me some rum!”

  This, of course, produced no immediate result from the subject of his demand, inasmuch as that worthy was occupied emptying ash-trays with no idea that he had been summoned.

  The bar-tender, however, certainly heard. He proceeded to fill a glass whilst Peter Farringwell, assuredly the most amiable denizen of the Nonpareil, tapped Richmond’s shoulder. When he had the butler’s attention, Farringwell explained what was wanted in that fidgety finger-talk which Richmond was proficient in, though only a few other club members, and certainly not myself, were able to manage for his behest. Thus did the mute hie himself to the bar and in such wise the disruptive interloper finally got his rum.

  Holmes nodded to me, and then murmured something to Dr Watson, who, I was surprised to see, immediately quitted the room we had just entered. Still, as thespians say, it was my cue, so I crossed to Colonel Upwood and said that I sought an opportunity to recompense the losses I had incurred the last time I played cards with him.

  A raucous laugh. Adjusting his garish neck-tie, he loudly riffled the cards and declared, “The more fool, you! But if you propose to play bridge-whist, we shall both be disappointed. No one else is likely to join us.”

  “Never fear,” I said, “I’ve brought two friends along for the purpose.”

  “You mean, sir, that you’ve rounded up a pair of ringers?” He belched, and did not apologize for his solecism. “Very well, bring ’em on.”

  Holmes stepped forward. I introduced him as Mr Sherringford Vernet (a family name, he’d told me earlier).

  “Have a seat,” said the Colonel. “I’ve met your companion the other night, but I never learned his monicker.”

  “Vernet” introduced me as Mr Gregson. He had not prepared me for that, and I almost protested, but bit my tongue (literally, unfortunately).

  Upwood took a sip of rum, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We’re still one player short.”

  At that fortuitous instant, Dr Watson reappeared. As he approached our table, Holmes-Vernet introduced him as one “Ormond Sacker.” (Later I asked Holmes where he’d come up with such an odd name. Dr Watson, with a chuckle, informed me that Sacker was another client of his Scottish literary agent.)

  * * * *

  B

  efore proceeding with my tale, it strikes me that contemporary readers will not be familiar with the game of bridge-whist, which, at the time of the Upwood scandal, enjoyed a brief period of popularity in London.

  Whist, of course, is a fairly venerable trick-taking game, one which bridge eventually supplanted in most gaming circles, both in England and America. The two, however, are more similar than different. Each consists of a series of tricks, that is, rounds of play in which each contestant sets upon the table one of the cards he or she has been dealt. The highest card wins the trick, thus contributing or detracting from each player’s final score for the hand.

  Bridge is distinguished by the declaration of a “trump” suit, which is determined nowadays by players bidding for the advantage of naming it. For those of you who are not conversant with the term, a trump suit is one of the four card denominations — clubs, diamonds, hearts, spades — that for the duration of the hand is declared higher in value than the other three suits. Thus, let us say that a player sets down a seven of diamonds. His first opponent produces the queen of diamonds, but the next player, in partnership with the one who played the seven, sets down the king of the same suit. The second opponent, however, plays the two of spades and since that is the trump suit, he or she wins the trick.

  In terms of years, bridge-whist was an ephemeral pastime. Its play was distinct from the hyphenated halves of its name inasmuch as the dealer of every hand, after reviewing the cards he’d gotten, named the trump suit for that round of play. This, of course, was a major advantage, but every player got to deal and thus enjoyed the same privilege.

  * * * *

  T

  o report alphabetically (and pseudonymously), Gregson, Sacker, Upwood and Vernet played bridge-whist for a few hours. During that time, Upwood and Holmes both smoked incessantly, cigarettes for Holmes, whilst the other puffed pungent cigars, one of which I accepted. Poor Watson coughed pointedly, whilst Richmond had frequent occasion to hover about us and empty our oft-filled ash-trays. As the game progressed, the store of cash bet upon each successive hand slowly dwindled for Messrs Gregson, Sacker and Vernet, though not for the Colonel.

  At length, our ears and sensibilities were assaulted by an ungentlemanly eructation (in other words, a rude burp!), but for once said unpleasant noise was not committed by Upwood, but rather by Mr “Vernet.”

  It was meant as a signal to me and Dr Watson. I’d been waiting for this moment, but when it came, I confess to being concerned by the great quantity of alcohol that Holmes had imbibed. I knew it was part of the general plan to demonstrate to our opponent what easy “marks” we all were, but I feared Holmes had thrown himself into the part much too heartily, to our potential disadvantage. (When I expressed my doubts after the evening’s business had been accomplished, Holmes said, “O, ye of little faith!” and Dr Watson assured me that Holmes’s capacity, though seldom put to the test, was enormous).

  “I have to go home soon,” Holmes-Vernet slurringly declared. “Before I go, though, I’d like to play just one more hand.”

  Upwood’s laugh was reminiscent of the bark of some large sea-mammal. “In other words, buster, you’ve got more money you want to throw away?”

  “Vernet” smiled. “Possibly, Colonel — but I have a proposition that might amuse you.”

  Upwood grunted. “Go on. Make me laugh.”

  “These are the stakes —” said Holmes (I attribute this remark to him, not his alter ego, because his tone was suddenly coldly sober) — “If you win, you get all of the remaining money in my possession, as well as that of my companions.”

  The Colonel’s eyes narrowed. It was clear he’d noticed the change in his opponent’s demeanour. “Well, Vernet, those are handsome stakes — but how do I know that you chaps have anything left to gamble?”

  We were prepared for this possibility. We all displayed what was left in our wallets, which, in the aggregate, still comprised a fair sum of lucre. This, of course, made Upwood even more suspicious, but Holmes had also anticipated that.

  “Those are stakes worth playing for,” our opponent admitted, “but I’ve already won a considerable amount this evening, and I have the distinct feeling that I am now being, as they say, hustled. Do you expect me to risk everything I’ve got on the outcome of a single hand?”

  “By no means, Colonel,” Holmes demurred. “I trust that the counter-stakes I am about to suggest will appear quite modest to you.”

  “All right, name them.”

  “I only ask you to risk two things: nine guineas to be paid to my friend Gregson here, plus the granting of a single favour to me.”

  The sum, which was certainly modest compared to what we’d already gambled, was the precise amount I’d lost to the Colonel a few nights earlier.

  “How generous, Mr Vernet. But what’s your favour?”

  “You will only find that out if you lose the hand. But I promise that it will be well within your power to grant, and it will neither be dishonourable, immoral, nor will it compromise you in any fashion, fiscally, legally, nor spiritually.”

  “I confess that, against my better judgment, you have me hooked. Shall I shuffle the cards?”

  “Not just yet,” Holmes replied. “There is one further condition. I don’t want to continue with bridge-whist, at which you are obviously an expert. I propose to play another game.”

  “What? Poker?”

  Holmes shook his head. “A game called Niagara Falls bridge-whist.”

  Upwood slammed the table with the flat of his hands. “Damn it, sir! There’s no such game!”

  “Indeed there is. It’s played all the time — in Canada.”

  Th
at made the Colonel stop and think. He’d lived in Canada, of course, but did he want to declare that in public? Before he could think of what to say, Dr Watson suddenly slumped over the table, slipped off his chair and landed on the floor. He had apparently fainted.

  “Douse him with cold water,” Holmes-Vernet suggested heartlessly.

  I strode to the bar, grasped a pitcher and dashed its contents in poor Watson’s face. He sputtered, toweled himself with a handcherchief, and apologized profusely. Upwood, with uncharacteristic concern, suggested we forgo our game and take our inebriated friend home. Sacker-Watson wouldn’t hear of it, though, so we all resumed our seats at the table and commenced to play “Niagara Falls bridge-whist.”

  Along the green surface, Holmes spread the cards face-down so that they described an arc. “This pattern,” he said, “is where the game derives its name. It’s meant to look like Niagara Falls — the American side, I do believe.”

  “Very pretty,” said Upwood. “Now what?”

  “Since I am this hand’s dealer,” Holmes said, “the first thing I must do is to select my cards at random, without looking at their faces.” He proceeded to fish out thirteen cards from the “water-fall” and arranged them, still face-down, in front of him. “Now each of you does the same, one at a time, eldest hand first.”

  Eldest hand meant the player to his left, and that was the Colonel. He chose his cards, assembling them in a row without turning them over. It was Dr Watson’s turn next, and I picked up the rest.

  “Now, I suppose,” the Colonel said, “we pick up our cards and you declare trumps?”

  Vernet-Holmes shook his head. “Not in this game I don’t. I must name the trump suit before I examine my cards.”

  This idea vastly amused our “mark.” As for myself, I was half-convinced that Holmes was both drunk and slightly mad. Certainly I saw no way short of Divine Accident that he could win.

  “Well, sir,” Upwood prompted, “what suit do you choose?”

  Holmes shrugged, imbibed more brandy, shrugged again, then finally selected spades as trumps.

  After the Colonel had studied his cards, he played the Ace of Hearts. Dr Watson set down a four of the same suit and I sloughed off a ten. Holmes won the trick with the two of spades.

  “Well, that was lucky, wasn’t it?” the Colonel grumbled. “Now try to beat this!” He played the Ace of Diamonds. Holmes beat it with the three of spades.

  Upwood did not laugh again. Holmes won the eleven remaining tricks. His hand consisted solely of the entire trump suit.

  * * * *

  “

  I confess,” our foe growled, counting off nine guineas from his billfold and shoving them onto the table in front of me, “I admire your ruse. However you brought it off, it was brilliantly executed.”

  Holmes regarded him with a cold smile. “Do you mean to imply that I cheated you, sir?”

  “Of course you did! There has never been such a hand as yours in the entire history of whist, bridge, or any of their variants.”

  “Perhaps I was merely lucky.”

  “Perhaps tomorrow the moon and sun will suddenly change places.” He waved it away. “I suspected you were up to something, but I chose to play, anyway, and I am glad I did. It’s not often one witnesses such entertaining flummery. Had I spent the night dining and taking in a play, it surely would have cost me more. I do not know how you brought it off —”

  “That, Colonel, is your weakness.”

  “If you are trying to insult me, calling me weak is an excellent way to do so. But I will let it pass. I am curious to know what favour I must do for you now that I’ve lost the hand.”

  “Effective immediately,” Holmes answered, “you will resign from the Nonpareil Club and never attempt to renew your membership.”

  Upwood plunked his pistol down on the table. “I’d like to see you make me do that.”

  Holmes sighed. “I was sure this is how you would respond — not as a gentleman. Since you have decided to welsh on your bet, I shall resort to other means. First, I will tell you the real names of the players you have spent the night with. I am Sherlock Holmes, the man on your left is my friend Dr John H Watson, and this other gentleman is Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard.”

  The bounder’s face turned beet-red. “I don’t give a damn who any of you are! You’ve got nothing on me!”

  “Colonel,” Holmes continued, “I prefaced the introductions I just made with the word ‘First.’ My second point is that your partner in crime, one Toddy Armbruster, is at this moment in the custody of the London police.”

  Upwood looked round wildly, then shot to his feet, but before he could lay hold of his weapon, Holmes seized the Colonel’s wrist. “If I release you, sir, will you leave here quietly?”

  “Holmes, you are —” Here the man uttered a great number of obscenities, but once he’d vented his anger, all the fight went out of him. “Yes, damn you, yes.”

  Holmes permitted him to pocket his pistol. Colonel Upwood quit the Nonpareil Club, never to return.

  * * * *

  B

  ack at 221B, Holmes, Dr Watson and I were pleased to discover that Mrs Hudson had set out a snack consisting of cold beef, aromatic cheese, hot biscuits, condiments, and mugs of amber ale.

  As we heartily tucked in, I remarked to Holmes that I was by now not only certain of the identity of his secret client, but also the nature of the task he’d set him. “Admiral Norrington Miles wanted you to find a way to oust Colonel Upwood from the club, am I correct?”

  My host smiled. “Excellent, Lestrade. You might be right.” Then his smile disappeared. “Inspector, I’m afraid that I owe you an apology.”

  “For what?”

  “As soon as we entered the Nonpareil, I recognized Toddy Armbruster, though fortunately he had never met me.”

  I understood now why he was apologizing. We had hoped to conduct the night’s adventure without incurring curiosity and unwanted publicity, but once Holmes told Dr Watson to inform the police about Armbruster, there was no going back, and the press soon reported the Upwood card scandal.

  “It was the one circumstance I had not anticipated,” said Holmes.

  At that moment, Mrs Hudson came in to clear the empty plates and brush crumbs off the table. Holmes gestured; Dr Watson and I joined him in the sitting room where strong coffee and brandy awaited us. After a few sips of each, Holmes went to a low table covered with newspapers and periodicals, which he bundled into a pile in order to make room to spread out the deck of cards he produced from one of his pockets.

  “I say, Holmes,” Dr Watson exclaimed, “have you taken up petty thievery?”

  “What on earth do you mean? Ah, I see — you’re referring to my cards!”

  “But they’re not yours … they belong to the Nonpareil Club!”

  “Calm yourself, Watson. I got these from the bar-tender. He has an ample supply for anyone who wishes to purchase a deck.”

  “When did you have the opportunity?”

  “I went to the club the day before.”

  That surprised me. “How did you gain entry without being a member?”

  “Mycroft arranged it.”

  “But, Holmes,” his companion said, “you’ve never shown much interest in card games.”

  “True, Watson, but you may recall that I asked the Inspector to describe the design of the club’s cards. When he did so, I knew that I must arm myself with a spare deck before we met Colonel Upwood.”

  “Why”

  Holmes spread the cards out on the table in the same curved arc he’d made at the outset of our hand of Niagara Falls bridge-whist. He indicated the array and asked us to tell him whether we noticed anything (other than the curved shape of the display) that we might deem worthy of comment.

  We examined them. The back of each card bore a simple grey and white design with the words “The Nonpareil Club” in the middle of it, and the club’s address on a line below the name in smaller type-face.

&n
bsp; Permit me now to state that cinema and theatrical actors who depict Dr Watson as a sort of bumbling Colonel Blimp do the man considerable disservice. In fact, he’s quite an intelligent chap. Not on Holmes’s level, of course, but then, other than brother Mycroft, who is?

  I make this observation prefatory to revealing that it was Dr Watson who first realized what Holmes meant us to see concerning the Nonpareil card deck.

  “Though I cannot tell what demonination any of these cards may be, since they are all face-down,” Dr Watson said, “yet I do notice that, in a manner of speaking, several of these cards call attention to themselves.”

  “Excellent, Watson.” He turned to me. “Do you see how they differ?”

  “Yes, Holmes, now that I study them, I do.” Several of the cards, perhaps when they had been shuffled, were turned around so that the club’s name and address were upside down. Thus —

  “Conjurers would call this a one-way deck,” Holmes told us. “If all the cards are arranged in the same orientation, the backs look identical, but the trained eye will easily locate a card that has been turned around, especially if the deck is ribbon-spread in a manner similar to what I have done.”

  “So is this the way Colonel Upwood cheats?” I asked.

  “I doubt it, Inspector, not altogether. I am sure that the man noticed this peculiarity, but even armed with such knowledge, a crooked gambler would not be likely to tip fortune by more than a few admittedly telling degrees. Now the manner in which Upwood gripped the cards, as we already discussed, is a sign that he knows how to execute false shuffles, deal from the bottom, and employ other sly methods to stack hands in his favour. As a matter of fact, as we played, I caught him a few times using such techniques. But still, the man rarely loses. That suggested to me that he also had an accomplice feeding him information.”