Chapter V: A Greek Taken in the Fact

The restaurant of the _Veau qui tête_--Subscription ball--The
card room--A lucky player--_Sauter la coupe_--Mystification
--The tell-tale hat--We are done.

With such a number of Greeks mixing in society, one is tempted to ask, how is it that they are so seldom brought before the tribunals of justice?

This is easy to explain. In the first place, the Greek is generally clever, cunning, artful, and circumspect; for these reasons, his manoeuvres are seldom discovered.

And, supposing he were caught in the very act of cheating, if it were in a private house, they would probably be content with making him disgorge his ill-gotten gains, and ignominiously turning him out of the house.

If it were in public, the swindler always knows how to manage the affair in some way or another, or to bolt.

The following circumstance I was myself a witness of.

There was formerly (I speak of thirty years ago), on the Place du Châtelet, on the spot now occupied by the Chambre des Notaires, a very large restaurant of great repute, known as the "Veau qui tête" ("Sucking Calf").

In the centre of this vast edifice was a picture representing a pastoral subject--it was a cow suckling her calf. This very primitive allegory was meant to express, that the food supplied in that house, was of the most harmless and nutritive description.

And it was perfectly true, that, whether it was a small entertainment for one or two people, or a grand wedding dinner, the table was always well served, and there were large rooms to make merry in.

This matter _posé_ (as the professors of physiology say), I will proceed with my recital.

During the Carnival of 1832, some folks of my acquaintance took it into their heads to give a subscription ball, and selected the famous saloons of the "Veau qui tête" to give it in.

The subscribers were numerous, and consequently, as often happens, the society was of a mixed character. Out of three hundred persons present, scarcely a dozen knew each other. But as there were plenty of police, people were not afraid to join in the dance.

Wherever there is a ball, there is generally a room for play. In this instance, close to the ballroom, was a saloon filled with tables for play, and gambling going on.

I was one of the players.

I am not a gambler, for I play with great caution and moderation. I never risk more than a small piece of silver at cards, and only play, until the sum I intend to venture is lost; after which I retire, if not with pleasure, at least with philosophic resignation.

On this evening, Dame Fortune was against me, and in spite of my best strategetical calculations, the inconstant goddess had quickly put me _hors de combat_. The last of the ten francs I had staked had vanished.

The lightness of my purse left me in a capital physical condition to dance; but, though I had never been a great dancer, I feared, in spite of my philosophy, that my partners might perceive that I was out of sorts. I am obliged to confess, that at that period of my life, ten francs was a large sum for me to lose.

But at twenty-five years of age one is seldom a millionnaire.

Therefore, instead of joining in the dance, I directed my steps to another table where they were playing, with a malicious intention of consoling myself, by looking on at the misfortunes of others. One does feel so spiteful when one is vexed.

The game was very animated, gold was glittering on the table, and all eyes, riveted on the precious metal, seemed eager with anticipated pleasure.

They were playing écarté.

The player, behind whom I stood, was most unfortunate; he had lost four games one after another.

I began to think that I had brought my ill-luck to my neighbour. Wishing to be strictly impartial, I resolved to make him some amends, by transporting it and myself to the side of his adversary.

The man behind whom I now placed myself, was about forty years of age. He had a frank, open countenance, and boasted a huge pair of thick "blondes moustaches." He wore a blue coat, buttoned up to the throat, which gave him a military air; this, together with his _distinguée_ appearance, and easy, gentlemanlike manners, betokened a man accustomed to the best society.

He was most fortunate in his play, and after each game, invariably, whilst collecting and dealing the cards, kept alluding to his wonderful luck, as if he wished to justify himself to his opponent.

"If," said he, addressing his adversary, "you had, unluckily for me, played a diamond instead of a spade, I should have been forced to take it, and you would have made the trick."

This manner of particularising facts rather astonished me. I was at this time _au fait_ at some of the tricks of the Greeks, and their way of discoursing on the game. It also struck me that I perceived him making certain passes, to which I was no stranger.

I stood for some time looking on, with the greatest attention, thinking I might be deceived in my conjectures. The game was played with the most perfect regularity. However, I allowed no movement of his to escape me.

In the end, my minute and determined investigation met with the success it deserved. A false move which he made, put me on the scent, and I now felt sure that the fortunate winner was nothing more than a Greek of the first water.

I confess with shame, that once in possession of the secret of these manoeuvres, I took the greatest delight in seeing them executed.

Under the pretext of ascertaining the truth of my suspicions, I made friends with my conscience, and indulged in a spectacle truly interesting to me.

It was charming to observe my hero, with his elegant address, collecting the cards, sorting them, and selecting those which he thought would be of use to him. Then classing them in the most natural manner, and at length cutting them for his own benefit, before the eyes of a whole host of spectators.

Poor dupes, I pitied them.

In the end, my feelings became more worthy of me, and I returned to my better self. Laying aside my admiration, I resolved to put a stop to the continued success of the elegant sharper.

In consequence of this determination, I went up to one of our commissaries of police, named Brissard, whom I knew was intelligent and energetic. I told him what I had seen.

Brissard followed me--waited until the individual I pointed out to him rose from the table (a Greek is not imprudent enough to go on winning the whole evening), and when, after being successful eight consecutive times, he ceded his place, my friend addressed him without further circumlocution.

"Sir," said he, "I am one of the police in attendance. I have not the honour of knowing you. May I ask who introduced you here?"

"Oh! certainly," replied the Greek, with great assurance, a benevolent smile playing on his features. "I was introduced by my friend M----" (at the same time mentioning a well-known name), "to one of your colleagues, who gave me a most favourable reception. However, sir, if you will come with me, we will go and find my friend, who will confirm what I have stated. Stay, I think he is on this side the room."

Startled at the frankness of this reply, Brissard, thinking that I must have been mistaken, was on the point of apologising, but on a sign from me, he followed the Greek, who led the way, and appeared to be searching for his friend in every direction.

The crowd was so great we had great difficulty in following him.

All at once, the blue coat disappeared, as if by enchantment. In vain did we look for him in the room. We soon found that our man, in passing near the door, had slipped out.

"I'll catch him yet," said Brissard, running towards the cloak room, "the fugitive must be bare-headed, he has not had time to get his hat. The address of his hatter may help us."

"Madame," asked he, addressing the woman in charge of the hats and cloaks, "has a gentleman with large moustachios just been here to get his hat?"

"No, sir."

"That will do. Take great care of the last hat which is not claimed, and keep it for me."

He then went on to the _concierge_.

"Tell me, have you just seen any one go out?"

"Yes, sir; a tall man, with big moustachios."

"That's he; and he was bare-headed?"

"Yes; but after going a few steps, he pulled out an opera hat from under his coat, and put it on his head."

"The rascal had made his arrangements beforehand," said Brissard. "We are done."

* * * * *

If I had continued to frequent these kinds of _réunions_, I should have acquired a certain dexterity in this sort of rogue-hunting; but about this time, several circumstances occurred, which turned my thoughts from all worldly pleasures. On the other hand, it was repugnant to my feelings, even though it amused me, to spend my time in pursuits, which, though very useful, are scarcely considered honourable.

I have related the story of the Greek and his hat, because it serves as a sort of introduction to a series of facts descriptive of the art of cheating.

In continuing my story, we must allow for a lapse of twenty years.