The Man Who Couldn't Lose Read Online Free PDF Page B

dragged out of the River Don under Town End Bridge, Bromersley, on Wednesday morning. He had suffered a gunshot wound.
    Gumme, who rose to the top of the card-playing world, once washed cars in the streets for shoppers at ten pence a car. He died one of the richest men in Bromersley, having various business interests in the town, including owning and operating the snooker hall on Duke Street.
    Dubbed ‘the man who couldn’t lose’ by the British Pontoon Club because he played over 200 games of pontoon without losing a single one, judges and experts were called in to supervise Gumme closely at the table. Since his lucky streak began, ten years ago, in 1997, his person, clothes, the table and cards have been examined by every kind of expert several times and nothing dishonest was ever found. When our reporter asked him to what did he attribute his success, he said, ‘I was just born lucky, I expect.’
    If there was some system, scheme, ploy or device that assisted Joshua Gumme’s amazing and infallible talent, the secret has died with him or is now in the hands of his murderer.
    He leaves a widow and a son, Edmund Gumme.
Angel rubbed his chin.
    â€˜Thank you, Ahmed,’ he said, returning the paper. He leaned forward and dragged that morning’s mail towards the centre of the desk.
    â€˜Could you play pontoon, sir, and win two hundred games on the trot?’
    â€˜No. I couldn’t, lad. Nor could anyone else,’ Angel said, slipping the blade of a paperknife into an envelope.
    â€˜But it says—’
    â€˜I know what it says, Ahmed. But you mustn’t believe all you read in the papers.’
    â€˜No, sir. But how could he possibly win two hundred games, one after the other like that?’
    Angel shook his head.
    â€˜Because he cheated, that’s how. Pontoon is mainly a game of chance, isn’t it? The cards wouldn’t come out in the favour of anyone two hundred consecutive times, would they?’
    Ahmed nodded. He seemed convinced. He made for the door. ‘It said that he was very carefully watched by judges and experts, though, sir,’ he added.
    â€˜Well, don’t look at me, Ahmed. I don’t know how he did it.’
    Ahmed smiled.
    â€˜But you’ll find out, sir, won’t you?’
    Angel shrugged and put a letter down on the desk. ‘I have a lot more important jobs to do than that,’ he said. ‘And so have you,’ he added quickly. ‘Firstly, get me Dr Mac. He’ll likely be at the mortuary. Then I want to speak to Don Taylor of SOCOs. Then see if you can find an Edmund Gumme … information is that he lives in or near York. You could try the phone book. The electoral roll. Or check him on the PNC. If he hasn’t been convicted of an offence, of course, he won’t be there. You’ll have to do it the hard way.’
    The phone rang. He reached out for it.
    â€˜Angel.’
    It was DC Scrivens.
    â€˜Good morning, sir.’ He sounded excited about something. ‘Just overheard from Traffic that a car was found burning in a field of wheat, off a track, off Wath Lane. It’s in the middle of nowhere, sir,’ he said excitedly.
    Angel growled like a bear.
    â€˜I’m not a bloody fireman, Scrivens! What do you want me to do about it?’
    Undeterred, Scrivens continued: ‘It’s Gumme’s Bentley, sir! You’re on that case, aren’t you?’
    Angel rubbed his chin. Then he sniffed.
    â€˜Had it been reported missing?’
    â€˜No, sir. There’s about eighty thousand quid’s worth there.’
    â€˜Yes. Well done, Scrivens. What are you busy with?’
    â€˜A shoplifting, sir.’
    â€˜Well, put that on hold and follow this up for me. Find out what caused it. Any fingerprints, anything at all. Where was it taken from and how was it done. Have a word with Mrs Gumme. Find out about the car keys. Mileage, all that stuff. Jump on it pronto and let me