“Don’t worry, partner, I know we ain’t. Still, it’s tempting.”
“It certainly is.” Jack surveyed the room. “‘A foole and his monie be soone at debate, which after with sorrow repents him too late.’”
“Shakespeare?”
“Thomas Tusser.”
“Never heard of him. But it sounds like he figured out how to fleece some rich fools in his day.”
“Not exactly. Tusser cared more about hard work and frugality.”
Brandt scoffed. “Seems like he could’ve put his brain to better use.”
“Speaking of fools,” Jack said, “let’s go find our man.”
“I bet my life he’ll be at the faro tables,” Brandt said.
They moved through the room, weaving past crowded tables and navigating a haze of smoke.
“There he is.” Brandt stopped several feet from a conglomerate of tables, where men gathered around playing faro. “Left side, back row. He’s the tall, ginger fella.”
Jack studied his target. The man stood with a drink in one hand and fiddled with a stack of coins with the other. He appeared disheveled as though he’d lost several nights’ sleep, and he’d clearly neglected to shave or change his clothing.
Oh man! You’re in deep trouble, aren’t you?
“Get a drink and wait for me in the gentlemen’s sitting room,” Jack instructed Brandt. “I don’t want him to see us together yet.”
Brandt made his way out of the gambling room, and Jack strode to the faro table. He stood behind Percival Jebkin, pretending to be a casual observer. The man smelled of fear—Jack knew the smell well. He’d encountered it many times and in many different situations, but whenever he smelled it on wealthy men who’d gambled away their money, businesses, and estates, he felt nothing short of contempt.
He’d won a substantial portion of his wealth from such careless men. But the money hadn’t come easily. He’d depended on his wits to survive, and he’d used his brains and cunning to become the best. Only those handed money for doing nothing were stupid enough to gamble it away while their brains marinated in spirits. When he gambled, he stayed sharp and only gave the impression he’d been drinking.
The dealer turned over the cards—two of diamonds first and queen of diamonds second. Percival’s face crumbled as the dealer reached for his coins, which lay on the losing two of diamonds. Jack grinned inwardly. The fool picked up the remainder of his coins to bet again. This time, his hand hovered over the queen.
Jack leaned forward and whispered, “Not the queen! Put your money on the ace.”
Percival turned and peered at Jack through puffy, red-rimmed eyes. “Who are you?” he slurred.
“No one in particular.” Jack restrained himself from stepping back to escape the stench of the man’s alcohol-drenched breath. “Only an observer.”
Percival shrugged and turned back to the table. His hand hovered over the queen of diamonds before jerking to the ace of diamonds. He plunked down his coins and drained his glass.
Jack smirked.
Once all the players had placed their bets, the dealer extracted two cards from the faro box. First, he turned over a five of spades, and then he turned over an ace. Percival whooped in the air. He’d doubled his money.
Jack clapped Percival on the back. The fool didn’t even question why a stranger had decided to help him. Such was the smell of desperation. After a few wins, the clerk trusted him completely and bet all his money on the high card. When the dealer turned over a king first, Percival dropped his head in his hands and stumbled backward.
“I’m ruined,” he moaned.
“It can’t be all bad,” Jack said. “You only played a few coins. You didn’t lose much at all.”
“It’s all I had! I was trying to regain some of my losses from yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” Jack feigned innocence. “How much did you lose yesterday?”
“Fifteen hundred pounds, and I borrowed another two hundred from the club today.”
“You owe the club fifteen hundred pounds, and they let you borrow more?”
