A Night at the Opera

Chapter 18: Retribution

Atheneum’s was particularly deserted that evening. No rowdy groups of men occupied its halls, no drunken debates erupted and had to be subdued, the usually bustling gentlemen’s club was unusually quiet. In the card room two men were sitting at a dim table, playing for a sizeable pot of money.

Rupert Sutter was holding a winning hand of cards in his left hand, and a newly lit cigar in the other. He looked smugly at Roger Swaggerly, who having lost three games in a row, was beginning to detest his opponent.

    “I have a sneaking suspicion that you’re going to best me once again, Mr. Sutter,” said Roger, trying to appear lighthearted.

    “I have no doubt about it, Mr. Swaggerly,” said Rupert cockily. “Your facial expressions give away too many clues as to the strength of your hand. If you are at all interested in winning at cards, I would advise you to maintain a countenance completely void of any emotions. Better still, if you want to outsmart the other players, pretend to be glad at a weak hand, and assume the look of utter disappointment when being dealt a hand that is sure to beat out the rest.”

    Roger stared blankly at Rupert, “So, basically do the opposite of what you want to do.”

    “Well, it’s not really that simple, and never is there any guarantee that the other players won’t catch on to your tricks, but yes, if you learn to fool the eye, you can get away with quite a bit, Mr. Swaggerly,” said Rupert, and laid down his winning hand on the table.

    Roger bit his lip sheepishly, as he realized that Rupert had stripped him of the last banknote he had in his wallet.

    “Lying comes so naturally to you, Mr. Sutter,” said Roger acerbically.

    Rupert didn’t so much as blink as he calmly collected the heap of money from the table, and neatly folding the thick stack, placed it inside his jacket pocket.

    “There is no shame in using guile, Mr. Swaggerly. Honesty only gets you so far,” said Rupert and got up to leave.

    Roger watched as Rupert straightened his jacket and walked out of the room. A moment passed before he ordered a drink from the attendant and sat back in the creaking chair, throwing his folded arms behind his head. He wasn’t pleased to have lost 400 pounds to the bastard, but in all truth he was glad to be rid of him. Something about Rupert Sutter was strangely bothersome…almost eerie.

    Before Roger could explore the possible explanation behind his dislike for the young man he barely knew, another man whom he despised walked through the entryway.

    “Mr. Burton,” greeted Roger, leering at Will. “Are you going to demand that I take my leave since you are now on the premises?”

    “I am meeting a friend here,” said William. “You can come or stay at your leisure, Mr. Swaggerly. I’ve no time nor the energy to physically remove you from here.”

    “How kind you are, Mr. Burton,” said Roger, feeling quite peeved that he couldn’t get a rise out of Will. “But sadly I must depart. And let me assure you that it is not on your account, Mr. Burton. I’ve an appointment at the bank,” said Roger, getting up and throwing on his jacket. He silently reminded himself to limit his withdrawal to 300 pounds, as he was afraid that should his losing streak continue, he would fall victim to blind profligacy.

    The attendant had returned with Roger’s drink, but the latter had already left. William ordered a glass of claret and tipped the attendant. He then approached the corner table where the cards lay as they were left by the two men, and was about to take a seat when he spotted a small folded piece of paper on the floor. Will leaned down and picked up the letter. There was no addressee indicated, nor was it sealed. He was about to ring for the attendant and have the letter returned to Mr. Swaggerly, when he spotted the letter “E” written, most discreetly in the corner.