Alexander Agis - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, Vol. 63, No. 2. Whole No. 363, February 1974

We were just about getting ready to leave when I spotted Carol Ferguson coming toward us. She was wearing a long hostess-type gown and had pinned her hair up in a stylish knot, but her smile was as friendly and bright as ever.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she said. “Enjoying yourselves?”

“Well, yes,” the Major said.

She caught the undertone in his voice and cocked her head to one side. “What’s the matter?” she said. “Don’t tell me they’ve wiped you out already?”

“No,” the Major said. “But I was hoping you’d have some card tables. Poker’s more my game than either dice or roulette.”

“Sorry,” she said. “We can’t offer you poker. Not enough action for the house. All we have in the way of cards is faro.”

The Major’s head came up smartly. “All?” he said. “Why, I didn’t think anybody played faro any more.”

“We do here,” she said. “It’s Mr. Horsley’s specialty.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of the game,” I said.

“Well, my boy, it’s time you did,” the Major said, “because faro’s the Game That Won the West and even when I was a boy it was the game to play. So much so, it was practically an American institution. But then like the buffalo and the nickel cigar it just seemed to vanish. Until today. Oh, I tell you, my boy — Andrews — we just can’t pass this by without giving it a whirl.”

Miss Ferguson looked at him dubiously. “Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” she said. “It’s a pretty high-stakes game and I wouldn’t want you to get in over your head.”

“Don’t you worry about that, my dear,” the Major said. “I learned to swim a long time ago just so I could go in over my head.”

“Well, all right,” she said. “They keep moving it from place to place for security. Tonight it’s at Room 622 at the Madison House Hotel. I’ll phone ahead to let them know you’re coming.”

“Fine,” the Major said. He turned back to us, beaming. “Well, Tom — Andrews — shall we?”

Andrews shrugged. “I’ve come this far,” he said. “I’ll go all the way with you.”

The door to Room 622 opened as far as the safety chain would permit and an eye and half a face peered through the crack. The Major held up Carol Ferguson’s card for inspection. The man behind the door nodded, then opened up to let us enter.

It was a typical hotel room, except that the bed had been pushed to one side to make space for a table around which eight men were gathered. They all turned to give us a quick once-over as we came in and there was a flurry of mumbled introductions. But the only names that stuck were Jensen, the smooth-faced youth who had let us in, and Thorkill, the dealer.

The latter was a burly man in his late forties with the battered face and bulging muscles of the professional boxer. But for all his bulk there was no musclebound clumsiness about him. His thick-fingered hands cut and shuffled and dealt with surprising dexterity.

In some respects, though, his skill was wasted. Because, American institution or not, faro is really a simple game and, unless you’re involved in the betting, about as interesting to watch as dominoes.

All thirteen spades from ace to king are laid out on the table and the players place their bets on them to indicate whether they think a specific card will win or lose. When all bets are down, the dealer deals two cards face up off the top of the deck. The first is a “loser,” the second a “winner.” The house pays those who bet against the loser or on the winner, and collects all other bets. And then the whole thing starts all over again.

It has only one advantage — if advantage is the right word. It’s fast and you can win or lose a lot of money in an extremely short time. As witness: it took the Major exactly fifteen minutes longer to lose the $300 in chips he bought than it had taken me to lose my $10 back at the main gambling room.

“Well,” the Major said, pushing his chair back, “I’m afraid that cleans me out.”

“Too bad,” Thorkill said dispassionately. “But nobody goes away from my table with nothing to show for his time. Jensen, take the gentlemen downstairs and buy them a drink. Then come right back up. I need you to spell me while I run over to the main house.”

“Yes, sir,” Jensen said and ushered us out.

Riding down in the elevator, I said, “That was a pretty expensive exercise in nostalgia, Major.”

“That it was, my boy,” the Major said. “However, $300 won’t break me — although I won’t deny I’d rather have the money than the experience.”

Jensen shifted his feet nervously. “I’m taking a chance opening my mouth,” he said. “But you did Carol a good turn this afternoon, and Carol and I — well, I just can’t stand by and see a friend of hers cheated without saying something.”

The elevator doors slid open and we stepped out into the lobby. “Cheated?” the Major said.

Jensen nodded. “Thorkill was palming cards. He cheated you blind.”

“I see,” the Major said. He sighed. “Well, thank you for telling me anyway.”

“ ‘Thank you for telling me’!” Andrews said. “Is that all you’re going to do about it?”

“I’m afraid there’s not much else I can do,” the Major said. “If we try to face Thorkill with no more proof than we have, he’ll simply laugh in our faces, and the net result will be to get our young friend here in trouble.”

“That’s exactly right,” Jensen said. “And if you go to the law — well, Bob Horsley has the law in his back pocket and Thorkill is Horsley’s right-hand man.”

“So he gets away with it,” Andrews said bitterly,

“Well, maybe not,” Jensen said. “I can’t just give you your money back, Major. But I can do this. When I go back up, I’m going to be replacing Thorkill as dealer, and I can palm cards with the best of ’em. You come and get back in the game after he leaves and I’ll fix it so you can win your $300 back. After that, it’s up to you. You can quit then or you can continue to play with the understanding that as long as I’m dealing it’ll be an honest game after that.”

“Major,” I said, “don’t do it. It sounds too much like a come-on.”

Jensen flushed. “I made my offer,” he said, “and it stands. But if you want to kiss your $300 goodbye, it’s okay with me.”

The Major was silent for a long moment. Then he said, “I’m afraid I’m out of cash. Would you accept a check?”

“Under the circumstances,” Jensen said, “sure. But you’d better give it to me down here. I don’t want to set a precedent by letting some of the others upstairs see it.”

“Of course,” the Major said. Then they went together to the hotel desk to ask for a blank check and stood there for a few moments while the Major filled it out. Then Jensen took the check and went over to the elevator. The Major came back to where Andrews and I had remained standing.

“You just made a big mistake, Major,” I said.

“Perhaps so, my boy,” the Major said. “But nothing ventured, nothing gained. And I think you can trust the old Major to look out for himself.”

“I hope so,” I said. “But you’re sure not giving me much basis for trust.”

He just gave me a smug smile for reply. And not long afterward the elevator came down and Thorkill got out and strode past us. The Major let him get clear out of the building, then headed toward the elevator.

I turned to Andrews and spread my hands helplessly. “I hope I’m wrong about this,” I said. “But just in case I’m not, we’d better stick with him to make sure he doesn’t get burned too badly.”

Andrews nodded and followed the Major with me.

Jensen let us in as before, slipping the Major a stack of chips as he passed by. Then the Major took his former seat and play started in earnest.