The Wager

16

André Martins sat at ease on the sofa, feet elevated and a beer in one hand, doing his best to understand the mentality that could find pleasure in an early-morning game-show. The sound of a key in the lock was lost in the greater clamor from a correct answer to an infantile question on the television, for what reason André could not say. He looked up at the opening door and then jumped to his feet to help Kek with the luggage. Anita followed, looking tanned and happy, closing the door behind her. André, glad that his four days of lonely exile were ended, turned off the television set and went back of the bar, reaching for glasses.

“How was the trip?”

“Wonderful!” Anita said. “A lot better than the last time.”

“I always told you cruises should be taken in doses,” Kek said, and started to shuck his jacket. “There are just so many red-haired young men in the world, and fortunately the supply ran out before this cruise, so we were able to enjoy ourselves.”

“Don’t say anything about Billy Standish,” Anita said with mock severity. “He was thoughtful, and kind—”

“And courteous and helpful, and everything else Boy Scouts should be,” Kek conceded. “The one thing he forgot was that Boy Scouts shouldn’t lust after beautiful young ladies.”

Anita laughed. “If that was lust, give me — well, give me this last trip.”

André cut into the conversation, looking at Kek. “What about—”

“On schedule.” Huuygens put aside his jacket and bent over his small briefcase. He opened it and brought out a bulky package. The carving had been protected by several thick folds of cardboard, then further cushioned with a pair of Kek’s pajamas. He carefully unwrapped it, put aside the cardboard, and set it on the bar. Anita shook her head.

“I’ve seen it daily on the trip. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I know,” André said, and grinned. “Even if I never saw it except through a glass case.” He glanced at his watch and reached for the brandy. “What time do you have to be at Girard’s?”

“Noon.” Kek swung himself onto a stool. “Plenty of time.”

André pushed the bottle over. “Want me along? Just in case Girard changes his mind about the odds, now that the carving is actually here, and not there? Or tries to get cute in any other way? I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s not a nice man.”

Kek shook his head and poured himself a drink.

“I agree that Girard is not a nice man, but you don’t understand his mentality,” he said, and sipped. “I wouldn’t buy a used car from him, and if he handed anyone a pistol to start a game of Russian roulette, three to one all chambers would be loaded. But welsh on a gambling wager? He’ll live up to every comma and period on any bet he makes, if it breaks his heart. His pride wouldn’t allow him any other choice.” André didn’t look too convinced. Kek set down his drink, frowning. “You received the rest of your fee, didn’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” André said, waving that aside. “But that was peanuts. Your case is a lot different—”

“Not to worry,” Kek said confidently, and finished his drink. “Well, I’ll go in and wrap this thing decently, and then go visit M’sieu Girard. I’d hate to have him pacing the floor and thinking we Huuygens were men without honor, just by being a minute late.” He picked up the carving and paused before going into his study. “I shouldn’t be with Girard too long. Where do you want to eat?”

“How about right here?” Anita suggested. “I’m ready to start being a cook again, and I’m sure André must be tired of eating in restaurants.”

“You can start being a cook tonight,” Kek said, and smiled. “Let’s celebrate at lunch today. In fact, let’s celebrate at the Quinleven Club. At one?” Kek looked at his watch. “And to bring your cup to overflowing,” he added, “you can even ask Max to join us. With or without Rose.”

Anita frowned at him. “Max?”

“Max,” Kek said firmly. “We owe him more than you think,” he added and went in to prepare his package.

The apartment house in which Victor Girard lived was less than three blocks from Kek’s building. The day was unusually pleasant for early August, with a slight breeze and a dryness in the air that was almost invigorating. Kek walked along, his briefcase held firmly. Fifty thousand dollars to five; ten-thousand-to-one odds. Not bad, he had to admit to himself, and pushed through the heavy glass doors into the interior. He gave the doorman his name, glancing at the wall clock as he waited to be announced. Twelve o’clock exactly. A business deal to be consummated, and that would be the last time he would be forced to see M’sieu Girard. Which, Kek calculated, would be no great hardship.

Permission finally having been granted from above, Kek entered the elevator and was whisked to the proper floor. The door opened with a whisper and he found himself in an ornate corridor that gave an indication of the kind of luxury one might expect within the apartment. Kek pressed the small button and heard the chimes within. Before their echo could die away in the stillness, the door had been yanked open and Girard was facing him. The tiny black eyes darted instantly to the briefcase, even before he stepped back to invite Huuygens to enter.

“Come in, come in!”

“I’m afraid I don’t have too much time, M’sieu,” Kek said, and stopped in the foyer of the apartment, the door behind him still slightly open. “An early luncheon appointment. But we should be able to transact our business here without too much loss of time, if M’sieu doesn’t object—”

“The sooner the better,” Girard said in his harsh voice, and looked at the briefcase again with avid eyes.

“But before we do,” Kek went on evenly, “I should like to hear you repeat to me the exact terms of our wager, so there will be no possibility of any misunderstanding.”

The tiny eyes hardened, narrowing. “There’ll be no misunderstanding, M’sieu. I made a wager with you which I am prepared to keep, and which you had better be prepared to keep.”

“And the terms?” Kek asked quietly.

“The terms, as you know very well, were as follows: I bet you fifty thousand dollars of mine to five dollars of yours, that you would not — repeat, not — bring a Chang Tzu T’sien carving from the Ile Rocheux museum through American Customs and deliver it to me. Today! Now!” Suspicion twisted the pockmarked face. “Now, M’sieu, is your understanding any different?”

“No,” Kek answered with relief. “I’m pleased to say my recollection of our bet is the same as yours.” He sighed and reached into his pocket. “You know, M’sieu Girard, you are a very lucky man. You won.”

And he handed over five dollars.

“I think Girard was too stunned to say anything, or at least he didn’t say anything as I bid him fond farewell and got out of there.” Kek smiled at the memory. “I imagine he’s been saying all sorts of things ever since.”

Anita and André were staring at him in astonishment. Anita shook her head, bewildered. “But where—”

“The beautiful carving?” Kek sighed and shrugged. “On its way to the Ile Rocheux Gallery, sent by an unknown admirer — and repentant ex-professional thief — with the Metropolitan Museum as a return address if the post office cannot find Ile Rocheux, which wouldn’t surprise me. At times they have trouble finding Bridgeport, Connecticut. And I’m afraid the package was insured for far less than its full value. We’ll have to economize on little things like that, but little economies add up to big savings, I’m told...”

“I’m glad,” Anita said simply. “I never did like the idea of your stealing the carving. You’re not a thief.”

“Not a good one, that’s sure. Besides, there are dangers involved, like getting shot. And the hours are awful. But the big reason for sending the carving back was that I couldn’t bear the thought of Girard leering at that lovely piece of ivory every day.”

“And, of course, if M’sieu Girard had possession of it,” Anita added shrewdly, “you’d never get a chance to see it again, whereas in Ile Rocheux, as a visiting tourist—”

“As visiting tourists we could see it. Yes, that thought also occurred to me,” Kek said, and smiled. He looked up at the waiter who had appeared at his side. “No, thank you, Michael. No drink for me this afternoon.”

André frowned in disbelief. “No drink before lunch?”

“Not today,” Kek said, and came to his feet as another man approached. “Ah, Max! Glad you could join us. Rose couldn’t come? Too bad. Well, Anita is showing my friend André the town this afternoon, so I thought that possibly after lunch we might have a little game of something...”