Holt shrugged, “If it’ll amuse you.” He signaled to Wade. The latter brought the bridge table into the middle of the room, but seated himself so that he was closest to the door. The others got chairs and sat down around the little table.
“Dollar limit?” Dunning asked, looking at Peel.
Peel brought out his roll, in the neighborhood of a hundred and twenty dollars. “What’s the matter with table stakes?”
Dunning showed his teeth. “All right, sport. Cut for deal…” he spread out the cards, face down and all five drew a card. Marcy Holt drew an ace and the deal.
He shuffled the cards quickly and expertly and put them down in front of Beagle for the cut. He dealt first to Peel, on his left, then to Johnny Wade, then Dunning, Beagle and finally to himself.
“Dealer’s choice,” he said, “but this one’s straight poker, jacks or better to open.”
Peel looked at his cards, discovered that he had a pair of queens, a ten, a king and a seven spot. “Pass,” he said.
Johnny Wade studied his cards, hesitated, then passed.
“Pass,” said Dunning.
Beagle passed.
“Open for a dollar,” Holt announced.
“I’ll stay for the fun,” Peel said and threw in a dollar. Johnny Wade hesitated again and finally called.
“I’ll stay,” said Dunning.
“So will I,” Beagle announced, “and I’ll raise it two.”
“Layin’ back, eh?” Wade sneered.
“I’m raising on prospects,” Beagle said smugly.
“Fine,” Holt said, “I’ll just see what you think of your prospects and raise you ten.”
“Hey!” exclaimed Peel.
“Costs you twelve dollars,” Wade told him, “and maybe I’ll raise too.”
Peel looked sharply at Wade, then put up his twelve dollars. Wade studied his cards again and thought better of raising. He merely called.
Dunning put up the money, but did not seem happy about it. “I’ll just call,” said Beagle.
“Cards?”
Peel tossed his seven spot to the center of the table. “One!”
“Oh, wise guy,” said Johnny Wade. He squeezed his cards. “Two.”
“Holding an ace for a kicker,” Peel said, “or maybe you’ve already got three of a kind?”
“Cost you money to find out.”
“Three,” Dunning said, sourly.
Then came Beagle. “I think I’ll play these.”
“Dealer takes two,” Holt announced, “and since I’m the openers, I’ll bet twenty dollars.”
“I think you’re all bluffing,” Peel said, “I’ll call the twenty and…” he counted his money, “…raise it one hundred and six dollars… all I’ve got.”
“Goddamit!” snarled Johnny Wade. “What kind of poker do you call that?” he glared at Peel, then shifted the glare to Beagle. “You two in cahoots?”
“Aren’t you three?” Peel demanded.
Johnny Wade shoved back his chair and started to his feet.
“Johnny!” said Holt.
Johnny sank back into his chair. “All right,” he said, thickly, “you better have them, because I’m calling…”
Dunning threw his cards into the discards. “Beats me.”
Beagle looked across at Peel. “Well, Joe, it looks like it’s between you and me.”
“Oh, no, I’m here, too,” Holt reminded.
“In that case, I’ll call Joe’s hundred and six dollars and…” he counted out the balance of his money, “raise you — and Johnny — another hundred and two. My pile.”
“So you did hold out on me yesterday, Otis!” Peel accused.
“Just a hundred.”
“I’ll call,” Marcy Holt said.
Johnny Wade smote the bridge table with the palm of his hand. “Damned if I will.” He turned up his cards savagely. “Three lousy little sixes!”
“Too bad you didn’t call,” Beagle said, pleasantly. “Because I’ve only got a pair of aces.”
Johnny swore violently. Marcy Holt shook his head.
“Mr. Beagle, you’ve got more than I thought you had.” He turned up his cards. “I’ve only got my openers… jacks…”
Beagle began to reach for the money. Peel thrust out a hand. “Wait a minute, Otis, you get Holt’s hundred and two, that’s all… I’ve got two pairs — kings and queens.” He grinned. “I went in with a pair of queens and held a king and a ten for a kicker. I drew another king.”
“Your poker,” Dunning said, “is almost as good as your pool.”
Beagle was counting out his two hundred and four dollars. “Been playing pool with Joe, Mr. Dunning? He cut his eyeteeth on a pool cue.”
“That’s what I discovered.”
Peel finished shuffling the cards and placed them on the table for Holt to cut. “A little low-ball, gentleman?”
“No!” roared Johnny Wade. He banged the bridge table with his fist and the cards flew up into the air and scattered over the table. Some of them went to the floor.
Otis Beagle stooped to pick up the cards from the floor.
“Keep your hands on the table!” Johnny Wade cried, whipping out his gun.
An automobile horn honked outside, then again. Dunning’s gun appeared in his hand. Johnny Wade rushed to the door, popped out. Marcy Holt also got up, but did not produce a gun.
Dunning moved to the door, looked out and turning, nodded to Marcy Holt.
“The boss,” said Joe Peel.
Feet crunched on the gravel outside, then scraped on stone and Johnny Wade re-entered the room. Behind him came…
“George Byram,” Peel said, calmly.
Byram came into the room. “So, you’re here, too.”
Last, but not least, came — Mary Lou Tanner, Wilbur Jolliffe’s secretary.
“And I thought you threw me over for a Marine, six feet tall,” Peel said, shaking his head.
“I don’t like wise guys,” Mary Lou retorted.
George Byram surveyed first Peel, then Otis Beagle.
“What am I going to do with you fellows?”
Peel looked at Otis Beagle and blinked. The big fellow had his cane. During the commotion attending the arrival of the newcomers he had somehow crossed the room and secured possession of it.
He pointed the cane at Byram.
“That’s your problem, not mine.”
George Byram sighed. “Why couldn’t you have taken the thousand dollars and left town? In a month we could have cleaned up this business and then nobody would have been hurt.”
“Except Wilbur Jolliffe,” Peel reminded, “he was already hurt when you sent around the thousand.”
Byram fixed Peel with a cold glance. “Wilbur committed suicide.”
Peel laughed. “You don’t really think the police swallowed that, do you?”
“What difference does it make?” Beagle cut in. “There’s still that girl — Helen Gray.”
“Oh,” Peel said, “it looks like Byram’s going to let our friend Johnny take the rap for that, all by his-self…”
“You got another think coming,” Johnny Wade snarled, “because I didn’t do it. That was you — or fat stuff here. In fact, I gonna personally take apart whichever one of you…”
“Now wait a minute,” exclaimed Peel. “We seem to have a difference of opinion… Let’s get together.” He pointed at Byram. “You say Johnny killed Helen Gray…”
“I do not!” Byram declared emphatically. “Helen Gray was shot and I don’t think Johnny would have to shoot a woman.” He glowered at Peel. “Johnny’s got the right of it… you disposed of Helen Gray. You were at her apartment yesterday morning. Johnny picked you up outside and an hour later she was found…”
Johnny Wade came toward Peel, a ferocious gleam in his eyes. Then Otis Beagle stepped forward, thrusting his cane between Peel and Johnny Wade.