the maidâs key from his pocket and unlocked the door to room number five.
TWENTY-FOUR
The room actually wasnât much bigger than Clintâs. Although the cot appeared to be a bit more comfortable, the only other difference was the table situated against one wall. Clint headed over to that table and took a look at the solitaire layout that was there.
He didnât know exactly what he was looking for, so Clint just started rummaging. Part of him felt a little bad about going through someone elseâs things, especially since he wasnât completely sure they belonged to the man he was after. Since it didnât seem like there was going to be much to find anyway, Clint sifted through what was there and hoped for the best.
Unfortunately, his luck wasnât holding up there as well as it had been in the poker room. There was no knife lying out for him to find, another bloody piece of clothing or anything else that might possibly be of any help. Even if the things he found did belong to the man with the knife, none of them would do him any good.
Thatâs when Clint stopped and reminded himself of what he was after in the first place. He needed something to tell him why someone would go to such lengths to stow away aboard the Misty Morning , where they might have gone once they were on board, and who that person might be. If he found something to tie the man to attacking Clint, that would be even better.
Clintâs heart pounded faster and faster as if he could feel the gunmen coming back from being distracted. He had even less time available if he wanted to walk out of that room rather than fight his way out. With no better ideas coming to him, Clint dropped to his hands and knees to get a closer look at the floor.
As he shuffled toward the cot, Clintâs right hand slapped against a flat piece of paper mostly hidden beneath the bed. At first, he thought it was an invitation similar to the one heâd gotten. His hopes soared, since an invitation like his would have a name on it.
The envelope turned out to be the wrong size to contain an invitation. It was also empty. There was, however, some writing in one corner of the back of the envelope. Clint held it closer so he could read the scribbled letters in the roomâs dim light: DCRM1âthat was all that was written on the envelope. Since there wasnât anything else there and the floor was otherwise clean, Clint got up and started walking toward the door. He stopped when he spotted something on the table that caught his attention. Along with the cards spread out in a solitaire game layout, there were other decks of cards on the edge of the table. But what had caught Clintâs eye wasnât the cards. The glint of metal coming from beneath one of the decks interested him even more.
Lifting that deck, Clint recognized the small tool beneath it as a set of shears used to trim the edges of cards so the dealer could manipulate who got what. If there were shears in the room, that meant the person in that room was a card cheat. It also meant the odds were very good that trimming edges of cards wasnât that personâs only method of getting his results.
Clint picked up the deck and examined the backs of the cards. For the most part, they bore standard patterns that could be found on any cards. Since he had some idea of what to look for, Clint soon picked out a few marks here and there that didnât belong.
Whoever had marked the cards was smart. The marks were difficult to spot and might have gone unnoticed if Clint wasnât certain theyâd be there. Even though he did spot them, the marks werenât in any particular pattern to make them easy to read. That was a trick used by more sophisticated cheats, since they had to memorize an entire alphabet of code rather than a simple pattern of marks in certain spots telling number or suit.
Even marks within suits were different, which would have made the deck more trouble
TWENTY-FOUR
The room actually wasnât much bigger than Clintâs. Although the cot appeared to be a bit more comfortable, the only other difference was the table situated against one wall. Clint headed over to that table and took a look at the solitaire layout that was there.
He didnât know exactly what he was looking for, so Clint just started rummaging. Part of him felt a little bad about going through someone elseâs things, especially since he wasnât completely sure they belonged to the man he was after. Since it didnât seem like there was going to be much to find anyway, Clint sifted through what was there and hoped for the best.
Unfortunately, his luck wasnât holding up there as well as it had been in the poker room. There was no knife lying out for him to find, another bloody piece of clothing or anything else that might possibly be of any help. Even if the things he found did belong to the man with the knife, none of them would do him any good.
Thatâs when Clint stopped and reminded himself of what he was after in the first place. He needed something to tell him why someone would go to such lengths to stow away aboard the Misty Morning , where they might have gone once they were on board, and who that person might be. If he found something to tie the man to attacking Clint, that would be even better.
Clintâs heart pounded faster and faster as if he could feel the gunmen coming back from being distracted. He had even less time available if he wanted to walk out of that room rather than fight his way out. With no better ideas coming to him, Clint dropped to his hands and knees to get a closer look at the floor.
As he shuffled toward the cot, Clintâs right hand slapped against a flat piece of paper mostly hidden beneath the bed. At first, he thought it was an invitation similar to the one heâd gotten. His hopes soared, since an invitation like his would have a name on it.
The envelope turned out to be the wrong size to contain an invitation. It was also empty. There was, however, some writing in one corner of the back of the envelope. Clint held it closer so he could read the scribbled letters in the roomâs dim light: DCRM1âthat was all that was written on the envelope. Since there wasnât anything else there and the floor was otherwise clean, Clint got up and started walking toward the door. He stopped when he spotted something on the table that caught his attention. Along with the cards spread out in a solitaire game layout, there were other decks of cards on the edge of the table. But what had caught Clintâs eye wasnât the cards. The glint of metal coming from beneath one of the decks interested him even more.
Lifting that deck, Clint recognized the small tool beneath it as a set of shears used to trim the edges of cards so the dealer could manipulate who got what. If there were shears in the room, that meant the person in that room was a card cheat. It also meant the odds were very good that trimming edges of cards wasnât that personâs only method of getting his results.
Clint picked up the deck and examined the backs of the cards. For the most part, they bore standard patterns that could be found on any cards. Since he had some idea of what to look for, Clint soon picked out a few marks here and there that didnât belong.
Whoever had marked the cards was smart. The marks were difficult to spot and might have gone unnoticed if Clint wasnât certain theyâd be there. Even though he did spot them, the marks werenât in any particular pattern to make them easy to read. That was a trick used by more sophisticated cheats, since they had to memorize an entire alphabet of code rather than a simple pattern of marks in certain spots telling number or suit.
Even marks within suits were different, which would have made the deck more trouble
Similar Books
