‘Of course I’m aware that not one of you needs two million francs to spend on yourselves. You are all rich enough to give the money away - though I wonder if any of you will.’
‘It does make a certain difference,’ Belmont said, ‘that our names are not on the cheques.’
‘Tax wise,’ Doctor Fischer said, ‘I felt sure it would be more convenient. But you know better about such things than I do.’
‘I was not thinking of that. I was thinking of human dignity.’
‘Ah, yes, I understand you really mean that it’s more difficult to feel insulted by a cheque for two million Francs than one for two thousand.’
‘I would have phrased it differently,’ Belmont said.
For the first time the Divisionnaire spoke. He said, ‘ I am not a financier like Mr Kips or Monsieur Belmont. I am only a simple soldier, but I cannot see the difference between accepting Caviare and accepting a cheque.’
‘Bravo, General,’ Mrs Montgomery said. ‘It was just what I was going to say myself.’
Mr Kips said, ‘I made no objection. I only asked a question. ‘
‘I, too,’ Belmont said. ‘As our names are not on the cheques… I was only trying to be wise for all of us - especially for Mr Deane who is English. It’s my duty as his tax consultant.’
‘You advise me to accept?’ Deane asked.
‘Under the circumstances, yes.’
‘You can leave the bran tub where it is, Albert,’ said Doctor Fischer.
‘There is something unexplained,’ Mr Kips said. ‘You have mentioned six crackers and five pieces of paper. Is this because Mr Jones is not taking part?’
‘Mr Jones will have the same chance as any of you. In turn you will go to the bran tub and fish for your cracker - you will pull it while you stand by the bran tub and then return to the table. That is to say if you return at all.’
‘What do you mean - if?’ Deane asked.
‘I suggest, before I answer your question, that you all take another glass of port. No, no, please, Deane. I told you before - not anti-clockwise.’
‘You are making us quite tiddly,, Mrs Montgomery said.
Deane said, ‘You haven’t answered Mr Kips’s question. Why only five pieces of paper?’
‘I drink to the health of all of you,’ Doctor Fischer said, raising his glass. ‘Even if you refuse to draw your cracker you will deserve your dinner, for you are helping me in my last piece of research. ‘
‘What research?’
‘Into the greed of the rich.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Dear Doctor Fischer. It’s one of his little jokes,’ Mrs Montgomery said. ‘Drink up, Mr Deane.’
They all drank. I could tell they were more than a little intoxicated - it was only I who seemed hopelessly condemned to the sadness of sobriety however much I drank. I left my glass empty. I was determined to drink no more before I was at home alone and I could drink myself to death if I chose.
‘Jones doesn’t drink our toast. Never mind. Tonight all our rules are relaxed. I have for a long time wanted to test the strength of your greed. You have submitted to a great deal of humiliation and you have accepted it for the sake of the prize which followed. Our Porridge Party was merely the final test. Your greed was greater than any humiliation that I had the imagination to invent.’
‘There was no humiliation, you dear man. It was just your wonderful sense of humour. We enjoyed it all as much as you did.’
‘Now I want to see whether your greed can even overcome your fear - and so I have organized what I would call - a Bomb Party.’
‘What the hell do you mean, Bomb Party?’ Deane’s drinks had made him aggressive.
‘The sixth cracker contains a small charge, lethal probably, which will be set off by one of you when he pulls the cracker. That is why the bran tub is set at a good distance from our table, and that is why the crackers are well buried and the bran tub covered by a lid in case of a spark landing there from one of the bonfires. I may add that it would be useless - indeed perhaps dangerous - for you to crinkle your crackers. They all hold the same type of metal container, but in only one container is there what I call the bomb. In the others are the cheques.’
‘He’s joking,’ Mrs Montgomery told us.
‘Perhaps I am. You will know by the end of the party whether I am or not. Isn’t the gamble worth while? Death is by no means certain, even if you choose the dangerous cracker, and I give you my word of honour that the cheques anyway are really there. For two million francs.’
‘But if someone was killed,’ Belmont said, winking rapidly, ‘why, it would be murder.’
‘Oh, not murder. I have you all as witnesses. A form of Russian roulette. Not even suicide. I am sure Mr Kips will agree with me. Anyone who doesn’t wish to play should leave the table at once.’
‘I am certainly not going to play,’ said Mr Kips. He looked around for support but he found none. ‘I refuse to be a witness. There will be a great scandal, Doctor Fischer. It’s the least you can expect.’
He rose from the table and, as he paced his back-bent way between the bonfires towards the house, I was again reminded of a little black seven. It seemed odd that a man so handicapped should be the first to refuse the risk of death.
‘There are five chances to one in your favour,’ Doctor Fischer told him as he passed.
‘I have never gambled for money,’ Mr Kips said. ‘I consider it highly immoral.’
In a strange way his words seemed to lighten the atmosphere. The Divisionnaire said, ‘I don’t see any immorality in gambling. I have passed many a happy week at Monte Carlo. I once won three times consecutively on 19.’
‘Sometimes I have been across the lake to the casino in Evian,, Belmont said. ‘Never high stakes. But I am by no means a puritan in these matters.’ It was as if they had quite forgotten the bomb. Perhaps it was only I and Mr Kips who believed that Doctor Fischer had spoken the truth.
‘Mr Kips took you too seriously,’ Mrs Montgomery said. ‘He has no sense of humour. ‘
‘What will happen to Mr Kips’s cheque,’ Belmont asked, ‘when his cracker remains unpicked?’
‘I shall divide it between you. Unless of course it contains the charge. You would hardly want me to divide that.’
‘Another four hundred thousand francs each,’ Belmont calculated quickly.
‘No. More than that. One of you will probably not have survived.’
‘Survived!’ Deane exclaimed. Perhaps he had been too drunk to take in the story of the explosive cracker.
‘Of course,’ Doctor Fischer said, ‘all may very well end on a happy note. The sixth cracker may be the one that contains the bomb.’
‘Are you seriously saying there’s a bloody bomb in one of the crackers?’
‘Two million five hundred thousand francs,’ Mrs Montgomery murmured - she had obviously corrected Belmont’s figures and she was certainly dreaming of what Doctor Fischer had described as a happy ending.
‘You, Deane, I am sure, will not refuse the little gamble. I remember how in The Beaches of Dunkirk you bravely volunteered for a suicidal action. You were splendid - at least you were splendidly directed. You very nearly won an Oscar, didn’t you?.. I will go, sir, if I may go alone.” That was the great line I shall always remember. Who wrote it?’
‘I wrote it myself. Not the script writer or the director. It came to me suddenly like that, on the set.’
‘Congratulations, my boy. Now here’s your big chance to go to the bran tub alone.’
I never expected Deane to go. He stood up and drained his port, and I thought he was going to follow Mr Kips. But perhaps in drink he really believed he was back on a film set and an imaginary Dunkirk. He touched the side of his head as though he were adjusting a non-existent beret, but while he was thinking himself back into his old role Mrs Montgomery acted. She left the table and ran across the snow to the bran tub crying, ‘Ladies first,’ knocked off the lid and plunged her hand into the bran. Perhaps she had calculated that the odds would never be as favourable again.