# Deuces Wild/Chapter 9

pp. 88–95

### IX
#### MONEY

“I NEVER saw you play such poor poker in all my life!” cried Jillson, as Forbes asked for his fifth hundred. “A ten-dollar limit, with deuces wild, and you open on two pair!”
“I keep forgetting,” replied Forbes, scowling. “You'll never get me into one of these dashed deuces wild again.”
“You always say that,” retorted Jillson.
“Well, I mean it this time. Besides, you fellows begin with two-call-four, and you swear it won't go any higher; and yet you boost 'er on the first straight-flush. And here's Crawffy holding five of a kind—five of a kind, gentlemen!—four times in the last half-hour.”
“What's on your mind, Mort?” asked Crawford. “You play a good hand, but you're off in judgment to-night,”
“It's my damned artistic temperament.” Forbes smiled lamely. “Two cards, please.”
Only five minutes to play; only five minutes. He wanted to be alone, to think it over, to make some plan. Old Crawffy! It simply wasn't possible. Yet, there was that unforgetable cut across the knuckles. To warn him without alarming him. Old Crawffy, the lovablest man alive ... a crook!
“What? Oh, you start 'er, Carlyle? Well, just for a change I'll boost her another blue one.”
“Call.”
“Four aces!” cried Forbes triumphantantly. “And what do I get for 'em? The ante and one lonesome bet. My luck!”
“Twelve o'clock, boys.” Jillson threw the decks to the floor. “Cash in. Chips for money, money for chips,”—droning the call of the professional gambler. He produced a tab and pencil and jotted down the losses and the winnings, taking particular care that these tallied with the advances from the bank. “Crawford, you old smooth guy, you win nine hundred and four dollars. I win ninety-six; just enough to pay for the whisky and tobacco and grub. I never yet heard of a host coming out on top of the game. It wouldn't look well.”
The five losers got out their check-books and made preparations to settle. Crawford's face seemed to grow old and care-worn.
“Jill,” he said, “got any cash? I'm sailing for Italy in the morning and won't have time to bother with checks.”
The losers made preparations to settle
Sailing for Italy! Forbes tore up three blanks before he succeeded in getting one filled out properly. Italy. Here was a solution to the whole dark business. He would write a letter to Crawford in Naples, telling him what he knew, and that he must return the jewels at once. They would never be traceable if sent by foreign parcels-post. Armitage and Hollister and Morris might have to pay duty again, but he doubted if they would make any trouble over that as long as they received the jewels intact. And all that comedy at safe-opening had been a mask; behind it had lain tragedy. The evidence of his own eyes; nothing else could have made him believe it.
He heard Jillson saying: “I believe I can fix you out.” He saw his host go to his safe and return with seven hundred. You always carry a roll, Wheedon. Let me have two hundred and I'll give you my check for it”
The matter was arranged, and Crawford put away the money. It hit Forbes like a blow between the eyes: Crawford asking for cash! A man whose income couldn't be the short side of two hundred thousand a year!
“Going along, Mort? Got my electric outside, and it won't be any trouble to drop you at the studio.” Crawford put his arm across the younger man's shoulders.
“Thanks. Glad to go with you.” To get the owner of that arm out of the reach of the police was all Forbes cared about. Once in the cab he said: “Crawffy, are you pinched for money?”
“Pinched for money?” The cab skidded, caught itself and went on. “Good Lord, no! What put that into your head?... Oh, I say, are you in need of a few hundreds? If this nine hundred...”
“No, I'm on easy street But I never saw you take cash before. You're always saying something about sending the check when a chap's ready.”
“I am going away, Mort, perhaps for a long, long time; perhaps ten years; perhaps I shan't come back. Who knows?”
“Is it a woman?”
Crawford laughed. “You're always seeing petticoats. No, Mort, not a woman, only a snow-image. Why can't you pack up and come along with me? Naples will be beautiful now.”
“Too many contracts. I haven't any income like you. I earn lots of money, but I have to keep on earning it And just now I'm in a hole for a new model. By the way, do you know the Mearsons who live below Jillson?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I'd give a thousand for a chance to draw her face, to have her pose for me.” What had Crawford's sensation been when he entered that room?
“Sorry I can't help you.”
“Why not?”
“The truth is, we are not on speaking terms.”
“Oh, well, I dare say Jillson might speak a word for me.”
“Good luck.” Then suddenly: “What have you got to do for half an hour?”
“Nothing.”
“Will you come with me while I do a trifling errand?” The bitterness of his tone did not escape Forbes.
“Surely.” Forbes saw the fifteen thousand in bills at the girl's feet, her dull misery over the loss of the box. Had Crawford believed her jewels to be in it? Oh, it was damnable!
They arrived presently before an apartment-building.
“We get out here,” said Crawford, shutting off the power. “Mort, every man has a curtain which he does not lift even to his best friend. To-night I'm going to lift a corner for you. It is because I want some one with me. I am in no mood for sentiment. Come.”
Forbes followed him. What was going to happen now?