“The same. And, incidentally, one of the cleverest card manipulators in a once lucrative but shady profession.”
“You mean this fellow Allen stacked the cards last night?” Markham was indignant.
“Only for the two hands you mentioned. Allen, if you happen to remember, was the dealer both times. I, who purposely sat on his right, was careful to cut the cards in accordance with his instructions. And you really must admit that no stricture can possibly attach to my deception, inasmuch as the only beneficiaries of Allen’s manipulations were Cleaver and Spotswoode. Although Allen did deal me four of a kind on each occasion, I lost heavily both times.”
Markham regarded Vance for a moment in puzzled silence, and then laughed good-naturedly.
“You appear to have been in a philanthropic mood last night. You practically gave Mannix a thousand dollars by permitting him to double the stakes on each draw. A rather quixotic procedure, I should say.”
“It all depends on one’s point of view, don’t y’ know. Despite my financial losses—which, by the bye, I have every intention of charging up to your office budget—the game was most successful. . . . Y’ see, I attained the main object of my evening’s entertainment.”
“Oh, I remember!” said Markham vaguely, as if the matter, being of slight importance, had for the moment eluded his memory. “I believe you were going to ascertain who murdered the Odell girl.”
“Amazin’ memory! . . . Yes, I let fall the hint that I might be able to clarify the situation to-day.”
“And whom am I to arrest?”
Vance took a drink of coffee and slowly lit a cigarette.