Chapter 8 fraud
Judge Comyn sat comfortably in his corner seat in the first class compartment of the train, opened the day's Irish Times, glanced at the headlines, and put the paper on his lap.
It takes four hours to get to Tralee by slow train, and there is plenty of time for reading newspapers.He gazed leisurely at the bustling scene at Kingsbridge Station outside the window. In a few minutes, the train from Dublin to Tralee would leave the station, and he would be quietly sent to the county town of Kerry to hear the case.He thought to himself, if only he was the only one in this box all the time, he would be able to process the documents in peace.
Unfortunately, things backfired.As soon as this idea flashed in my mind, the door of the box was opened and someone came in.He doesn't want to look up.The door slid and closed again, and the visitor threw the handbag on the luggage rack and sat down across from him, with the little gleaming walnut table between them.
Judge Comyn glanced at him.The traveling companion was small and thin, with a strand of sand-colored hair standing up mischievously on his forehead, and brown eyes with infinite melancholy and sadness.His suit was a distressed tweed, with a matching waistcoat and knitted tie.The judge estimated that he either dealt with horses or was a small employee of the company.After thinking about it, he continued to look out the window.
He heard the conductor outside shouting at the driver of an old-fashioned steam locomotive puffing on the line, and then the conductor's shrill whistle.Just as the train blew its first cheerful and loud whistle and the carriage moved slowly, there was a tall figure in black running past his window outside the car.The judge heard the slam of the door of the carriage opened and the sound of footsteps on the corridor of the carriage.After a while, a panting black figure appeared at the door of the box, and then sat down in a corner in the distance in relief.
The judge glanced again.The newcomer was a red-faced priest.The judge looked out the window again. He was educated in England and didn't like to strike up conversations.
"My God, you almost missed it, Father," he heard the little man say.
The man in black took a few more breaths. "It's a bit of a suspense, my boy," answered the priest.
Thankfully they all fell silent after that.Judge Comyn watched as Kingsbridge Station receded from view and was replaced by rows of ugly, smoke-blackened houses, the scene of Dublin's western suburbs at the time.The clink of the wheels on the tracks quickened as the Southern Railroad train cranked up the horsepower.Judge Comyn picked up the newspaper.
The headlines and the headlines are about the Prime Minister who backed the Agriculture Minister yesterday in the House of Commons over potato prices.At the bottom of the page was a report about a Mr. Hitler who took over Austria.Editors have the right to decide what stories to print, Judge Comyn thought.There was nothing in the newspaper that interested him anymore, and five minutes later he folded the paper, took out a stack of legal materials from his briefcase, and began to look through it.Not long after they left Dublin city, the green fields of the Kildare area flashed past the window.
"Sir." A voice across from him said timidly.God, he thought, that man wants to talk.He raised his eyelids just in time to meet the spaniel-like pleading gaze of the man opposite him.
"You don't mind taking up a little table, do you?" the man asked.
"Never mind," said the judge.
"Thank you, sir." The man's English sounded distinctly from the southwestern part of Ireland.
The judge continued to study the disposition of a complex civil case which he was due to hear on his return to Dublin from Tralee.This time he went to Kerry County as a circuit judge to preside over the hearings of the season, and it should be easy to catch.In his experience, circuit courts in these rural areas only provide the simplest cases for the local jury to decide, and the conclusions are usually clear at a glance.
The little man took out a deck of not-so-clean playing cards from his pocket, dealt out a few cards and lined them up to pass the boring time.He didn't want to look, and after a moment, his attention was caught by a clucking sound, before he looked up again.
In order to concentrate, the little man licked his teeth with his tongue, which is why he made such a noise.He stared intently at the cards turned up at the end of each column.Comyn glanced over and noticed that a red 9 was not connected to a black 10.Although it was very conspicuous, the little man didn't see the matching relationship, and dealt three more cards.Judge Comyn resisted the urge to turn his attention back to the papers.None of my business, he thought.
But it's fascinating to play poker alone, especially when he's playing badly.In less than five minutes, the judge was so distracted that he could no longer read the civil case files.He stared at the turned cards instead, and finally he couldn't help it.There is an empty column on the right, and an open King in the third column should be moved to the empty space.He coughed, and the little man looked up alertly.
"The king," said the judge mildly, "should be moved to the head of the empty column."
The card player looked down, saw this, and moved the king over.The card turned over now happens to be a Q, so he receives it behind the K.He made another seven smooth moves, and now the row beginning with the king ended with a ten.
"It's a red nine," said the judge, "and it can be moved now."
The red 9 and its six cards are moved to the 10.Another card can be turned over, an ace, and he puts it on top.
"I'm sure you'll be able to play to the end," said the judge.
"Oh, I can't, sir," said the little man, shaking his head with sad eyes. "Honestly, I've never passed a level in my life!"
"Go on, go on," said Judge Comyn, his interest growing.With his help, the game really went to the end this time.The little man stared in amazement at the unraveled game of cards.
"Cleared, you see. You did it," said the judge.
"Oh, but you can't do it without your lordship," said the sad-eyed man. "You're very good at cards, sir."
Judge Comyn did not know whether the players knew he was a judge, but felt that the man was merely addressing a more or less respectable person in the way that was common in Ireland at the time.
The priest had also put down the anthology of sermons by the late Cardinal Newman, and came forward to read the cards.
"Oh, not so much," said the judge.At the Kildare Street Club, he occasionally played bridge and poker with old friends.
Privately, he was quite proud of his theory: clever legal thinking, combined with well-trained observation, deductive reasoning and a keen memory, can always play a good hand.
The little man stopped his poker game and started casually playing five-card stud.He flipped through the cards, put them back in the box.Finally, he put the whole deck down and sighed.
"It's a long way to Tralee," he said thoughtfully.
Afterwards, Judge Comyn couldn't recall who actually mentioned the word "poker," but he suspected it might have been himself.Anyway, he took the deck and dealt a few hands for himself.He was pleased to note that one of the hands was a "full house": three Jacks and two Tens.
The little man wore a slight smile on his face, as if surprised at his boldness, he grabbed a hand of cards and held it in front of his eyes.
"I'll wager, sir, that you couldn't have a better hand than this, for a penny."
"Okay," said the judge, and dealt the second hand and held it in front of him.This time it's not a "hulu", but a pair of nines.
"Ready?" Judge Comyn asked.The little man nodded, and they all showed their cards.The little guy has three 5's.
"Well," said the judge, "but I didn't draw a new card. I should. Come on, man."
They do it all over again.This time, the little man drew three new cards and the judge two.The judge's cards are high.
"I won back 'a penny'," said the judge.
"Yes, sir," said the other, "that's a good hand. You have skill in your game, I can see that, though I don't. Really, sir. You have skill."
"Nothing but clear reasoning and calculation of probabilities," Justice Comyn corrected.
At this time, they exchanged names, and according to the practice at the time, only the surnames were used.The judge omitted his title and simply told the opponent his name was Comyn, who identified himself as O'Connor.Five minutes later, between Sahlins and Kildare, they had a friendly game of poker for a while.Five Card Stud seemed good, and they started tacitly.Of course, no gambling.
"The problem is," said O'Connor, after the third hand, "that I can't remember who bet how much. You have a good memory, my lord. Help me."
"I can do it," said Judge Comyn, triumphantly pulling out a large box of matches from his briefcase.He liked a cigar after breakfast and another after dinner, but he would never light a good Havana for fourpence with a petrol lighter.
"Excellent," said O'Connor cheerfully when the judge distributed twenty matchsticks to each of them.
They played more than a dozen games with great interest, and each side won or lost, evenly matched.But playing poker for two people is not enjoyable, because as long as one party has bad cards and wants to "knock cards" to give up, the other party will not be able to continue playing.Just past Kildare, O'Connor asked the priest, "Father, how would you like to play with us?"
"Oh, I'm afraid not," laughed the red-cheeked priest. "I'm not very good at poker, though," he added, "I did play with the boys once in seminary."
"The rules are the same, Father," said the judge. "Once you learn it, you never forget it. There are five cards in all. If you feel that the cards in your hand are not good, you can draw new cards until you have five. Then you Estimate whether the card in your hand is good or bad. If it is a good card, you can bet more than our bet; if it is not good, you don't bet and fold the card."
"If you want to gamble, I'm afraid..." the priest said doubtfully.
"It's just a matchstick, Father," said O'Connor.
"No one is playing tricks?" asked the priest.
O'Connor raised an eyebrow in surprise.Judge Comyn smiled a little haughtily.
"No tricks," he said. "The rules are clear. It's easy to see who's older. Look..."
He rummaged through his briefcase for a while, took out a piece of white paper with horizontal lines printed on it, took out a gold-plated mechanical pencil from his inner pocket, and began to write on the paper.The priest leaned over to look carefully.
"The highest of these cards," said the judge, "is the Supreme Flush, which is the five cards of the same suit beginning with the Ace, that is, the other cards must be King, Queen, Jack, and Ten."
"I guess so," said the priest cautiously.
"Then four of a kind, called the bomb," said the judge, writing the word under the Supreme Flush, "literally, four aces, four kings, four queens, in turn four 2s. , and another card at random. Of course, four aces are better than four kings or anything else. Got it?"
The priest nodded.
"The next thing is Calabash," O'Connor said.
"I'm afraid not," Judge Comyn corrected. "And then, my friend, a straight flush."
O'Connor patted his forehead, as if admitting that he was a fool. "Yes, yes, that's right," he said. "You see, Father, a straight flush is like a supreme flush, only it doesn't start with an ace, but the five cards must be of the same suit and in order."
The judge wrote his description on the paper under the entry "Bomb."
"Now it's a full house that O'Connor is talking about, which means three cards of the same rank and two cards of the same rank, forming a pair of three with two. If three cards are 10s and the other two are queens, it is called a full house. Three cards of 10 gourd."
The priest nodded again.
The judge went on to write down the list, explaining each hand, from "flush", "straight", "three of a card", "two pair", "one pair" to "scattered cards led by ace".
"So," he said when he finished, "it's obvious that a 'pair' 'trump-leading' or miscellaneous hand, which is usually a rotten deck, is a bad one and you can't bet on it."
The priest stared at the list. "Can I see it?" he asked.
"Certainly," said Judge Comyn, "you take it, Father."
"Well, since you only bet on matchsticks..." the priest joined in after speaking.It's not a crime to have an occasional friendly match after all, and it's okay to bet on matches.They divided the matchsticks into three equal piles and began to play cards.
In the first two hands, the priest gave up early, and he watched the other two call, and the judge won by four matches.By the third hand, the priest's face lit up.
"Is this a good card?" he asked, showing the cards in his hand to the two men.The cards were good, a full house, three jacks and two kings.The judge folded his cards in chagrin.
"Oh, it's a nice card, Father," said O'Connor patiently, "but you shouldn't show it to us, understand? Because once we know what you have, and our cards aren't as good as yours, we won't Make a bet. Your own cards should be... well, like in the confessional, kept secret."
The priest understands. "Secret like a confessional," he repeated. "Ah, I see. Don't tell anyone a word, right?"
After apologizing, they started again.In the sixty minutes before they reached Thurles they played fifteen hands.The judge's matchsticks piled up like a hill, the priest was almost lost, and O'Connor, who was sad-eyed, was only half left. He made too many mistakes, and the priest still seemed half-knowledgeable.Only the judge played well, estimating the odds of winning with his well-trained legal mind.The poker game confirmed his "brain over luck" theory.Just past Thurles, O'Connor lost his mind, and the judge had to remind him twice to get back to the game.
"Playing with matchsticks is probably not much fun," he confided after a second distraction, "shall we stop here?"
"Oh? I'm enjoying it," said the judge.Most winners will find it enjoyable.
"How about we have some fun?" said O'Connor apologetically. "I'm not a gambler by nature, but a few shillings shouldn't matter."
"If you will," said the judge, "but you've lost some matches."
"Oh, my lord, my luck is coming soon." O'Connor smiled mischievously.
"Then I'll withdraw," said the priest firmly. "I'm afraid I only have three pounds in my purse for my holiday in Dingle with my mother."
"But, Father," said O'Connor, "we can't do it without you. A few shillings--"
"Even a few shillings, boy, is too much for me," said the priest. "Our Lady's Church is not a place for people who want to make money."
"Wait," said the judge, "I have a plan. O'Connor, divide the matches between you and me. Then we will each lend the priest an equal amount of matches, and from now on the matches will have value. If If he loses, we don't ask him for the debt. If he wins, he returns the matchstick we lent him, and after repaying it is his profit."
"My lord, you are really a genius." O'Connor said pleasantly.
"But I can't gamble," objected the priest.
There was an awkward silence.
"How about donating all the winnings to the charity of the church?" O'Connor suggested, "Shouldn't God object?"
"The Episcopal Church objected," said the priest, "and I had to get his permission first. But... Dingle has an orphanage where my mother cooks. It's cold in the north in winter, but the price of peat..."
"Contribution," the judge exclaimed triumphantly, and he turned to the bewildered companions. "If the priest wins, it will be our joint donation to the orphanage, no matter how much, if the priest wins, more than the amount we lent him for the bet. Say?"
"I think even our bishop would not refuse a donation to the orphanage," the priest said.
"The donation is a small gesture in return for playing poker with us," O'Connor said. "It's a great idea."
The priest agreed, and they started all over again.Now the Judge and O'Connor divided the matchsticks into two piles.O'Connor found that with less than fifty matches, they might run out of chips.Judge Comyn addressed the issue again.They broke the matchstick in two, half the matchhead's worth, and twice as much as a half bare matchstick.
O'Connor said that he carried more than thirty pounds for the holiday, which was his upper limit.No one objected to Comyn using checks - he was clearly a gentleman.
Having decided so, they lent the priest ten matches with heads and four matches without heads, and each of them gave half.
"So," said Judge Comyn, shuffling the cards, "what's the stake?"
O'Connor held up the headless half of a matchstick.
"How about ten shillings?" he said.This surprised the judge a little.The forty matchsticks he emptied from the box were now eighty and a half matchsticks, representing sixty pounds.In 1938 it was a very considerable amount.The priest had twelve pounds before him, and the other two had twenty-four each.The judge heard the priest sigh.
"If I don't do it, I won't stop, God bless me," said the priest.
The judge nodded abruptly.He needn't have worried, for the first two or so had won him almost £10.On the third hand O'Connor folded early, lost ten shillings, and bet again.The priest staked four one-pound matchsticks.Judge Comyn looked at his cards. He had a full house, three jacks and two sevens.The card was already very large, and the priest had only seven pounds left.
"I'll give you four pounds, Father," he said, pushing his match between them, "and I'll add five pounds."
"My God," said the priest, "I've almost lost everything. What shall I do?"
"If you don't want Mr. Comyn to make another bet you can't call, there's only one way," said O'Connor, "you push the five pounds forward and demand a look."
"I want to see the cards." The priest seemed to be reciting a ritual word, while pushing five matchsticks with heads forward.The judge showed a pair of gourds and waited.The priest showed four 10s.He got his nine pounds back, plus the judge's nine pounds, and thirty shillings' deposit.He had two pounds in his hand, but now he had twenty-one pounds and ten shillings.
At this point, they arrived at Limerick Junction.On the Irish railway system, this station is not near Limerick, but just outside Tipperary.Because there were no trains going down from this platform, the truck rolled over the main platform and backed up.A few people got on and off the car, but it didn't affect the game, and no one entered the box.
At Charleville, the Abbe had won £10 for O'Connor, who looked worried and the game slowed down.O'Connor has been clinching early now, and as long as one of the other two clinches, the hand is over.This went on for many innings.When they approached Marlowe, they agreed to throw away all the low cards and leave the high cards above 7 to make a deck of thirty-two cards, and the speed of the game was accelerated.
At Headford, poor O'Connor lost twelve pounds and the judge twenty, both to the priest.
"Isn't it a bad idea that I return now the twelve pounds I borrowed at the beginning?" asked the priest.
The other two agreed, and they each got back the six pounds they had lent.The priest still has thirty-two pounds.O'Connor continued to play cautiously, raised just once, and won back ten pounds with a full house against two pairs and a flush.The Lakes of Killarney passed by the window at this time, and no one appreciated the lake and mountains.
After Frankfurt, the judge found that he finally had his cards.After drawing three cards, he looked excitedly at the four Qs and a 7 of clubs in his hand.O'Connor must have had a good hand, too, for when the Judge called the priest's five pounds and added another five, he called too.When the priest called for £5 and raised £10, O'Connor panicked and folded.He was back to the twelve pounds he had started playing with.
The judge bit his thumbnail.Then he called the priest's £10 and raised another £10.
"Five minutes to Tralee," said the conductor, poking his head through the compartment door.The priest gazed despondently at the matchsticks in the middle of the table, and at the little pile which represented his own twelve pounds.
"What am I going to do?" he said, "Oh my God, what am I going to do?"
"Father," O'Connor said, "you can't reraise, you have to call and show your cards."
"I think so," said the priest sadly.He pushed the ten-pound matchstick into the middle of the table, leaving two pounds for himself, "I played very well just now, and I have thirty-two pounds. I should have left them to the orphanage, but now I can only give them to the orphanage." They're two quid."
"I'll make it up to five pounds, Father," said Judge Comyn. "Look, four ladies."
O'Connor whistled.The priest looked at the four queens laid out, and then at the cards in his hand.
"Is K not as big as Q?" He asked suspiciously.
"It's bigger than a queen, if you have four," said the judge.
The priest laid out the cards on the table.
"But I have," he said.He does. "For God's sake," he gasped, "I thought I was going to lose it all. I thought you'd have the Supreme Flush in your hand."
They cleared out cards and matches as the train pulled into Tralee.O'Connor took back his cards; the judge put the broken match in the ashtray.O'Connor took twelve pound notes from his pocket, counted them, and handed them to the priest.
"God bless you, boy," said the priest.
Judge Comyn regretfully produced his checkbook. "It must be exactly fifty pounds, father?" said he.
"That's right," said the priest. "Yes, but I forgot what we said at the beginning."
"I assure you that I owe fifty pounds to the orphanage," said the judge, preparing to write a check. "You mean the Dingle orphanage? I'll put it on that?"
The priest seemed confused.
"Well, I don't think they have bank accounts, it's a small place," the priest said.
"Then I'd better drive in your name," said the judge, waiting for the other party to report a name.
"But I don't have a bank account either," said the priest in embarrassment. "I've never managed money."
"That's the only way to go," said the judge politely.He finished writing quickly, tore off the check, and handed it to the priest: "It is payable to the bearer, and the Irish Bank in Tralee was able to cash it, and we were just in time. They will close in thirty minutes."
"You mean they'll give me money for this in the bank?" asked the priest, holding the check carefully.
"Of course," said the Judge, "but be careful not to lose it. It is paid to the bearer, so whoever takes it can cash it. Now, O'Connor, Father, it has been a very interesting journey, Not cheap though. I wish you luck today."
"Me too," said O'Connor sadly. "God must be on your side, Father. I've rarely seen a hand like this. It's a lesson to me, never play cards on a train, especially Absolutely not to play with someone who has just been taught."
"I'm in charge of delivering the money to the orphanages that need it the most before sunset," the priest said.
They parted on the platform of Tralee Station.Judge Comyn went to his hotel. He wanted to go to bed early, because there was a trial tomorrow morning.
The two cases that started the morning were straightforward, and as the defendant both pleaded guilty to minor negligence, he closed with a fine.Tralee's chosen jury has been sitting around.
Judge Comyn was writing with his head down when the third defendant was called.From the dock, all he could see was his judge's wig.
"Bring Ronan Quark O'Connor to court," called the clerk in a deep voice.
There was a sound of footsteps scuffling, while the judge was still writing.
"Are you Ronan Quark O'Connor?" the clerk asked the new defendant.
"I am," said the voice.
"Ronan Quark O'Connor," said the clerk, "you are charged with defrauding at cards, under Section 17 of the Gambling Act 1845. In the case, you, Ronan Quark O'Connor O'Connor, in County Kerry, on the thirteenth day of May of this year, by means of playing cards, by deceit or illegal device or unlawful means, obtained a sum of money from a person named Legan Keene, and thereby committed a fraudulent act. The money was obtained from Legan Keane. Do you dispute the charges? Guilty or not guilty?"
During his statement, Judge Comyn put down his pen very carefully, stared at his paper for a while, as if he wanted to go through the entire trial like this, and finally raised his eyelids.
A small man with spaniel eyes stared at him in surprise from below the courtroom.Judge Comyn gazed at the accused in equal horror.
"Not guilty," said O'Connor in a whisper.
"Wait a minute," said the judge.The entire court fell silent, looking at him.He sat on the stool calmly, but his heart was in chaos.He could stop the case right away, claiming he knew the defendant.
Then it occurred to him that this would mean a retrial: the defendant was now formally charged, and that would incur additional costs to be borne by the taxpayer.The key question now, he thought to himself, would he be able to try the case fairly and correctly and come to a true and just conclusion for the jury?He thinks he can do it.
"Swear to the jury, please," he said.
The clerk did so, then asked O'Connor if he had an attorney.O'Connor said he hadn't, but hoped to defend himself.Ke Ming secretly swears in his heart.Now, fairness requires him to side with the defendant against the prosecutor.
The prosecutor is now standing up to state the facts, and the facts he said are simple.On the thirteenth of May, Tralee, a grocer named Legan Keane, boarded a Dublin-Traley train home in Dublin.He happened to have some cash with him, seventy-one pounds.
During the trip, he happened to take part in a game of gambling with the defendant and another person, using a deck of cards provided by the defendant.He lost so much money that he became suspicious.At Frankfurt, a stop before Tralee, he found an excuse to get off the train, approached a railway company employee and asked the Tralee police to wait on the platform.
His first witness was a Sergeant of the Tralee Police Force, a tall, stocky man who testified for the arrest.He swore that he had been at Tralee Station waiting for the incoming Dublin train on the thirteenth of May when he received the news.He was pointed out to the defendant by someone who had reported to him, and it was later learned that the informer was Mr. Logan Keene.
The Sheriff asked the accused to go to Tralee Police Station with Keane, and the accused did.At the police station, the defendant was asked to empty his pockets. Among the items was a pack of playing cards, which Keane identified as the one used to play cards on the train.
The sheriff said the items had been sent to Dublin for inspection and after receiving a report from Dublin, O'Connor was charged with breaking the law.
So far, the case is clear.The next witness is from the Fraud Unit of the Irish Police in Dublin.Evidently he had been on that train yesterday too, the judge mused, in third class.
The detective swore that after careful inspection, it was found that the deck of cards had been tampered with.The public prosecutor picked up a deck of cards, and the criminal police carefully distinguished them.The deck was passed back to the prosecutor.The public prosecutor asked how the deck was manipulated.
"By two methods, my lord," the detective told the judge, "by the so-called 'shading method' and the 'trimming method.' On different parts of the back of each card of the four suits, the trimming is carried out. Both ends have been trimmed, so that no matter which end is up when the card is taken, it will not affect it. In the trimming method, the white boundary between the edge of the pattern and the edge of the card is modified to a different width. Although this change is very Subtle, but it can be seen from across the table, and it points to the cheater's opponent's suit. Am I clear?"
"Totally clear," said Judge Comyn, his eyes fixed on O'Connor.
"The high cards, from ace to ten, are distinguished by shading, which is the use of chemicals to slightly alter the color of the pattern in a small area on the back of the card, making it darker or brighter. The area is very small, sometimes no larger than a swirl in the pattern , but enough for the cheater across the table to spot because he knows where he's looking."
"Can a liar cheat when dealing cards?" asked the prosecutor.He knew the jury was interested now, which was, after all, very different from the horse-stealing case.
"It might be possible to falsify the deal," admitted the detective from the Fraud Section, "but it's not necessary."
"Is it possible to beat such a gambler?" asked the prosecutor.
"Impossible, sir," said the witness to the bench. "A poker cheater refuses to raise when he knows his opponent has a good hand, and he may bet more when he knows he has a better hand."
"There is no problem," said the prosecutor.O'Connor again dropped cross-examination of witnesses.
"You have the right to ask the witness any questions you may have about his testimony," Judge Comyn told the accused.
"Thank you, my lord," said O'Connor, but he remained silent.
The third prosecutor, and the final principal witness, was Legan Keane, a grocer from Tralee.He stepped into the witness stand and glared at O'Connor like a bull in a bullring.
After being reminded by the public prosecutor, he began to make a statement.He was in Dublin on a business that day, so he had a lot of cash on him.On the train, he is tricked into taking part in a poker game.He thought he was an old hand, but he lost sixty-two pounds before he got to Frankfurt.He became suspicious, because no matter how good his cards were, they were not as good as the other man's.
At Frankfurt he got off a train, convinced he had been duped, and asked the police to come to Tralee station.
"I guessed right," he exclaimed to the jury, "that man's cards have been tampered with."
The twelve true believers in the jury nodded solemnly.
At this point, O'Connor stood up to cross-examine the witnesses.He looked more brooding than ever, like an innocent calf in a bullpen.Mr. Keene glared at him.
"You said I took out the deck of cards?" he asked apologetically.
"Yes." Keene said.
"How did you get it out?" asked O'Connor.
Keane was a little confused. "From your pocket," he said.
"Yes," agreed O'Connor, "from my pocket. But what did I do with the cards?"
Keane thought about it. "You start playing Solitaire," he said.
Judge Comyn almost believed that this was a great coincidence, and his heart suddenly sank.
"Did I strike up a conversation with you first?" asked the defendant, "Or did you talk to me first?"
The burly grocer looked dejected. "I spoke to you first," he said, and then he turned to the jury and added, "That man played so badly that I couldn't help talking. Black on red and red on black , he didn't even see this, so I pointed him a few times."
"But when it comes to poker," pressed O'Connor, "did I suggest a friendly match, or did you suggest it?"
"It's you," said Keene eagerly, "and you've suggested we have some thrills, some stakes, some money. Sixty-two pounds is a lot of money."
The jury nodded again.Indeed, this amount is almost enough to cover the expenses of a worker for a year.
"I said it was you," O'Connor said to Keene. "It was you who suggested poker. It was you who suggested gambling. We were playing matches."
The grocery merchant thought carefully.He was honest and honest, and said whatever came to his mind.
"Maybe it was me," he admitted, and then he remembered something and turned to the jury. "But isn't that the whole scam? Isn't that what a con man does? He tricks his victims into gambling."
Keane clearly liked the word "tricking," but it was new to the judge.The jurors nodded, apparently not enjoying being tricked either.
"One last point," said O'Connor sadly, "how much will you pay me when we settle the bill?"
"Sixty-two pounds," said Keene angrily, "that's hard-earned money."
"No," O'Connor said from the dock, "how much did you lose to me?"
The Tralee grocer thought carefully.His jaw elongated. "You were not paid," he said, "no. The farmer won."
"Did I win money from him?" O'Connor asked, on the verge of tears.
"No," said the witness, "you lost about eight pounds."
"No problem," O'Connor said.
Mr. Keene was about to go down when the judge stopped him. "Wait a minute, Mr. Keene. You said 'that farmer won'? Who the hell was that farmer?"
"Another man in the train compartment, my lord. He's a farmer from Wexford, not good at it, but very lucky."
"Didn't you ask his name?" Judge Comyn asked.
Keane looked bewildered. "No question," he said, "it was the poker that the defendant showed, and he wanted to scam me."
The charges in the case are over.After taking the oath, O'Connor took the witness stand to testify for himself.His presentation was fairly simple and flat.He makes a living selling horses, which is not illegal.他喜欢玩纸牌，友谊赛，且玩得不算好。五月十三日火车旅程的前一周，他在都柏林酒吧里安静地喝着黑啤酒，感觉长椅上靠近他大腿的地方有个硬东西。
那是一副旧扑克牌，显然是这个卡座里的前一位客人落下的。他想交给店员，但又想，旧扑克已经不值钱了，于是他信了自己，收下了牌，好在贩卖马匹的漫长旅途中消磨时光。
如果这牌动过手脚，那么他是毫不知情的。他不懂那位刑警所说的什么阴影和修边处理是什么意思，也不知道这副从酒吧椅子上捡来的扑克牌背面能看出什么名堂。
至于诈骗，诈骗难道不该赢钱吗？他问陪审团。在那次旅途中，他已经输了八英镑十先令，输给一个完全陌生的人。因为那个农民手气太好了。如果基恩先生比他下了更大的赌注、输了更多的钱，那也许是因为基恩先生比他冲动。但说到诈骗，那与他没关系，不然他肯定不会输掉那么多辛辛苦苦挣来的钱。
在盘问环节，公诉人试图找出这份陈述的破绽，但这个小个子谦恭又顽固地进行抗辩。最后，公诉人不得不坐了下来。
奥康纳回到被告席，等待法庭的结论。科明法官朝他看过去。你真是个可怜虫，奥康纳，他心里想道。要么你的故事是真的——那你就是一个时运不济的倒霉蛋；要么你的故事是假的，那你肯定是这个世界上最窝囊的骗子。不管怎么样，你两次都输了，用你自己的扑克，在火车上把钱输给了陌生人。
但在总结中，他不能说出这番话。他向陪审团指出，被告声明自己是在都柏林的一家酒吧发现了这副纸牌，并且完全不知道那牌动过手脚。私下里，陪审团也许相信、也许不信，但事实是，原告无法推翻被告的辩护，按照爱尔兰的法律，原告负有举证的责任。
其次，被告声称不是他而是基恩先生要求玩扑克赌钱，并且基恩也承认可能是这样。
但更重要的，起诉的案子是：被告用欺诈手段从证人勒根·基恩那里赢了钱。不论诈骗是真是假，证人基恩已经宣誓承认被告没赢他的钱。他们两个人，即证人和被告，都输了钱，只是数额悬殊而已。就此而言，这案子一定是败诉。法官有责任指示陪审团宣布被告无罪。他了解这个法庭，他指出还差十五分钟就到午饭时间了。
绝不让克里郡的陪审团错过午饭，也是很重要的一个环节，这十二位好人用了不到十分钟就返回法庭，作出了无罪判决。奥康纳被释放后，离开了被告席。
科明法官在法庭后的更衣室换下法袍，把假发挂到钩子上，然后离开大楼去吃午饭。脱下法袍、摘去假发后就不容易被人认出来了，他穿过法庭大楼前人行道上的人群。
他正朝镇上的大酒店走去，那里有上好的香农河大马哈鱼值得享用，这时，他看到从酒店前院驶来一辆闪闪发光的漂亮轿车，开车的是奥康纳。
“你看到那个人了吗？”一个迷惑不解的声音在他旁边问道。他朝右侧瞟了一眼，发现特拉利的杂货商站在他旁边。
“看到了。”他说。
豪华轿车驶出酒店的院子，坐在奥康纳旁边的是一个穿着一身黑衣的人。
“你看到谁坐在他旁边吗？”基恩惊奇地问道。
汽车朝他们驶来，那个本该去帮助丁格尔孤儿的神父露出亲切的微笑，向人行道上的二位比了一个僵硬的V形手势。然后汽车向街上驶去。
“那是教会的祝福吗？”杂货商问道。
“也许是吧，”科明法官应承说，“虽然我十分怀疑。”
“他穿那身衣服干什么？”勒根·基恩问道。
“因为他是神圣教会的一位神父。”法官说。
“他根本就不是，”杂货商急切地说，“他是韦克斯福德的一个农民。”
Notes:
Notes: