"Jake Smarley!" sneered Grease. "A flash in the pan! A guy who couldn't deliver. We were boobs to join up with him!"
Banker Dreeb did not fully agree. His solemn face was thoughtful. At last,
he spoke dryly:
"Why blame Smarley? He worked the game as well as he could. It just happened that Melbrun outfoxed him."
"Yeah?" Clip Zelber put the sharp query. "Smarley didn't know the cash box
was a dummy, did he?"
"No," admitted Banker, "I guess he didn't."
"Then what did he drop it for?" snapped Clip. "I'll tell you why. Because he was yellow! He met up with The Shadow, and he couldn't stand the gaff.
Smarley, the bigshot! We were lugs to waste a bunch of good trigger men helping
that guy."
Outvoted two to one, Banker became silent. Both Grease and Clip continued to gripe. Three days had passed since the raid at Melbrun's. The whole thing had been a fluke. The only luck lay in the fact that their own parts in the crime lay undiscovered. At least, they had managed to cover their tracks, but that was small comfort.
They needed cash, and said so. The argument was one that Banker could not dispute. Plucking a newspaper from a table, Grease shoved it under Banker's nose and pointed out two photographs on the front page.
"There's the guy that claimed he had brains," sneered Grease, pointing to Smarley's picture. "Look at that dried-up map of his. Five grand reward for Jake Smarley. Say - if he comes crawling in here, the best thing we could do would be grab him and collect the dough.
"When it comes to brains, here's the fellow that really has them." Grease tapped the other picture. "Arnold Melbrun, who is putting up the reward. You know why he's offering it - because Smarley was dumb enough to put the blast on
that secretary, Kelson. That was the biggest boner of all."
Banker was seated at the table, shuffling the pack of cards. He invited Grease and Clip to join him, but they saw no reason for the game. As Clip put it, they were tired of passing money around the triangle and borrowing it back from each other. Banker smiled at Clip's remark.
"We'll get some new money into the game," he said dryly. "I just heard that Flush Tygert is back in town."
Mention of the name brought eager looks from Grease and Clip. They remembered their last game with Flush, a few months before. It had proven profitable to everyone except Flush Tygert.
"A funny gazebo, Flush," chuckled Banker. "Card hustling is his racket.
He
used to trim the chumps every time he took a boat trip. But he never could make
dough playing poker straight. It kind of annoyed him."
"I remember," nodded Grease. "He said he liked to join a game with guys like us, just to see how it felt being on the losing end. There's one thing I never could figure out. If Flush was so smart, why couldn't he trim us?"
"Because he didn't have a shill," explained Clip. "He always signed up a stooge when he rode the packets to Europe. I guess you weren't here, Grease, the day he showed us the flush trick. That's the one that gave Flush his moniker."
Grease showed new interest.
"I heard it different," he said. "I thought they called him Flush because he always looked flush. You know, with diamonds sticking all over him and wads of dough bulging from his pockets."
"That's the story he tells the chumps," explained Banker. "Flush had to have some alibi for his moniker, after the other hustlers pinned it on him.
When Flush gets here, Grease, we'll have him show you that pet trick of his, just to put him in the right mood."
THE three lieutenants were deep in a new card game, when a knock at the door announced the arrival of Flush Tygert. They were due for a disappointment,
as soon as the gambler entered.
Flush looked the same as ever: tall, thin-haired, with a long, sallow face
that wore a perpetual gold-toothed smile. But his blue serge suit was shiny; its
glitter took the place of diamonds. As for his pockets, they hadn't the slightest sign of a bulge.
It was quite plain that Flush Tygert had fallen on bad times. His roving eyes were actually greedy, as they studied the few hundred dollars of cash that
lay on the card table.
Grease Rickel gave a snarling welcome, which brought him a shin kick from Clip Zelber. Meanwhile, Banker Dreeb covered the incident by extending a glad hand to the visitor.
In this instance, Banker and Clip were outvoting Grease. They considered it good policy to give Flush a welcome, even if he did look broke. Flush had quick ways of getting into the money. He might come back within a week quite as
flush as ever.
"Sit down and play a few hands, Flush," suggested Banker. "Your credit is good, if you need any. By the way, before we start, show Grease the flush trick. He was asking how you trimmed the chumps so easy."
A pleased gleam showed on Flush's face, as apparent as the glitter of his gold teeth. He took a chair and invited Clip to sit opposite, to assist him in the stunt. Then, gesturing toward Clip, Flush stated in a smooth but drawly tone:
"The stooge wins, see? But I do the dirty work. Here's how. In a poker game, a guy often gets a four flush but finds it hard to fill when he draws the
extra card. I take care of that problem."
He gave Clip four hearts and a spade, and took a five-card hand for himself. He tossed a few cards on the table, to represent a discard.
"There's four signals," continued Flush. "Hold those cards square; that's it, Clip. Left thumb, right thumb, both thumbs, no thumbs. Those mean clubs, diamonds, hearts or spades."
Clip promptly poked both thumbs above the top edge of his cards. Flush gave an approving nod.
"That means you need a heart," he said, "and I've got one. I cop it, here in my right duke, the face of the card against the palm. Meanwhile, you've got to slide off that odd spade of yours and slip it face down with the discards."
Clip managed the maneuver; as Flush explained, the process was easy, because people wouldn't be expecting a player to get rid of one card from a legitimate hand of five. As it now stood, Clip had an incomplete hand of four hearts.
"Plank them face up on the board," ordered Flush. "Tell everybody you've got a flush. Say it like you meant it."
When Clip gestured at the four cards that he laid on the table, the only objector was Flush himself. In his smooth drawl, the gambler said:
"Spread 'em out, fella! Always spread 'em out, so everybody can see 'em.
Maybe there's a wrong card in that mess."
Before Clip could move, Flush spread the cards himself. His right hand snaked forward, gave the four hearts a wide sweep. With the movement, Flush added the extra heart from his own palm, so deftly that the onlookers blinked.
He didn't simply drop it on the other cards; he sliced it right in among them, so that it formed the center of the five.
"All hearts," admitted Flush, in a grieved tone. "The pot is yours, old man. Worse luck next time."
Such skill won immediate approval for Flush Tygert. He had shown the stunt
to Banker and Clip once before, and they agreed that he had repeated it in the same slick style. The compliment produced another gleaming grin from Flush.
"You can't always win, you know," drawled the gambler, "even with the best
of set-ups. I ought to be in the money right at present, but I'm not. I played what looked like a sure shot, but it didn't work out."
The listeners looked interested.
"I was out to get a hundred thousand bucks," added Flush. "But the dough was gone before I could grab it. Besides -"
Flush went no further. It wasn't necessary. He had changed his tone from a
drawl to a half whine. The men who heard it recognized that voice.
It was the voice of Jake Smarley!