The Four of Hearts by Ellery Queen

Hasn’t Butch mentioned my name?’
    â€˜Probably.’ Her mouth curved and she took his arm. Ellery blushed a little. Her body felt terribly soft where it touched him, and she smelled delicious. Not quite so delicious as Paula Paris, of course, but still delicious enough to make him wonder whether he wasn’t turning into a positive lecher. ‘I like you. You may take me over to the roulette table.’
    â€˜Delighted.’
    â€˜Oh, I know! You’re the man who was with Alan Clark yesterday.’
    â€˜So you remember!’
    â€˜Indeed I do. I thought you were an insurance agent. Did anyone ever tell you you look like an insurance agent?’
    â€˜To the wheel!’ groaned Ellery, ‘before I remind you of something you saw in your last nightmare.’
    He found a chair for her at the table. Butcher hurried over, looking warm but successful, and dumped two handfuls of chips before Bonnie. He winked at Ellery, wiped his face, bent over Bonnie, and kissed the nape of her neck.
    Ellery, thinking instantly of a lady named Paris, sighed. Damn it, she would have to be a female hermit!
    He saw Tyler Royle go over to the bar, put his arm about his father’s shoulders, and say something with a cheerful expression. Jack Royle turned his head a little, and Ellery saw him smile briefly. Ty pounded his father’s back affectionately and came back to herd his adoring feminine entourage over to the roulette table, opposite Bonnie. He ignored her elaborately, saying something in an undertone to his companions, who giggled.
    Bonnie pursed her lips; but then she laughed and looked up at Butcher, whispering something; and Butcher laughed, not too gaily, while she turned back to place a bet. Young Mr. Royle, gazing quizzically at the board, also placed a bet. Miss Stuart smiled. Mr. Royle frowned. Miss Stuart frowned. Mr. Royle frowned. Miss Stuart frowned. Mr. Royle smiled.
    The croupier droned on. The wheel spun. Chips made hollow, clicking sounds. Jack Royle sat imbibing Sidecars at the bar, gazing in silence at his handsome reflection in the mirror. Bonnie seemed absorbed in the play. Ty Royle placed bets carelessly.
    Ellery was just beginning to feel relieved when a bray offended his left ear, and he turned to find Lew Bascom, grinning like a pot-bellied Pan, beside him.
    â€˜â€™Stoo peaceful,’ murmured Lew. ‘Watch this.’
    Ellery felt a premonition. The glint in Lew’s bleared eye promised no advancement of the cause of peace.
    The players were distributing their bets. Bonnie had pushed a stack of blue chips on to number 19 and, scarcely paying attention, Ty shoved a similar stack on the same number. At this moment Alessandro ushered into the room a very famous lady of the screen who had just married Prince Youssov, whose royal line was reputed to stand close to the Heavenly Throne; the Prince was with her, in full panoply; and everyone turned his attention from the table, including the croupier, to admire the gorgeous pair.
    Lew calmly picked up Bonnie’s stack and moved it from number 19 to number 9.
    â€˜My God,’ groaned Mr. Queen to himself. ‘If 19 should win …’
    â€˜Nineteen,’ announced the croupier, and the hands of Bonnie and Ty stretched from opposite sides of the tables to meet on the pile of chips shoved forward by the croupier. Bonnie did not remove her hand.
    â€˜Will somebody,’ she said in an ice-in-glass voice, ‘inform the gentleman that this is my stack?’
    Ty kept his hand on hers. ‘Far be it from me to argue with a lady, but will somebody wise her up that it’s mine?’
    â€˜The gentleman is trying to be cute. It’s mine.’
    â€˜The lady couldn’t be if she tried. It’s mine.’
    â€˜Butch! You saw me cover nineteen, didn’t you?’
    â€˜I wasn’t watching. Look, dear –’
    â€˜Croupier!’ said Ty Royle. ‘Didn’t you see me cover