There were generally two types of people who got caught cheating at cards.
The first kind collapsed immediately and begged.
The second kind did this.
"B-bottom deal? I—I have no idea what you're talking about…"
They stubbornly denied everything to the bitter end.
Of course, panic made people desperate. But once someone was caught in the act of slipping the bottom card, simple denial wouldn't save them.
"What do you mean you don't know what I'm talking about?"Lord Wellesley said coolly. "You've stacked the cards right here beneath the deck, and you still claim ignorance. How exactly am I supposed to interpret that?"
"Well—that is—I mean…"
Lord Charles spread the cards across the table with exaggerated curiosity.
"Now that I look at it, the intention is perfectly clear. You were going to give me a straight and him a flush, weren't you? Fascinating. Truly fascinating. All you did was shuffle the deck, and somehow the cards arranged themselves like this. What a remarkable coincidence. Don't you think?"
The moment he finished speaking, the men positioned around the room began converging on the table.
"What's this? A bottom deal?"
"Bloody hell… this place is a cheating den?"
"Look at the cards. That's undeniable."
"You cheating bastards…"
As the commotion began spreading across the room and other patrons leaned in to see what had happened, the owner hurried forward in alarm.
"J-just a moment! Please wait! This—this is a misunderstanding! I sincerely apologize! I had no idea such a dishonest dealer was working in my club. I will investigate the matter thoroughly—"
"What nonsense are you babbling?"Lord Wellesley cut him off coldly. "You'll be investigated as well. Don't tell me you intend to claim you knew nothing."
"Lord Wellesley! It's a misunderstanding! I swear before God I had no part in this!"
At least they had rehearsed their story in advance.
Even though the entire blame was about to fall on him, the dealer merely bowed his head with a sour expression and offered no protest.
Very well.
Perhaps it was time to give him a little encouragement to speak the truth.
"Cough! Cough!"
I began coughing loudly as if I had choked in surprise at the commotion.
That was the signal.
Lord Wellesley immediately beckoned his steward forward.
"As it happens, my steward here happens to hold a legal qualification," he said casually. "Let's ask him something. Suppose this man here is the mastermind behind the cheating. If we drag him straight to the authorities, what kind of punishment might he receive?"
The steward answered calmly.
"For ordinary theft, imprisonment would usually suffice. However, when the victim is a member of the nobility, the matter becomes more serious. In this case, fraud is also involved, which elevates the crime closer to robbery. Execution would certainly be possible. Accomplices might receive reduced sentences—but the principal offender would not."
"I see," Lord Charles murmured with a thin smile. "That sounds reasonable. I happen to know quite a few people in the courts. I suppose I'll make certain this fellow's head ends up on the gallows."
The dealer's eyes widened in terror.
"E-execution? That can't be right! Wouldn't it just be prison?"
"Prison?" Lord Wellesley scoffed. "You think this ends with prison? You cheated a nobleman. Did someone tell you otherwise? Or did you assume I'd be easy prey because I'm a younger son and won't inherit the title? If I pull a few strings through my father's connections, do you really think I couldn't have you hanged?"
"W-wait! Please! I'm not the mastermind! I swear I'm not!"
Whether Lord Charles could truly have him executed was beside the point.
A man with Lord Wellesley's background did not sound like he was making an idle threat.
It sounded like prophecy.
The dealer suddenly lunged forward and clutched Lord Charles's trouser leg.
"I'm telling the truth! I only did what I was told! They promised me a share of the money! I'm not the one behind this!"
"Oh?" Lord Wellesley said quietly. "And who told you to do it?"
"You lying bastard!" the owner shouted. "Lord Wellesley, don't listen to him! He's just saying anything to avoid punishment!"
If someone panicked before even being accused, there was usually a reason.
The dealer pointed straight at the owner.
"That man! He's the one behind everything! I just followed orders! I even have evidence! Other dealers can testify, and he kept records of the payments he made to us!"
"You miserable rat!" the owner roared. "Watch your tongue!"
"Enough," Lord Wellesley said flatly. "Both of you, be quiet. Once the evidence is examined, we'll know who's telling the truth."
Frankly, even from the circumstances alone, it was obvious who the real mastermind was.
The owner's face was turning pale, while the dealer looked like a man who had just escaped hell itself.
"Lord Wellesley, please!" the owner stammered. "I swear it isn't what it looks like—"
"So you still intend to deny everything," Lord Charles replied. "Very well. Then you can repeat that story in court."
"N-no! Wait! I mean… this isn't something I've always done. It's just that the stakes were larger this time, and I made a terrible mistake—"
"According to him, you've been paying dealers for quite some time. If you're going to lie, at least make the effort to be convincing. This is your final chance. Lie once more and I'll summon the police immediately."
At the word chance, the owner's eyes lit up.
He rubbed his hands together nervously.
"If… if I tell the truth… will you forgive me?"
Lord Wellesley laughed in disbelief.
"Forgive you? Why on earth would I forgive you? I trusted this place and spent my money here regularly. And you repaid that trust by trying to fleece me. And now you ask for forgiveness?"
"That's not what I meant. I only thought… since you mentioned a chance…"
While the owner hesitated, Lord Wellesley's steward leaned close and whispered quietly enough that only the two of them could hear.
"If this incident becomes public, His Grace the Duke may be displeased. Especially with the general election approaching. Your anger is understandable, but caution would be wise."
If word spread that the Prime Minister's son had been caught up in a gambling scandal—even as the victim—it would hardly improve anyone's reputation.
Especially at a time when public criticism of gambling was already growing.
Lord Wellesley clicked his tongue thoughtfully.
"Very well," he said at last. "Unlike animals like you, I belong to the nobility. I should grant at least one opportunity. But we will settle accounts first. I believe I should recover at least twice the money I've lost."
"O-of course!" the owner cried. "We can check the accounts immediately!"
"Don't misunderstand," Lord Charles said coolly. "That is the portion I'm owed regardless. Now then… how should I grant you your chance?"
His gaze drifted across the table and settled on the deck of cards.
"Come to think of it, I came here tonight to enjoy a game of cards. This ridiculous commotion nearly made me forget. Let's test our luck instead. Jack—come sit down. If you follow my conditions and defeat me, I'll consider the matter settled."
"Truly? I'll accept any conditions!"
"I don't intend to make them unreasonable. The stakes remain the same as before—one thousand pounds. We'll play three rounds. Whoever wins the greater sum will be the victor."
"If I win more money, I'm the winner?"
"Exactly. Though the money you win will not actually be paid out. Consider it the price of your life. If I win, however, you'll repay what you owe—and face punishment besides."
Execution awaited him otherwise.
Naturally Jack accepted immediately and sat down across from Lord Wellesley.
"One moment," Lord Charles added thoughtfully. "There's another problem. It would be absurd to let a dealer who was caught cheating run the game. Don't you agree?"
"…That would be difficult," Jack admitted.
"Let's see… I could ask my steward to deal, but you might complain about fairness."
His gaze wandered across the room.
Then he smiled.
"Ah. I see someone far more suitable."
His eyes fell on me.
"The dealer shall be the boy there. Surely that's fair to both sides. Tell me—do you know how to shuffle cards?"
"…Yes," I said hesitantly. "I've always found these games interesting. I practiced shuffling because it looked impressive."
"Good. Come here and deal for us. Jack, you have no objections?"
Jack nodded eagerly.
"That's fine. Under the circumstances, an innocent boy is probably the fairest choice."
Naturally, swindlers were suspicious by nature.
Jack had probably feared that Lord Wellesley might appoint a dealer who secretly worked for him.
So of course he agreed immediately.
Which meant it was only proper that I repay that trust.
After all…
If no one could see the trick—even while watching—it ceased to be cheating.
It became a fair game.
* * *
Jack felt as though he had fallen into the depths of hell—only to grasp a single rope of salvation.
Never in his life had he imagined he would feel grateful for an upcoming election.
That hypocritical bastard, he thought bitterly.
Lord Wellesley clearly intended to ruin him.
If Jack lost, he would be handed over to the authorities.
But if Jack won?
Then Lord Wellesley would boast about his magnanimity for sparing him.
Either way, the nobleman would recover twice the money he had lost.
Which meant only one thing.
Lord Wellesley simply wanted to toy with him.
Fine.
Then Jack would survive.
He would win this game—no matter what.
Three rounds.
Victory didn't require winning two out of three.
Only the greater total sum mattered.
Lose twice but win one large hand, and he could still survive.
Jack looked at his first hand.
Two kings.
A pair.
His heart leapt.
When the next cards came, a pair of tens completed two pair.
Perfect.
He bet aggressively, building the pot to fifty pounds.
Then the cards were revealed.
"…Three aces?"
Lord Wellesley laughed.
"Fortune favors the virtuous, it seems. Two times fifty—one hundred pounds. I believe I've taken the lead."
Jack stared at the three aces in disbelief.
Bad luck.
Just bad luck.
He tried to calm himself.
Two rounds remained.
When the second hand came, Jack nearly trembled with relief.
A pair of jacks.
Then another jack appeared.
Three of a kind.
Seventy pounds.
He revealed his hand confidently.
"Well… it seems fortune favors me this time. Three jacks—"
"A pity," Lord Wellesley interrupted pleasantly. "I have a straight. Four times seventy—two hundred eighty pounds. That brings my winnings to three hundred eighty already."
Jack's stomach dropped.
Something felt wrong.
Were straights and triples really appearing this frequently?
Is he cheating?
But how?
This was Jack's own establishment.
No devices had been planted.
And the dealer was merely a child.
Jack glared at me as I shuffled the deck.
To be safe, he even shuffled the cards himself before handing them back.
And yet—
Even as the third round began…
Jack saw nothing.
No trick.
No irregularity.
Not the slightest hint of deception.