If all his hands were going to be as
strong as this first one he saw that there was disaster ahead. He could
not help winning.
Mrs. Rastall-Retford, who had dealt the first hand, made a most
improper diamond declaration. Her son unfilially doubled, and, Eve
having chicane--a tragedy which her partner evidently seemed to
consider could have been avoided by the exercise of ordinary common
sense--Peter and his partner, despite Peter's best efforts, won the
game handsomely.
The son of the house dealt the next hand. Eve sorted her cards
listlessly. She was feeling curiously tired. Her brain seemed dulled.
This hand, as the first had done, went all in favour of the two men.
Mr. Rastall-Retford won five tricks in succession, and, judging from
the glitter in his mild eye, was evidently going to win as many more as
he possibly could. Mrs. Rastall-Retford glowered silently. There was
electricity in the air.
The son of the house led a club. Eve played a card mechanically.
"Have you no clubs, Miss Hendrie?"
Eve started, and looked at her hand.
"No," she said.
Mrs. Rastall-Retford grunted suspiciously.
Not long ago, in Westport, Connecticut, U.S.A., a young man named
Harold Sperry, a telephone worker, was boring a hole in the wall of a
house with a view to passing a wire through it.
Pages:
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78