The Heart That Lies by April Munday

three gaming rooms. He thought the boy seemed nervous, but put it down to lack of sleep. His own head was aching from his argument with Caro. The one thing he held against her was that she got louder as her argument got weaker and she had shouted at him until his brother-in-law had suggested she might prefer to keep her argument between herself and her brother and not make their neighbours privy to it. Even then she had not been apologetic, but had carried on her argument in a quieter voice sitting on the arm of her brother’s chair.
    Despite his tiredness, Meldon thought t he evening began well. They were a small party of skilled players and these were men whose company Meldon enjoyed. They talked as they played. Their conversation was a level above gossip, but was neither personal nor deep. Smith was quieter than he had been before, which meant that Meldon was not quite so distracted by his presence.
    As the evening wore on, however, Smith began to lose more often. Each time he lost he looked at Meldon and it was soon obvious to Meldon, if not to the others, that Smith was watching his hands. Upset by his argument with his sister and dwelling still on its aftermath, he was too slow to work out what was happening.
    “I believe your lordship played that card earlier this hand.”
    Smith’s voice was quiet, but the silence that followed was deafening. The men at the table looked at him, then at Meldon. Even as Meldon looked at the card he had just placed on the table he hadn’t understood what the boy meant.
    “Meldon’s not a cheat,” said Finch.
    “What?” Now Meldon understood. “You think I somehow retrieved the card?”
    “I saw you do it. And you played it earlier in the hand.” Smith’s voice was quieter than before and Meldon thought it was not quite steady.
    “By God, he’s right, Meldon. You did play it.” Stallard’s memory was as worthy of trust as the man himself, so Meldon didn’t doubt that he had put the card down before. His only question was how it had come to be in his hand again. If he had been concentrating properly, he would have noticed when it came into his hand, but he had decided to throw this hand and go home, so had not been paying attention.
    “Meldon’s not a cheat,” repeated Finch angrily.
    “No,” agreed Stallard, obviously confused. “He’s not a cheat, but he did play the card before.”
    Stallard and Finch looked at Smith as if for an explanation. Meldon continued to stare at his card.
    “You are silent, my lord.”
    “I have nothing to say.”
    He turned his aching head to look at the boy.
    “You do not deny that y...you are a cheat?” queried Smith.
    “Of course I deny it. I cannot admit to being what I am not.” I wonder how you did it, he thought, and why.
    Smith stood. “You will hear from me in the morning.”
    “Wait a moment,” said Stallard, “what you’re suggesting is illegal. And you’re not the injured party.”
    “Don’t be foolish boy. Meldon can shoot straighter than any man I know.” Meldon almost smiled at Finch’s lie. Finch was a much better shot than he was. Meldon found he was more likely to hit what he did not aim for.
    “How did you do it?” wondered Meldon aloud.  “How did you put that card into my hand?”
    Stallard groaned and Meldon saw that Smith was both relived and afraid.
    “Now I am the injured party. Good evening, gentlemen.”
    Smith turned and walked away from the table.
    “Why did you say that?” hissed Finch.
    “Because I wanted to know the answer.”
    “That was the worst thing you could have done. N ow he’ll call you out.”
    Meldon stared at him.
    “He’s a boy. He can’t intend to call me out. He writes poetry for God’s sake.”
    “You insulted him.”
    “He slipped me the card.”
    Meldon was almost pleading with his friend to understand.
    “Of course he did, but I didn’t see him do it. Did you?”
    Meldon shook his head.
    “Stallard?”
    “No.” Stallard tapped his fingers on the