“They say the earth is round My madness offends.”’
‘I wouldn’t be a seller of vacuum cleaners if I were the crazy type.’
“I say that night is day And I’ve no axe to grind.”’
‘Haven’t you any more loyalty than I have?’
‘You are loyal.’
‘Who to?’
‘To Milly. I don’t care a damn about men who are loyal to the people who pay them, to organizations…. I don’t think even my country means all that much. There are many countries in our blood, aren’t there, but only one person. Would the world be in the mess it is if we were loyal to love and not to countries?’
He said, ‘I suppose they could take away my passport.’
‘Let them try.’
‘All the same,’ he said, ‘it’s the end of a job for both of us.’
Chapter 5
‘Come in, Captain Segura.’
Captain Segura gleamed. His leather gleamed, his buttons gleamed, and there was fresh pomade upon his hair. He was like a well cared-for weapon. He said, ‘I was so pleased when Milly brought the message.’
‘We have a lot to talk over. Shall we have a game first? Tonight I am going to beat you.’
‘I doubt it, Mr Wormold. I do not yet have to show you filial respect.’ Wormold unfolded the draughts board. Then he arranged on the board twenty-four miniature bottles of whisky: twelve Bourbon confronted twelve Scotch.
‘What is this, Mr Wormold?’
‘An idea of Dr Hasselbacher’s. I thought we might have one game to his memory. When you take a piece you drink it.’
‘A shrewd idea, Mr Wormold. As I am the better player I drink more.’
‘And then I catch up with you -in the drinks also.’
‘I think I would prefer to play with ordinary pieces.’
‘Are you afraid of being beaten, Segura? Perhaps you have a weak head.’ ‘My head is as strong as another man’s, but sometimes with drink I lose my temper. I do not wish to lose my temper with my future father.’ ‘Milly won’t marry you, Segura.’
‘That is what we have to discuss.’
‘You play with the Bourbon. Bourbon is stronger than Scotch. I shall be handicapped.’
‘That is not necessary. I will play with the Scotch.’
Segura turned the board and sat down.
‘Why not take off your belt, Segura? You’ll be more comfortable.’ Segura laid his belt and holster on the ground beside him ‘I will fight you unarmed,’ he said jovially.
‘Do you keep your gun loaded?’
‘Of course. The kind of enemies I possess do not give me a chance to load.’
‘Have you found the murderer of Hasselbacher?’
‘No. He does not belong to the criminal class.’
‘Carter?’
‘After what you said, naturally I checked. He was with Dr Braun at the time. And we cannot doubt the word of the President of the European Traders’ Association, can we?’
‘So Dr Braun is on your list?’
‘Naturally. And now to play.’
There is an imaginary line in draughts, as every player knows, that crosses the board diagonally from corner to corner. It is the line of defence. Whoever gains control of that line takes the initiative; when the line is crossed the attack has begun. With an insolent ease Segura established himself with a Defiance opening, then moved a bottle across through the centre of the board. He didn’t hesitate between moves; he hardly looked at the board. It was Wormold who paused and thought.
‘Where is Milly?’ Segura asked.
‘Out.’
‘And your charming secretary?’
‘With Milly.’
‘You are already in difficulties,’ Captain Segura said. He struck at the base of Wormold’s defence and captured a bottle of Old Taylor. ‘The first drink,’ he said and drained it. Wormold recklessly began a pincer movement in reply and almost at once lost a bottle of Old Forester this time. A few beads of sweat came out on Segura’s forehead and he cleared his throat after drinking. He said, ‘You play recklessly, Mr Wormold.’ He indicated the board. ‘You should have taken that piece.’
‘You can huff me,’ Wormold said.
For the first time Segura hesitated. He said, ‘No. I prefer you to take my piece.’ It was an unfamiliar whisky called Cairngorm and it found a raw spot on Wormold’s tongue.
They played for a while with exaggerated care, neither taking a piece.
‘Is Carter still at the Seville-Biltmore?’ Wormold asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you keep him under observation?’
‘No. What is the use?’
Wormold was clinging to the edge of the board with what was left of his foiled pincer movement, but he had lost his base. He made a false move which enabled Segura to thrust a protected piece into square 22 and there was no way left of saving his piece on 25 and preventing Segura from reaching the back row and gaining a king.
‘Careless,’ Segura said.
‘I can make it an exchange.’
‘But I have the king.’
Segura drank a Four Roses and Wormold at the other end of the board took a dimpled Haig. Segura said, ‘It is a hot evening.’ He crowned his king with a scrap of paper. Wormold said, ‘If I capture him I have to drink two bottles. I have spares in the cupboard.’
‘You have thought everything out,’ Segura said. Was it with sourness? He played now with great caution. It became difficult to tempt him to a capture and Wormold began to realize the fundamental weakness of his plan, that it is possible for a good player to defeat an opponent without capturing his pieces. He took one more of Segura’s and was trapped. He was left without a move.
Segura wiped the sweat from his forehead.
‘You see,’ he said, ‘you cannot win.’
‘You must give me my revenge.’
‘This Bourbon is strong .85 proof.’
‘We will switch the whiskies.’
This time Wormold was black, with the Scotch. He had replaced the three Scotch he had drunk and the three Bourbon. He started with the Old Fourteenth opening, which is apt to lead to a long-drawn-out game, for he knew now that his only hope was to make Segura lose his caution and play for pieces. Again he tried to be huffed, but Segura would not accept the move. It was as though Segura had recognized that his real opponent was not Wormold but his own head. He even threw away a piece with no tactical advantage and forced Wormold to take it -a Hiram Walker. Wormold realized that his own head was in danger; the mixture of Scotch and Bourbon was a deadly one. He said, ‘Give me a cigarette.’ Segura leant forward to light it and Wormold was aware of the effort he had to make to keep the lighter steady. It wouldn’t snap and he cursed with unnecessary violence. Two more drinks and I have him, Wormold thought. But it was as difficult to lose a piece to an unwilling antagonist as to capture one. Against his own will the battle was swaying to his side. He drank one Harper’s and made a king. He said with false joviality, ‘The game’s mine, Segura. Do you want to pack up?’
Segura scowled at the board. It was obvious that he was torn in two, between the desire to win and the desire to keep his head, but his head was clouded by anger as well as whisky. He said, ‘This is a pig’s way of playing checkers.’ Now that his opponent had a king, he could no longer play for a bloodless victory, for the king had freedom of movement. This time when he sacrificed a Kentucky Tavern it was a genuine sacrifice and he swore at the pieces. ‘The damned shapes,’ he said, ‘they are all different. Cut-glass, whoever heard of a checker-piece of cut-glass?’ Wormold felt his own brain fogged with the Bourbon, but the moment for victory and defeat had come. Segura said, ‘You moved my piece.’
‘No, that’s Red Label. Mine.’
‘How in God’s name can I tell the difference between Scotch and Bourbon?