Devil's Cub (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 2)

The Marquis shot him a look.

‘Dominic, how did this place grow to be so devilish vulgar?’

‘Hush, Charles, hush!’ said the Marquis. ‘You interrupt my dear friend. He is about to explain himself.’

The bluff man, who had as yet taken no part in the swiftly brewing quarrel, leaned over Mr Bowling’s vacant chair, and plucked at Quarles’s sleeve. ‘Hold your peace, man. You’re out of tune. Don’t play if you’re shy of the luck, but for God’s sake let’s have an end to this bickering.’

‘I’ll play,’ Mr Quarles said obstinately. ‘But I say it’s time another man took the bank!’

‘Lord, man, there’s a bet on! The bank stays with Vidal.’

‘Dominic,’ said Mr Fox plaintively. ‘Dominic, my dear fellow, I shall have to give up this place, positively I shall have to give it up now the herd has discovered it.’

My lord was still watching Quarles. ‘Patience, Charles, Mr Quarles don’t like to see the bank win. You should sympathise.’

Quarles started up. ‘I don’t like the way this game has gone, my lord,’ he said loudly, ‘and if you won’t give up the bank, I say give us fresh dice!’

His words brought about a sudden uneasy silence. Cholmondley tried to fill the breach, saying quickly: ‘Lord, you’re too drunk to know what you’re saying, Quarles. Let’s get on with the game.’

‘I think not.’ The voice came from the end of the table. The Marquis was leaning forward, his wineglass still in his hand. ‘So you don’t like the dice, eh?’

‘No, I don’t like them, curse you!’ Quarles shouted. ‘And I don’t like your high-handed ways, my lord. They won’t serve. I’ve sat three nights and seen you win –’

He got no further; the Marquis was up and had dashed the contents of his glass full in Quarles’s face. He was smiling now and his eyes blazed. ‘And that’s a waste of good wine,’ he said, and turned and said something to the waiter at his elbow. Mr Quarles, with the burgundy dripping down his front, sprang up and made a clumsy lunge at him. Cholmondley and Captain Wraxall, the bluff gentleman, forced him back.

‘Damn it, you asked for that!’ Cholmondley swore. ‘Take it back, you fool! We all know you’re drunk.’

The Marquis had resumed his seat. The waiter looked frightened, and whispered to him. My lord turned on him with something like a snarl, and the man fled.

Lord Rupert got up rather unsteadily. ‘Fiend seize it, the champagne’s got into my head!’ he said. But the sudden interlude seemed to have jerked him back to sobriety. ‘There’s been enough of this,’ he said authoritatively. ‘You be damned for a fool, Vidal. Can’t you see the fellow’s drunk?’

Lord Vidal laughed. ‘I’m drunk myself, Rupert, but I can tell when a man calls me cheat.’

‘Good God, my lord, you’ll never care for what’s said after the third bottle!’ cried Captain Wraxall.

Lord Cholmondley gave Mr Quarles’s arm a shake. ‘Take it back, man; you’re out of your senses.’

Mr Quarles wrenched himself free. ‘You’ll meet me for this, my lord!’ he roared.

‘Be sure I will,’ said the Marquis. ‘We’ll settle it now, my buck.’

Rupert took up the dice. ‘Break ’em,’ he said briefly. ‘Where’s that rogue Timothy? I want a hammer.’

Sir Horace Tremlett, he of the mincing speech, protested. ‘I vow it’s not necessary, my lard. We know my Lard Vidal, I believe. Break the dice? ’Pon my soul, sir, it’s to insult his lardship.’

‘To hell with that!’ said Rupert. ‘I’m breaking ’em, see? If they’re true, Quarles apologises. That’s fair, ain’t it?’

‘Ay, that’s the best,’ Captain Wraxall agreed.

Mr Quarles was wiping his face. ‘I say my lord will meet me! By God, I’ll not take a glass of wine in the face and say thank you for it!’

Cholmondley spoke in Lord Rupert’s ear. ‘It’s gone too far now. Rot that nephew of yours! What’s to do?’

‘Break the dice,’ Rupert said obstinately. ‘Can’t have it said an Alastair plays crooked.’

‘Oh, you’re as drunk as Vidal! Who’s to say so? Quarles will take it back when he’s sober if you can stop Vidal forcing it on now.’

The waiter had come back into the room carrying a flat case. With a scared look at the Marquis he laid this on the table. Vidal opened it, and it was to be seen that a brace of pistols lay within. ‘Take your choice,’ he said.