The Green Bungalow

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 421, 1 August 1928, Page 5

The Green Bungalow

BY A POWERFUL WRITER.

By

Fred M. White.

Author of “The Crimcon Blind,’’ "The Cardinal Moth.” "The Houae on the River," 4c., 4«, C

CHAPTER XXlV.—Continued. “It’s devilish awkward,” Shute groaned. “Harley has managed to give us the slip, and ignores our letters and telegrams, and, on the top of that, we have lost a lot of stuff that would have been worth at least twenty thousand pounds to us, just at the moment when we are both infernally hard up. Macglendy and myself were at the end of our tether when we lifted all that plate and gems, and now we hardly know what to do.” “Yes, I quite understand,” Blythe said, with a suggestion of sympathy. “But you had better go, all the same. Now, look here, I have got a suggestion to make. If you want a thousand or two to get away with, I think I can manage it. You come round here to-morrow evening, say at 10 oclock, and I will have the pigeon waiting for you. Never mind, for a moment, who it is, though I rather think you have mat him before. There is plenty of money there, and the man isn’t afraid of losing it. We ought to cut up a little fortune between us. What do you say?” The two rascals fairly tumbled over one another in their eagerness to accept. “Then that is settled,”. Blythe said cheerfully. "If you come round here to tea to-morrow, we can talk over the plan of campaign, so that there won’t be any hitch. I am sorry I can’t stay now, because I have other things to do. I suppose you have got some cards of the right sort? I came down here without anything of the kind. If you haven’t, you might telegraph for some.” “That’s all right,” Shute grinned. “We have got the cards, all right. In fact, we got a fresh set only yesterday.” Blythe dismissed the two a moment or two later, and almost immediately went out and sent a telegram to Prest in London. In the course of the evening he got the expected reply, and next afternoon met Shute and Macglendy again just about 5 o’clock, and for an hour or more they discussed their plans for the evening. It was shortly after 10 o clock when Shute and Macglendy walked casually into Blythe’s private room as if they were just dropping in for a friendly chat, but they exchanged glances as they saw Prest seated there opposite Blythe. Still, they had no suspicions of what' was going to take place, for Prest met them in the friendliest possible spirit, and, for some time they sat chatting there as if they had been quite old friends. Half an hour or so elapsed before Blythe quite skilfully, and apparently heartlessly, brought up the question of cards. Would Prest take a hand in a little flutter? Blythe insinuated that he bad heard a good deal with regard to Prest’s skill as a poker player, which game he knew just a little of himself, though he was prepared to learn at the hands of those more expert than himself. “Oh, I don’t mind,” Prest said carelessly. “What do you want to play for? If we are going to play poker

in earnest, then I like to have a real I gamble.” “All right,” Shute said. “In that ease, I vote that we have no limit. Anybody got any cards?” “As a matter of fact, I have got two packs in my pocket at the present moment,” Prest said. “My overcoat is hanging up in the cloakroom, so if you will ring the bell I will give my ticket to the waiter and he can get them. Funny thing that I should have those cards in my pocket, but I was expecting a man down to-night who would want to play, but at the last moment he could not get away, and so my cards came in after all.” The two packs came upstairs presently, and after glancing at them in a casual way Shute placed them on the mantelpiece. Then, whilst Blythe was holding Prest in conversation, Macglendy removed the cards from their resting place, and slipped them dexterously in his trousers pocket, at the same time producing two other packs which he had evidently concealed somewhere about his clothing. He threw them carelessly on the table, and Prest tore the covers off. Then they sat down to play in earnest. At first the fortunes of the evening seemed to vary, and then, so gradually as to be almost imperceptible, the tide began to set against Prest. It seemed to him that he could do nothing right. He declared upon quite good hands, only to find himself face to face with something better in the keeping of his opponents. By the end of half an hour he was some hundreds of pounds on the wrong side. “Very strange,” he said; “I have been holding some really wonderful cards, but not wonderful enough. In all my experience I have never seen such amazing hands.” “Oh, I don’t know,” Blythe said; “f am not much more fortunate myself. It's these other two men who are winning all the money. If you don’t mind. I think I will stand out for >a hand.”

Blythe rose from the table, and proceeded to the sideboard, apparently on hospitality bent. He stood there, drawing corks and mixing drinks, after which he turned his back upon the players and appeared to be looking into the fire whilst he smoked a cigar. He could see everything that was going on in the looking glass, and every now and again he glanced at the clock. It still wanted ten minutes before Fishbourne was timed to appear, and he was waiting, quite impatiently for him, for the hour to strike. He smiled to himself as he saw Prest go down again on a hand which, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, would have been a sure and certain winner. “Upon my word, I believe the cards are bewitched to-night,” Prest exclaimed. “Straight flushes and full houses are all the same apparently. Here, Blythe, you come and take my place for a bit. Perhaps if I sit out for half an hour, and smoke a cigar, the luck will turn. Not that I am superstitious.” “Just a couple more hands," Blythe said, “and then I am with you. I want to mix you fellows a drink which I don’t think any of you have tasted before. It’s a sort of champagne cocktail.” “All right,” Prest laughed, “only

don’t bo too long, because it might be a very expensive drink for me.” He took up the cards again, and passed them on to Shute, whose turn it was to deal. The dealer gave the cards an extra shuffle, as was his right, and skilfully scattered the hands on the table. With his back toward them, Blythe was watching carefully with the aid of the mirror. Then he turned suddenly round, before a declaration was made, and asked to have a look at the pack. “What, is there anything wrong?” Shute asked.

“I am sure I don’t know,” Blythe said, “only it looked to me as if one of tlie cards was bent. Perhaps lam wrong. Go on, and don’t mind me.” 1-Ie crossed over to the sideboard, and stood there with one eye on the clock. It was now within two or three minutes of eleven, and it seemed to Blythe that he could hear a footstep coming along the corridor in the direction of his sitting room. With a cer tain amount of excitement, which was quite foreign to his nature, he strolled casually across to the table, and, picking up a dozen or so of the unused cards lying on it, glanced at the backs, holding them slanting so that the light might fall upon them. “These cards are marked,” he declared quietly. “Marked!” Shute cried, as he iumped to his feet. “Blythe, what do you mean? What do you insinuate. “I insinuate nothing,” Blythe said. “I »am making a plain statement, which lamin a position to prove.” _ The words were barely out of his mouth before the clock on the mantelpiece struck the hour, and Fishbourne came into the room. Shute gave one swift glance at Blythe and his mouth closed like a steel trap. What was in the wind he had not the least idea, hut his instinct told him that it would be nothing to his advantage. Nor did he suppose for a moment that Blythe was going to play the traitor to his own class, that is, the class that latterly he had elected to belong to. For Shute, too, had fallen in much the same way as his more brilliant confrere, and this, to a certain extent, was more or less a bond of union between them. Not that he would have trusted Blythe in a professional matter any further than he could have helped. And this was the opening move in some new and ingenious scheme for their mutual advantage that Blythe had worked out without saying a word to his associates. Macglendy, on the other hand, had edged toward the door directly he had caught sight of Fishbourne’s face. He would have discreetly disappeared if Blythe had not been too quick for him. “Oh, no,” the latter said. “I really cannot permit you to run away in that fashion. We are all acquainted with one another and there is no occasion to stand on ceremony.” Prest had risen to his feet cold and suspicious, and by far the most puzzled of them all. And yet he had a dim understanding of what was going on. It was a case of history re- . peating itself. For here he was much in the same case as Harley had been on that fateful night in the Green Bungalow when he had been fairly detected playing poker with marked cards that lie had produced himself. ' For those were his cards lying there on the table and they had come from his own pocket precisely as Harley had produced those with which he had 1 contributed to his own downfall. And yet, Blythe had promised that if Prest would place himself entirely ■ in his hands, he, Blythe, would not only show how Harley had been ■ treated, but, furthermore, would expose the whole conspiracy. There- ■ fore it was just as well to sit down ■ quietly and to watch the development 1 of events. At any rate, it was good to know that a man of Fishbourne’s | reputation was present, though he might have been there entirely by accident. At the same time, there was a rather grim touch of humour about the corners of Fishbourne’s lips which suggested that his presence there was not entirely fortuitous. (To be continued.)