“That was a bit of a beetle-crusher,” he said cheerfully. “Seems you’re holding the champions. What are the stakes?”
Bond left the answer to Drax. He was glad of the diversion. It could not have been better timed. Drax had cut the blue cards to him. He married the two halves and put the pack just in front of him, near the edge of the table.
“Fifteen and fifteen. On my left,” said Drax.
Bond heard Basildon draw in his breath.
“Chap seemed to want to gamble, so I accommodated him. Now he goes and gets all the cards…”
Drax grumbled on.
Across the table, M. saw a white handkerchief materialize in Bond’s right hand. M.’s eyes narrowed. Bond seemed to wipe his face with it. M. saw him glance sharply at Drax and Meyer, then the handkerchief was back in his pocket.
A blue pack was in Bond’s hands and he had started to ‘ deal.
“That’s the hell of a stake,” said Basildon. “We once had a thousand-pound side-bet on a game of bridge. But that was in the rubber boom before the ‘fourteen-eighteen war. Hope nobody’s going to get hurt.” He meant it. Very high stakes in a private game generally led to trouble. He walked round and stood between M. and Drax.
Bond completed the deal. With a touch of anxiety he picked up his cards.
He had nothing but five clubs to the ace, queen, ten, and eight small diamonds to the queen.
It was all right. The trap was set.
He almost felt Drax stiffen as the big man thumbed through his cards, and then, unbelieving, thumbed them through again. Bond knew that Drax had an incredibly good hand. Ten certain tricks, the ace, king of diamonds, the four top honours in spades, the four top honours in hearts, and the king, knave, nine of clubs.
Bond had dealt them to him-in the Secretary’s room before dinner.
Bond waited, wondering how Drax would react to the huge hand. He took an almost cruel interest in watching the greedy fish come to the lure.
Drax exceeded his expectations.
Casually he folded his hand and laid it on the table. Nonchalantly he took the flat carton out of his pocket, selected a cigarette and lit it. He didn’t look at Bond. He glanced up at Basildon.
“Yes,” he said, continuing the conversation about their stakes. “It’s a high game, but not the highest I’ve ever played. Once played for two thousand a rubber in Cairo. At the Mahomet Ali as a matter of fact. They’ve really got guts there. Often bet on every trick as well as on the game and rubber. “Now,” he picked up his hand and looked slyly at Bond. “I’ve got some good tickets here. I’ll admit it. But then you may have too, for all I know.” (Unlikely, you old shark, thought Bond, with three of the ace-kings in your own ‘ hand.) “Care to have something extra just on this hand?”
Bond made a show of studying his cards with the minuteness of someone who is nearly very drunk. “I’ve got a promising lot too,” he said thickly. “If my partner fits and the cards lie right I might make a lot of tricks myself. What are you suggesting?”
“Sounds as if we’re pretty evenly matched,” lied Drax. “What do you say to a hundred a trick on the side? From what you say it shouldn’t be too painful.”
Bond looked thoughtful and rather fuddled. He took another careful look at his hand, running through the cards one by one. “All right,” he said. “You’re on. And frankly you’ve made me gamble. You’ve obviously got a big hand, so I must shut you out and chance it.”
Bond looked blearily across at M. “Pay your losses on this one, partner,” he said. “Here we go. Er-seven clubs.”
In the dead silence that followed, Basildon, who had seen Drax’s hand, was so startled that he dropped his whisky and soda on the floor. He looked dazedly down at the broken glass and let it lie.
Drax said “What?” in a startled voice and hastily ran through his cards again for reassurance.
“Did you say grand slam in clubs?” he asked, looking curiously at his obviously drunken opponent, “Well, it’s your funeral. What do you say, Max?”