David Dickinson - Death Comes to the Ballets Russes

‘What a pleasant prospect. I hope you will be able to watch one of the triangular Test matches between England and Australia and South Africa this summer. But for the moment, in a professional sense, you do feel able to talk about Mr Gilbert?’

‘Let me begin with his business affairs. He specializes in new investment trusts and new offerings in general. Part of my business here touches the same areas. Now, I would have to say that there is nothing strictly illegal about what Waggers does. We have all done it up to a point, but not to the extent that he does.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Word gets round every now and then about some new offering. It might be a cleverly constructed investment trust or a mining share or a brewer. The day before the company is opened for business, the men who know let it be rumoured abroad that this is going to be a winner. The recipients of this information make a mental note to recommend it to their clients in due course. Others, especially Waggers, make sure that they buy a large holding, and then sell it a few days later at a handsome profit. That was just the most obvious of his little schemes. The others are only understood by insiders in the City, which Waggers undoubtedly was.’

‘And the cards, Mr Pollock, the cards?’

‘The irregularities at whist only began about eighteen months ago, after he had a losing run that seemed to have gone on since Christmas. I hesitate to use that word beginning with “c”, even in my own office, for fear it might come out and drench us all in scandal, Mr Fitzgerald. After Easter this year, several months ago, it was as if he had decided to take revenge on all those who play with him regularly. He always wins now, sometimes by a lot, sometimes by a little.’

‘I have a little experience in cheating at cards, Mr Pollock, from a terrible case in the officers’ mess at Simla years ago. A young subaltern took to cheating at whist to make amends for his overspending on the horses. He tried a variety of methods.’

‘I would be most grateful for your inside information, as it were.’

‘A pleasure, Mr Pollock. Tell me, what does the fellow wear?’

‘I’ve often wondered about that, now you mention it. He always wears long jackets — smoking jacket, Norfolk jacket with very deep pockets, that sort of thing.’

‘And is there a certain amount of fiddling about with handkerchiefs, cigar lighters maybe, helpings of snuff?’

‘There is sometimes, not all the time. Why do you ask?’

‘If you’re quick-fingered, you could whip the pack of cards you’re about to deal into your right-hand pocket and substitute another one from your left. Do you see?’

‘I do indeed.’

‘Then there’s the handkerchief on the floor midway between your chair and the chair next to you, either on the right or the left. You might be able to see your opponents’ cards — only for a second, but long enough if you have a good memory.’

‘He has an excellent memory, but I don’t recall seeing that one in action.’

‘Well-polished cigarette cases, perhaps?’

Johnny produced a handsome cigarette case from his breast pocket and gave it a quick polish.

‘Do you have a pack of cards anywhere about the place, Mr Pollock?’

Mr Pollock did. Johnny was still polishing his cigarette case.

‘Now then, Mr Pollock, this is my best bet — it’s what brought down the man in Simla in the end. It only works on my deal, you understand, one hand in four. You keep up a flow of information as you go. And you place your cigarette case, which you have been fiddling with all evening, more or less in the centre of the table.’

‘I see. Off you go.’

‘J. Hobbs, W. Rhodes, R. H. Spooner,’ Johnny began a recital of the England Test team due to play Australia at Lord’s in the next few days, dealing the cards as fast as he could, but looking not at Mr Pollock or imaginary partners to the left or right, but at the reflection in the heavily polished case, ‘C. B. Fry, P. F. Warner, F. R. Foster, nearly at the end now, F. E. Woolley, J. W. Hearne, E. J. Smith.’

Johnny pocketed the cigarette case with a flourish. ‘I can tell you, Mr Pollock, you have four spades to the king, three small clubs, two diamonds to the ten and four clubs to the ace, king, jack and two.’

Henry Pollock picked up his cards. They were exactly as Johnny had said. ‘My God, Mr Fitzgerald, you’re a miracle worker. So that’s how he did it! I remember a well-polished silver cigarette case from the last time we played.’

‘Buy yourself a well-polished one, Mr Pollock, and play him at his own game. Maybe all four players should have polished cases and do the same thing each time a hand is dealt. It could be a sweet revenge.’

‘I’m obliged, Mr Fitzgerald, it’s more than useful in my profession to know how a man cheats at cards.’

‘I’ve just come back from Blenheim Palace, Lord Powerscourt! It’s fantastic! Amazing!’

Michel Fokine burst into the Powerscourt drawing room before Rhys had time to announce him.

‘The stage for the orchestra is nearly finished. They’ve been laying long floorboards down on top of a whole series of staves sunk into the bed of the lake. There’s a couple of musicians going up tomorrow to test out the acoustics.’

‘Is Monsieur Diaghilev there in person, Monsieur Fokine?’

‘He’s there every other day, I would say. He cheered them all up when he told them the Venetians sank one million piles into the Grand Canal to build Santa Maria della Salute after some plague or other. I think there are two major churches in Venice built to commemorate victims of two different plagues. I sometimes think he’s back in his beloved Venice, organizing for a troupe of dancers to perform in the middle of the Grand Canal. They’re even going to have a bridge of boats to carry the performers onto their stages, like they do at the Feast of the Redentore when the great and good walk across the water to the church. The steward fellow is in charge of the whole thing. He seems to have even picked up a couple of words of Russian. He can say thank you very much and please don’t drop that on my toe.’

‘And all the rest of it? The caterers and so on?’ asked Powerscourt.

‘Fine, just fine. They’ve organized the local printers in Oxford to print little advertisements to go all over the place. Diaghilev suggested that they print a short guide to the ballets on the lake, so the audience can work out what’s happening on stage. Only one person has fallen in so far — and he was carrying a very heavy beam — but he’s all right.’

‘And the seating?’

‘That’s going according to plan,’ said Fokine, abandoning his seat by the fire and pacing up and down the room again.

‘The people of Woodstock, my lord, have entered into the spirit of the thing with a vengeance. The hotels have ordered extra caviar from Paris and lashings of vodka. One of them is planning to roast a couple of wild boar in their courtyard. The bakers have got hold of recipes for blinis, those little Russian pancakes, and are selling them in hundreds — a trial run, perhaps, for the big day. And beetroot for borscht, that Russian soup. I’m told you can’t buy a beetroot within a fifty-mile radius from Woodstock.’

‘And the big event in the evening in the Great Hall? I hope nobody’s forgotten about that.’

‘They wouldn’t be able to, my lord. The Duke himself is taking a great interest in that, and in the affair by the lake.’

‘Well, he is paying for it.’

‘True enough, but every time he goes out on a tour of inspection, Mrs Duke — that’s what the steward calls her when she’s out of earshot, my lord — is by his side, urging him back to the big house. She spends a lot of time looking around — one of the dancers said she’s checking to see if any photographers have arrived yet.’