The Bags of Tricks Affair

3 Sabina

She caught hold of his coat sleeve, tugged him inside, and quickly shut the door. She still wore her outlandish Saint Louis Rose costume, all except for the red wig which caused her head to itch, but she had scrubbed off the hideous rose-colored lip rouge and removed the false eyelashes. Her long black hair, uncoiled and combed out, drew and held John’s admiring gaze. It was the first time he’d seen it that way, she realized, for she always wore it rolled and fastened with a jeweled comb at the agency and on their social outings.

“You’re late, John. I expected you an hour ago.”

“I’ve been to Lily Dumont’s cottage.”

“Have you now. For what purpose?”

“Not the one you’re thinking. She’s still dealing faro. And she has too many admirers already.”

“Jack O’Diamonds as well as Glen Bonnifield. And I’ll warrant Diamond is more than simply an admirer.”

“My thought exactly.”

“Lady One-Eye is also aware of it.”

John nodded and fluffed his beard. Or attempted to, the habitual gesture being stayed somewhat by the fact that it was no longer as thick and bushy as a freebooter’s; he had trimmed it for his role as a mixologist. Sabina rather preferred it this way. It had a softening effect on his features, made his dark eyes less fierce.

“Trouble there, do you think?” he asked.

“Of one kind or another. Lily Dumont is a dish to tempt any man, especially one with a block of ice for a wife.”

“I prefer loud and bawdy redheads, myself.” He gave her a broad wink. “Come over here, Rosie, and give us a kiss.”

“I will not. Stand your distance.”

“The Saint Louis Rose is no more likely than Lily Dumont to refuse a handsome, devoted gent a kiss. Or anything else he might want.”

“Perhaps not. But Sabina Carpenter is and you know it.”

“At least for the nonce.”

“John...”

“I was only having a innocent bit of sport with you, my dear.”

“Innocent, my eye.”

John sighed and went to sit on one of the room’s plush chairs. He gazed wistfully at his partner in Carpenter and Quincannon, Professional Detective Services. One thing you could say for his tastes, Sabina thought. He was far more attracted to a mature, well-bred woman with more than a dozen years of experience as a detective, half of those with the Pinkerton Agency’s Denver office, than he was to the likes of Lady One-Eye and the Saint Louis Rose. Still...

“What did you mean by loud and bawdy?” she demanded. “Do you think I overplayed my role tonight?”

“Well... perhaps a touch.”

“I thought my performance was rather good.”

“It’s too bad Lotta Crabtree wasn’t here to see it. She might have offered you a new career as a stage actress.”

“Don’t make fun of me, John. I didn’t strike a false note with Lady One-Eye, I’m certain of that.”

“You really enjoy playing the Rose, don’t you?”

Yes, she did. It wasn’t often that she was able to operate undercover, and when she did it was usually in a rather commonplace role — that of a milliner in Silver City, Idaho, for instance, when she’d been with the Pinkerton’s Denver office and had first met John. Portraying a character like the Rose held a certain amount of girlish pleasure, in the same way dressing up in costume had when she was a child growing up in Chicago.

Her smile prompted him to say, “Even though the Lady did succeed in plucking you like a chicken?”

“I wouldn’t say I was plucked, exactly.”

“How much did you lose? The entire fifteen hundred McFinn provided?”

“Yes. Mostly on that last hand.”

“A straight to your three jacks. Luck of the cards, or did she manufacture her own luck?”

“Oh, I’m fairly sure she’s a skin-game artist,” Sabina said. “One of the best I’ve seen or heard of.”

“Were you able to spot her gaff?”

“I think so. But she’s so proficient at it that it took me most of the night. I wouldn’t have seen it at all if I hadn’t spent those weeks with Jim Moon at the Oyster Ocean in Denver a few years ago, learning his bag of tricks. It boils down to manipulating the cards so she knows her opponent’s hole card on at least half the hands she deals.”

In gathering the cards for her deal, Sabina explained, Lady One-Eye dropped her own last hand on top of the deck, the five cards having been arranged so that the lowest was on top and the highest second in line. As she did this she gave the five cards a quick, almost imperceptible squeeze, which produced a slight convex longitudinal bend. During the shuffle, she maneuvered the five-card slug to the top of the deck. Then, just before offering the deck for the cut, she buried the slug in the middle, at the point where her opponent tended to cut each time. The slight crimp in the cards ensured that the slug would be returned to the top. All she had to do then was to deal fairly, flexing the deck once or twice first to take out the slug’s bend. The first card she dealt, which she knew from memory, was therefore the opponent’s hole card. And her hole card, the second in line, was always higher.

“Clever,” John said. “The advantage is small, but for a sharp it’s enough to control almost any game.”

Sabina dipped her chin in agreement. “But I’ll need to play her once more — or rather, the Saint Louis Rose will — to make absolutely sure I’m right about her gaff. An hour or so should do it. If, that is, Mr. McFinn will stake me to another five hundred.”

“He will if you tell him what you suspect.”

“I’m not sure I should until I’m certain. And he was already bemoaning the loss of tonight’s fifteen hundred.”

“He agreed to finance your gambling. Another five hundred won’t matter to him if his star attraction is quietly exposed as a cheat and it saves the Gold Nugget from being shut down.” The broad wink again. “Of course, if he does refuse I could finance the Rose’s game myself in exchange for her favors.”

His boldness had increased since she had allowed him to keep company with her outside the office, and in a weak moment had gone with him to his bachelor flat one evening after dinner, and as always it exasperated her. There was a time and place for such forward banter, and while they were engaged in an undercover investigation was neither of those. She said as much, sternly. He pretended to pout, but had the good sense not to make any further unwelcome comments.

“To get back to business,” Sabina said, “I don’t intend to lose to Lady One-Eye again tomorrow night. I know ways to counteract her trick, thanks to Jim Moon.”

“At any rate, if you’re convinced, we’ll put an end to the matter as soon as the game is finished. The sooner McFinn sends her packing, the better off he’ll be. There’s more trouble afoot than the possibility of someone else with a keen eye tumbling to the Lady’s trick.”

“What do you mean? Jack O’Diamonds’ attentions to Lily Dumont?”

“Yes. And the overprotectiveness of Jeffrey Gaunt, a gent I wish I knew more about.”

“I could make some discreet inquiries in the morning. As discreet as the Saint Louis Rose is likely to be, that is.”

“A good idea. Anything else the Rose can find out, too, especially regarding Diamond’s affair with Lily and the threatening note.” He paused before adding, “It’s more than possible now that the threat is genuine.”

“Now? Has something happened?”

“At Lily’s cottage half an hour ago. Two rounds from a heavy revolver nearly took my head off.”

“John! Someone tried to kill you? Who?”

“I didn’t get a look at him. Or her. Too dark.”

“There was no light where you were?”

“No.”

“Then whoever it was couldn’t see you clearly, either.”

“Only a dark shape as I left the cottage,” John said. “If you’re thinking he might have mistaken me for someone else, you’re right, I may not have been the intended target.”

“Jack O’Diamonds?”

“Or Lily. Or Glen Bonnifield, if it wasn’t Bonnifield who did the shooting.”

“Is he the reason you went to her cottage?”

“One of them. Lily’s involvement with Diamond seems more than a simple dalliance. It occurred to me that she might have written the note.”

“Why her?” Sabina asked. “What would she hope to gain by it? Unless—”

“Unless Diamond and Lily are in cahoots, the addition of his name to the note was a red herring, and the plan not an attempt to drive Lady One-Eye away but to pave the way for her murder. In that case, the blame would be attached to the anonymous letter writer, a deranged local, and no suspicion would fall on them.”

“Did you find evidence to incriminate her?”

“None. No bottle of green ink.”

Sabina said thoughtfully, “If Bonnifield is the jealous sort he seems to be, he could be the author of the note.”

“He could, though he doesn’t strike me as the type to resort to written warnings. He was in the Gold Nugget tonight, glaring daggers at both Lily and Jack.”

“Yes, I noticed. I don’t like that shooting business tonight, John. You’re right that it portends more serious trouble than we first believed.”

“We had both better be on our guard tomorrow,” he said. “Take your derringer along to the Gold Nugget, just in case.”

“It’s already handy in my bag.” She couldn’t resist adding, “And knowing that, aren’t you glad you didn’t foolishly try to kiss me and take me to bed just now?”

When she was alone again, Sabina finished divesting herself of the rest of her doxy’s costume, put on her nightgown, and got into bed. It was a feather bed and she sank into it gratefully. But despite the lateness of the hour, her weariness after the long, intense poker match with Lady One-Eye, sleep eluded her. Her thoughts roamed here and there, first over the complicated nature of their investigation, then on John and their relationship.

For their first five years as partners in Carpenter and Quincannon, Professional Detective Services, she had insisted on a strict business-only policy, fending off his periodic advances with ease for she believed his only personal interest in her was the typical male’s: seduction and conquest. Likely that was the case in the beginning, but his intentions had gradually changed, his feelings for her growing more respectful, deepening into the kind of affection that, if not exactly love, is the next thing to it. His campaign to take her to bed was now something quite differently motivated, she was sure — the passion of a man eager for a long-term liaison, perhaps even marriage.

Her own feelings for him had changed, too, softened in return. But just how tender she still wasn’t sure. She could never love any man as she had loved Stephen, yet there were different kinds, different degrees of love. For five years now she had remained faithful to Stephen’s memory, but she was a healthy woman in the prime of her life. It would be easy enough to succumb to John’s advances — she had come close, very close, that night at his flat after the one long, passionate kiss she had permitted (and, yes, greatly enjoyed) — but she’d promised herself she would not give herself to him unless he asked for her hand in marriage.

Would her answer be yes if he did? She wasn’t quite sure, perhaps wouldn’t be until, if, and when. Would she consent to sleep with him even if her answer were no? She wasn’t quite sure of that, either, although his kisses, particularly the one that night in his flat, had awakened feelings in her that had lain dormant for five long years...