“True. If it hadn’t been for von Lauderstein, there would not even have had to be a this time.” That was guesswork on his part, but the lack of an amused sneer on Putzi’s face suggested he had guessed right.
“Don’t forget, von Falkenburg, you’ve provided me with good sport.”
“Yes, Putzi. But that’s purely secondary. Sport is something a man like you would hardly allow to get in the way of a more serious venture.”
“True enough, von Falkenburg. Do you feel like telling me what this venture is? I’m perfectly sincere in saying that I’m curious as to how well you’ve done. And since you’ll be dead the morning of day after tomorrow, I’d better ask you now.”
“Tell me, Putzi, would you have wanted a formal title in Budapest, or would you have been content with being the power behind the throne?’
There. He had shot his bolt. If he had guessed right, he still had a chance. If not, then it was all over.
“Where do you get these wild ideas, von Falkenburg?”
Von Falkenburg realized he had conjectured correctly. For all of Putzi’s pose of indifference, something about the tone of his voice suggested he wanted an answer to his question.
“It’s a great mistake for a man like yourself to surround himself with incompetents, Putzi.”
“You mean von Lauderstein, I suppose?” Putzi said. The note of negligent disinterest was not completely convincing.
“I don’t feel comfortable revealing my sources,” von Falkenburg said. “So why not talk instead about the possibility of a deal.”
“When you lay your proofs before me – proofs which would stand up in court against certain documents with which we are both familiar – I suppose it might be worth listening to you, von Falkenburg. But I cannot for the life of me imagine where you might get such proofs.”
“You’re a strong man, Putzi, but you lack subtlety if you judge the strength of others by your own. You would be surprised at the things a weak person – I think we both know whom I am talking about – can find it in himself to do.”
“Von Falkenburg, I have never underestimated anything in my life. But I’m afraid I’m not interested in making any deals with you. You have far too many principles for it to be safe to associate with you.”
“As you wish, Putzi. Thank you, by the way, for the brandy and the cigar. They were both excellent, but of course I expected nothing less. Good day.”
“Good day, von Falkenburg. Incidentally, would you like me to come to your funeral?”
“Why not?” von Falkenburg said. He gave a slight bow and left the room.
As he stepped into the street, von Falkenburg gave a sigh of relief. Matching Putzi blow for blow was hard work.
But he was sure that some of his strokes had told. Or to put it another way, he was sure he had managed to sow richly the seeds of mistrust.
Whether that would be sufficient for his purposes remained to be seen. For now, he knew, his slender hopes rested quite literally on something as unpredictable as the turn of a card.
Chapter Sixteen
Von Falkenburg belonged to the Jockey Club largely because his father and grandfather had. Personally, he had always found the all-male air of the place rather dreary, but he realized now how lucky he was to have kept up his membership. For von Lauderstein was also a member, and according to von Falkenburg’s friend Wroclinski, this was where he came to play cards.
How had Wroclinski described von Lauderstein? “One of those fellows who combines a total lack of card sense with a real mania for gambling.” Von Falkenburg hoped that Wroclinski was right, because a great deal was going to depend either on his own skill with cards, or von Lauderstein’s lack of the same.
A footman took his cape as he strode through the massive portals of the club and into the atmosphere of wealth and refinement to be found within.
Would von Lauderstein even be present?
Von Falkenburg walked through the elegant salons full of high-ranking officers and opulent civilians, who sat reading newspapers or stood in small groups smoking cigars and drinking brandy.
Even if von Lauderstein followed his custom and showed up to play cards, von Falkenburg realized, success was far from assured. He knew he would have had little to worry about if von Lauderstein had been a skat player, for in skat the player with no card sense simply has no chance of winning.
But according to Wroclinzi, von Lauderstein’s ruling passion in cards was baccarat à deux panneaux.
That, von Falkenburg knew, was by no means the straight game of chance that some people – usually the losers – maintained it to be. Particularly here at the Jockey Club, where house rules gave complete latitude in deciding whether to draw or stand, the player with good card sense had a distinct advantage.
Von Falkenburg had a natural flair for card games. He was not a mathematical player – he had never been able to get through the copy of Badoureau’s Étude mathématique sur le jeu de baccarat that a friend had once lent him – but he had an instinct that often served him well. He also had a good memory for which cards were played, which as the shoe depleted itself could give a decisive advantage over those players too excited to bother to keep track.
Still, he had lost money to incompetent players on more occasions than he cared to remember, and tonight it was far more than money which was at stake.
Von Falkenburg passed through a leather-covered door into the game room. It was relatively empty, for some reason. He scanned the tables and saw Wroclinski sitting at one of them in a corner.
And sitting opposite him was an army officer wearing the bottle-green tunic of the Staff. An officer with a fleshy, red face and a body that looked like it was crammed into a corset.
Von Lauderstein.
Von Falkenburg walked up to the table. The third player was a civilian whom von Falkenburg did not know, who was wearing an impeccable evening suit that showed a perfectly dazzling expanse of shirtfront.
Von Falkenburg glanced at the bank. There were many fifty-crown gold pieces lying in it. This was clearly a high-stakes game, which was what he wanted. Money was no problem tonight, for Helena had given him a large sum to play for her.
Wroclinski had the bank. Von Lauderstein and the civilian were the Pointeurs betting against him – another of those absurd Austrian would-be-French words, von Falkenburg reflected, like chambre séparée (as opposed to cabinet particulier) for a private dining room. In France the people who played against the bank were called pontes.
There were no subsidiary betters standing behind von Lauderstein and the civilian. Von Falkenburg walked up just as Wroclinski was about to say, “Rien ne va plus.”
Von Falkenburg negligently placed a fifty-crown piece à cheval – that’s to say, betting that both Pointeurs would win against the bank . Wroclinski uttered the time-honored French phrase to indicate that no more bets could be placed, and dealt the hand – two cards face down for each of the Pointeurs and for himself.
“Carte,” von Lauderstein said, and Wroclinski dealt him another card, this time face up.
“Content,” said the civilian, thus indicating that he felt his hand was already close enough to the winning number nine or nineteen that he did not wish to take a card for fear of an overrun.
Wroclinski dealt himself another card.
The three hands were turned face up.
Wroclinski had cards with a total value of fifteen while those of the civilian totaled seven, and of von Lauderstein, eighteen.
“Small natural,” von Lauderstein said triumphantly as the coins were shoveled in his direction. He had come closer to nineteen than Wroclinski had, or than the civilian had to the equivalent nine.
Von Falkenburg knew that it was important at this stage of the game for psychological reasons for von Lauderstein to win. But he certainly hoped that von Lauderstein’s luck would not hold.
“Hullo there, von Falkenburg,” Wroclinski said to his friend. Even though he had just lost a fair amount of money, Wroclinski’s fa
ce wore the same expression of languid indifference it always did. “Colonel von Lauderstein, Baron von Plugge,” he went on, “I would like to have the honor of introducing my friend Captain Baron von Falkenburg of the Deutschmeister Regiment.”
Baron von Plugge, the civilian, gave a gracious inclination of his head and said, “honored, to be sure.”
Von Lauderstein visibly struggled to maintain his composure on finding himself in the presence of a man he had sought to destroy and who at this very moment, for all he knew, was holding his mistress hostage.
“Delighted,” he finally managed to mumble, his face redder than ever. On planning this evening’s offensive, von Falkenburg had instantly rejected the idea of appearing before von Lauderstein under a false name. Not merely would his honor not permit such a maneuver – and it certainly would not – but his identity could be a priceless psychological weapon in his game with von Lauderstein.
“The bank feels like recuperating its energy with a little champagne,” Wroclinski said, “and champagne this good demands one’s full attention. Perhaps my friend Captain von Falkenburg could fill in for me, if you gentlemen do not object. The Captain is a player of renown.” Von Falkenburg had told him of his desire to play with von Lauderstein.
Von Lauderstein glared at von Falkenburg with hate-filled eyes. Von Falkenburg could see struggle within him the desire for revenge at what he falsely believed was von Falkenburg’s abduction of Hanna, and the realization that whatever his reason for being here, von Falkenburg could not be up to any good.
“Normally, I would be honored,” he said slowly. “But I have business which makes it difficult for me to stay. However, one consideration could induce me to do so.”
“And what is that, Colonel?” von Falkenburg asked.
“I believe you are well acquainted with a female singer named Adèle d’Églantine,” von Lauderstein continued, clearly exerting all the self-control in his possession. “I would be willing to play with you if you could do me the favor of introducing me to her – in the company of a third party, of course.”
Von Falkenburg thought for a moment. He did not think Hanna – who was still voluntarily in hiding with Helena – would wish to go back to von Lauderstein. But if von Lauderstein had a chance to meet with her, it would hardly be possible to keep him believing that she was being held captive. Von Falkenburg’s only real hold on him – namely that belief – would be broken.
That was one side of the question. The other was that von Falkenburg knew he simply had to get von Lauderstein to agree to play with him.
“I tell you what, Colonel,” von Falkenburg said, “let’s make a side bet. If you can win five thousand crowns between now and midnight, I will introduce you to the young lady under the conditions you set. If you fail to do so, you will pay me an additional thousand crowns.”
“Done!” said von Lauderstein through clenched teeth.
“I say,” von Plugge remarked, “must be quite a girl for an introduction to her to be worth that kind of money. I suppose you don’t mind if I continue to make a third?”
“Not at all,” von Falkenburg said, “although the offer regarding the young lady applies only to the colonel.” Even though baccarat was a three-handed game, it was important to keep this evening to a confrontation between himself and von Lauderstein.
“Oh, very well,” von Plugge said with a touch of disappointment in his voice, for he was clearly intrigued by strange bet. “But midnight really will have to be the end of play.”
“Let’s get on with it, then,” von Lauderstein said. “The bank has retired. I believe that it is my honor to replace it.”
Von Lauderstein set up a large bank. Putzi’s money? von Falkenburg wondered. Wroclinski stood nearby, sipping a glass of Moët et Chandon.
Von Plugge put in a large stake. Von Falkenburg did likewise.
The cards were dealt.
“Natural,” von Falkenburg said, turning over his hand and showing a five and a four – which together totaled a perfect nine.
Von Lauderstein was unable to restrain his lips from curling back to reveal his teeth as his money was shoveled in the direction of von Falkenburg.
That was an easy win, von Falkenburg realized, and one which he could by no means count on repeating in the future. But psychologically, it had its use. The more enraged von Lauderstein was, the worse he would probably play.
The game sawed back and forth for a number of hands, with von Lauderstein slowly losing and von Plugge and von Falkenburg gradually adding to the piles of glittering gold coins in front of them. Von Plugge had a waiter bring more champagne and he offered it to the other two. Von Lauderstein drank thirstily, which pleased von Falkenburg. But von Plugge sipped with moderation.
“Carte,” von Falkenburg said. He already had a four and an ace. From the standpoint of the odds, it was essentially an even chance whether he drew or stood.
Von Lauderstein dealt him a deuce. That made a total of seven, only two points away from the perfect nine. Not a bad hand at all.
“Content,” von Plugge said.
Von Lauderstein dealt himself a card – an eight. Von Falkenburg heard him suck his breath in.
“Seven,” von Falkenburg said, turning over his other two cards.
“Likewise,” von Plugge said.
Without a word, von Lauderstein turned over his two face-down cards. They were both sevens. He had gone over nineteen by three points, which mean his hand was counted against the equivalent twenty-nine, from which it was separated by seven points.
The money was shoveled in the direction of von Falkenburg and von Plugge. Wroclinski had placed a bet à cheval and collected. Only the bank – von Lauderstein – had lost. It had been a heavy betting hand, and von Lauderstein’s declared bank was now depleted.
“I believe it is the Baron’s turn to bank, unless he would be kind enough to let me have that honor,” von Falkenburg said.
“I have no objection to your setting up a bank, Captain,” von Plugge replied. That came as no surprise to von Falkenburg, for von Plugge was clearly a cautious player as well as a good one.
Von Lauderstein won the first hand of von Falkenburg’s coup, shared the second with von Falkenburg against von Plugge, and won the third outright.
He was betting heavily in his impatience to reach the five thousand crowns total winnings that would get him a chance to see Hanna. Already there were over a thousand crowns in front of him.
Triumphant, he ordered more champagne. He gulped down three glasses of the stuff in quick succession.
Von Falkenburg hoped that that would make his play more erratic, but von Lauderstein won the next hand, too – a big one.
To his growing horror, von Falkenburg realized that luck was with von Lauderstein, sitting perched on his shoulder, whispering in his ear how to play his cards, magically summoning the numbers he needed from the shoe.
Von Falkenburg was anything but superstitious. But he had been in enough card games to know that however inexplicable it may be from a scientific point of view, the “run of luck” exists in the card room as surely as anything exists on earth.
It seemed to von Falkenburg as if the room was growing hot. Whether from the lights, or from his own nervous energy, he did not know. He could not resist downing a glass of champagne at one swallow. It was cool and delicious, and it took his remaining reserve of self-control to keep from accepting another.
“Carte,” von Lauderstein said.
“Carte.” That was von Plugge.
Von Falkenburg glanced at his hand. The cards totaled six. Laudertstein had drawn a ten. Von Falkenburg decided to stand.
Von Lauderstein had a total of seventeen points, von Plugge, six. That meant von Lauderstein was only two points from nineteen, while von Plugge and von Falkenburg were each separated by three points from the equivalent nine. It was von Lauderstein’s hand.
The money was shoved towards von Lauderstein. He added it to the neat piles of fifty-crown pieces he had i
n front of him which represented his winnings since the start of play with von Falkenburg in the game. Von Falkenburg could see that there were ten coins in each pile. And there were – von Falkenburg counted them rapidly – eight piles. Von Lauderstein had four thousand crowns in front of him.
Von Plugge placed a two hundred crown bet. But von Falkenburg knew what von Lauderstein would do, now that only a thousand crowns separated him from Hanna, and only a thousand crowns remained in von Falkenburg’s bank.
“Va banque,” von Lauderstein said.
The croupier shoved von Plugge’s coins back to him. Von Lauderstein was betting against everything left in the bank, which meant that all other bets had to be withdrawn.
This hand could decide it, then, von Falkenburg realized. If von Lauderstein won, he would have gone well over the five thousand crowns he needed.
Von Falkenburg looked at Wroclinski, curious in spite of everything to see if his friend could maintain his legendary imperturbability in such a moment. It was not comforting for von Falkenburg to see that for the first time in the years he had known Wroclinski his friend’s face showed just the faintest trace of concern.
That could only signify profound worry, von Falkenburg knew. Worry for him, as Wroclinski had no money riding on the hand.
Von Falkenburg took the shoe and began to deal. It required a little effort to keep his hand steady, but he succeeded in doing so.
Von Lauderstein stood.
Von Falkenburg looked at his hand. It totaled sixteen.
Now for the decision. If he made the wrong choice, it was all over.
Logically, he knew, he should stand. Any card higher than a three would put him over nineteen.
Logically…logically…. But what did logic have to do with it, he realized. He looked across the table at von Lauderstein. The man was almost exploding with excitement and impatience. There was no doubting the look of triumph on von Lauderstein’s face. That could only mean that he had a very good hand: a better hand than a mediocre six or sixteen such as von Falkenburg.
Which meant, von Falkenburg realized, that he had to draw to have any hope of beating von Lauderstein, even though the odds were two to one against his getting the card he needed as opposed to getting a card which would put him disastrously over nineteen. Only an ace, deuce or trey would do. Four, five, six, seven, eight nine would spell catastrophe, because they would mean his hand’s value would depend on its closeness to twenty-nine, but would place it farther from twenty-nine than it now was from the equivalent nineteen. Only a ten would be harmless, as it would give him a twenty-six – equal in value to his present sixteen.
Thomas Ochiltree Page 20
