suspiciously. “I didn’t think your game was faro.”
“My skill has never been questioned, but if you have some objection…” He left the remark unfinished.
“None! None!” Crawley claimed through tight lips. “The stakes are high, however,” he taunted.
“That suits me.” Valentin leaned back in his chair and reached for his money pouch.
“Pound points then?” Crawley sneered, his hard eyes daring the Viscount to accept.
Valentin nodded curtly as Crawley broke a pack of cards. The waiter poured fresh brandy into the glasses and play was resumed.
Valentin had observed his opponent at play several times before. He knew him to be a showy player who often took risks; he
himself was a cool but daring gamester. Within the hour it was apparent that luck was running in Crawley’s favor, although
Valentin had been able to hold his own. Toward early evening the other players began dropping out, claiming engagements elsewhere until only the Viscount and his antagonist were left.
Valentin shuffled the cards, the sapphire on his small finger flashing in the glowing candlelight. Crawley called for a refill
of brandy and studied the contents of his glass. Then gulping a mouthful, he turned his full attention to the Viscount. Some
decision seemed pending.
“Well, Ardsmore, it is just you and me now.” A meaningful sneer had crept into his voice.
“As it was meant to be.” The Viscount’s rejoinder was low and ominous.
“Do you think you can afford to continue, my lord Ardsmore?” He scooped up the cards with a slight flourish.
“I’ll manage, Crawley.” Valentin’s eyes never left Crawley’s face.
“Will you? And on what resources? Or do you play with your future bride’s prospects in mind?”
Finally the opening had come. “Perhaps you would like to explain yourself, Crawley,” Valentin questioned quietly.
“I merely remark on your coming nuptials,” he replied smugly.
“As you did yesterday for my brother’s benefit?”
“Your brother is an impudent cub who interfered in a private conversation.”
“And you are an unprincipled scoundrel for accepting the challenge of a mere boy!”
Crawley pushed back his chair, knocking it to the floor as he jumped up. “No one calls me names!” he hissed.
“I just did. You are a coward as well as a scoundrel,” Valentin taunted deliberately.
“Coward? Scoundrel?” Crawley ejaculated. “You’ll pay with your life for those words!”
Picking up his glass, Crawley dashed the contents intoValentin’s face. There was an audible gasp from the few remaining occupants of the salon. But the Viscount only smiled contemptuously
as he wiped the liquid from his face.
“I believe the choice of time and weapons is mine,” he spoke drily.
“It is!” Crawley spat at him.
“Then tonight. The Field House at ten, with swords.”
“Tonight? Impossible. I am meeting your brother in the morning.”
“Either accept or be known for the coward you are.”
“Ah, so that’s your game? Very well, Ardsmore. I’ll finish you tonight and your brother in the morning. You think you’ve outfoxed
me, but you haven’t. I’ve waited for this a long time,” he growled angrily.
“So have I.” Valentin’s voice was cold with contempt.
Danforth stepped between them, fearing the blazing hatred would engulf them on the spot. “Gentlemen, until tonight” Danforth
managed to get Valentin across the room and down the stairs to the foyer.
“You’ve accomplished the first part of your plan,” he murmured as they donned their greatcoats and walked out of the
Chat Noir.
Valentin nodded, still caught in a fever of hatred. However, once outside in the evening air his anger cooled, and he spoke
matter-of-factly.
“I have to cripple that right arm of his so he can’t use it in the morning against Perry.”
“Crawley will be out for more than just the drawing of a little blood, Val. That man had murder on his mind.”
Comprehension
“My skill has never been questioned, but if you have some objection…” He left the remark unfinished.
“None! None!” Crawley claimed through tight lips. “The stakes are high, however,” he taunted.
“That suits me.” Valentin leaned back in his chair and reached for his money pouch.
“Pound points then?” Crawley sneered, his hard eyes daring the Viscount to accept.
Valentin nodded curtly as Crawley broke a pack of cards. The waiter poured fresh brandy into the glasses and play was resumed.
Valentin had observed his opponent at play several times before. He knew him to be a showy player who often took risks; he
himself was a cool but daring gamester. Within the hour it was apparent that luck was running in Crawley’s favor, although
Valentin had been able to hold his own. Toward early evening the other players began dropping out, claiming engagements elsewhere until only the Viscount and his antagonist were left.
Valentin shuffled the cards, the sapphire on his small finger flashing in the glowing candlelight. Crawley called for a refill
of brandy and studied the contents of his glass. Then gulping a mouthful, he turned his full attention to the Viscount. Some
decision seemed pending.
“Well, Ardsmore, it is just you and me now.” A meaningful sneer had crept into his voice.
“As it was meant to be.” The Viscount’s rejoinder was low and ominous.
“Do you think you can afford to continue, my lord Ardsmore?” He scooped up the cards with a slight flourish.
“I’ll manage, Crawley.” Valentin’s eyes never left Crawley’s face.
“Will you? And on what resources? Or do you play with your future bride’s prospects in mind?”
Finally the opening had come. “Perhaps you would like to explain yourself, Crawley,” Valentin questioned quietly.
“I merely remark on your coming nuptials,” he replied smugly.
“As you did yesterday for my brother’s benefit?”
“Your brother is an impudent cub who interfered in a private conversation.”
“And you are an unprincipled scoundrel for accepting the challenge of a mere boy!”
Crawley pushed back his chair, knocking it to the floor as he jumped up. “No one calls me names!” he hissed.
“I just did. You are a coward as well as a scoundrel,” Valentin taunted deliberately.
“Coward? Scoundrel?” Crawley ejaculated. “You’ll pay with your life for those words!”
Picking up his glass, Crawley dashed the contents intoValentin’s face. There was an audible gasp from the few remaining occupants of the salon. But the Viscount only smiled contemptuously
as he wiped the liquid from his face.
“I believe the choice of time and weapons is mine,” he spoke drily.
“It is!” Crawley spat at him.
“Then tonight. The Field House at ten, with swords.”
“Tonight? Impossible. I am meeting your brother in the morning.”
“Either accept or be known for the coward you are.”
“Ah, so that’s your game? Very well, Ardsmore. I’ll finish you tonight and your brother in the morning. You think you’ve outfoxed
me, but you haven’t. I’ve waited for this a long time,” he growled angrily.
“So have I.” Valentin’s voice was cold with contempt.
Danforth stepped between them, fearing the blazing hatred would engulf them on the spot. “Gentlemen, until tonight” Danforth
managed to get Valentin across the room and down the stairs to the foyer.
“You’ve accomplished the first part of your plan,” he murmured as they donned their greatcoats and walked out of the
Chat Noir.
Valentin nodded, still caught in a fever of hatred. However, once outside in the evening air his anger cooled, and he spoke
matter-of-factly.
“I have to cripple that right arm of his so he can’t use it in the morning against Perry.”
“Crawley will be out for more than just the drawing of a little blood, Val. That man had murder on his mind.”
Comprehension
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