Breaths of Suspicion Read Online Free PDF Page A

the room. Porky Clark, standing beside me, touched my arm and gestured towards a particular table. It was surrounded by a group of men, watching the obviously extraordinary run of success being enjoyed by a tousle-haired young buck. He was seated at the tables now, flushed, excited, and clearly on an extended winning run. His dark, curly hair was damp, his eyessparkling with drink and his hands trembled with inebriated excitement as he gathered in his chips. It would not be easy to winch him away from the scene of his continuing success but as I moved closer towards the table I realized why Goodman was particularly concerned. It wasn’t just the money. I looked at Porky Clark, and nodded. Saving this young man from making a fool of himself had two advantages: it would cancel one of my debts to Goodman, but even more important, it would perhaps place me in the good books of his father, whom I had met only twice in the Reform Club. Nodding terms only. Perhaps that situation could improve.
    For the young man playing recklessly at
rouge et noir
was the son of the Attorney General of England.
    I did not know young Jervis well, though I had met him on a few occasions at Westminster Hall, and he was a member of my own Inn, the Inner Temple. Now, I walked casually across the room and edged my way into the gathering, until I stood behind the Attorney General’s son. He was playing wildly, and yet his recklessness was paying off and he was well ahead of the table. He was also drunk. I leaned over him and offered my advice. He turned his head and grinned at me.
    ‘Stop while I’m ahead?’ he laughed. ‘It’s my lucky night!’
    I wasn’t quite sure that he recognized me and there was little I could do to dissuade him on his current successful play. So I stepped back and waited. He soon began to find that his luck was changing: he still won occasionally, but there were losses too. He was nevertheless well ahead up to the point that the dealer was changed. I watched the changeover: it had significance, I was certain. Goodman would have ordered the replacement: the new dealer, a lean, dark-eyed, cold-featured man with long, predatory fingers would have more control over events. There would now be discreet cheating in the wind.
    ‘Time to leave now,’ I whispered in Jervis’s ear. ‘I know this new man. You’ll see a change in your luck, believe me.’
    The young barrister leaned back in his seat. Some of the sense behind what I was saying filtered through his drink-sodden mind. With more control than I had ever managed to achieve myself when at the tables, he contemplated the green baize before him in silence, glowered, then almost dazedly collected his chips. He rose to his feet, staggering slightly. He stared at me, and recognition now glimmered in his eyes. ‘James.…’
    ‘Come. I’ll give you a hand, see you to a cab,’ I offered.
    I collected our capes and canes and assisted young Jervis towards the doors.
    The night house owned by Goodman lay in a side lane just off the Strand. When we lurched out into the shuttered street outside all was dark except for occasional gleams of light filtering from closed casement windows in the mean houses nearby. Wisps of cold fog drifted at head height, blurring the eyes with a sharp pungency, a real London Particular if you know what I mean. At two in the morning the cold had a cutting edge to it, seeming to slice into the bones. Young Jervis was now leaning heavily on my arm as I looked around for a waiting hansom cab. He was very drunk and the cold night air seemed to have hit him almost like a blow to the skull.
    The doors to the night house closed behind us with a solid thud and we found ourselves isolated in the darkened street.
    Unusually, there was no cabman plying for hire to be seen on the dimly lit cobbles. But I guessed if we made our way along the greasy stones towards the main thoroughfare that dimly beckoned to us some fifty yards distant we would soon find a