{"product_id":"2940013703094","title":"Murder at Monte Carlo","description":"Paul Viotti tapped with the tips of his finger nails the five cards\u003cbr\u003ewhich lay face downwards before him upon the green baize table. His four\u003cbr\u003ecompanions took the hint and prepared to listen. This was no ordinary\u003cbr\u003ecard room in which the five men had met. It was the Holy of Holies in\u003cbr\u003ethe most famous gambling club of New York. He would be a brave man who\u003cbr\u003esought entrance there while a séance was being held.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"To-night,\" he said, \"we are to speak of serious things. Perhaps I am\u003cbr\u003emore careful of my health than you others. Anyway, I know when the going\u003cbr\u003eis good. One gang against us was dangerous enough. We had all we could\u003cbr\u003etake care of when Tim Rooney brought his boys out. Now there are two. I\u003cbr\u003eam for fighting when I think that we'll win. Now I am sure that we shall\u003cbr\u003elose if we go on, I say let us get away.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis four companions listened in absorbed interest. The game was\u003cbr\u003emomentarily forgotten. The cards lay untouched, the chips uncounted.\u003cbr\u003eEach seemed to have adopted a different attitude. Marcus Constantine--he\u003cbr\u003ewas known under a different name in Paris and on the French Riviera--a\u003cbr\u003elong, graceful-looking youth, pale of complexion, with dark eyes and a\u003cbr\u003ecuriously sensitive mouth, slouched across the table, his head supported\u003cbr\u003ebetween his hands, his eyes fixed upon his chief as though afraid of\u003cbr\u003emissing a single word. Matthew Drane, a good-looking, elaborately\u003cbr\u003edressed man with smoothly brushed brown hair, pink-complexioned, with a\u003cbr\u003ehumorous mouth and a right hand which was reputed to be the quickest in\u003cbr\u003ethe world at drawing a lethal weapon from the obscurity of a hidden\u003cbr\u003epocket, listened with equal interest but more geniality. Tom Meredith,\u003cbr\u003ehis neighbour, the flamboyant beau of the party, a pudgy-faced,\u003cbr\u003enarrow-eyed man of early middle age, dressed in imitation Savile Row cut\u003cbr\u003etweeds, a shirt of violent design and a shameless tie, grunted his\u003cbr\u003eimpartial approval of the scheme, whilst Edward Staines opposite, a\u003cbr\u003etired-looking man who had the appearance of a successful but\u003cbr\u003ehard-working lawyer, listened with the slightly cynical air of one\u003cbr\u003epredisposed towards pessimism.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"That's all very well for you, Paul,\" the latter remarked. \"You've got a\u003cbr\u003ecountry to go to where you can buy a mountain or two and an old castle\u003cbr\u003eand live like a lord for a few dollars a year. What the hell are we\u003cbr\u003egoing to do, fussing about Europe? I'll admit we're up against a tough\u003cbr\u003eproposition here with this gang of Tim Rooney's hanging about after our\u003cbr\u003eterritory, but what about lying low for a few months?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No damn' good that,\" Tom Meredith objected. \"While we are lying low,\u003cbr\u003eTim would be organising and we should never get our feet in again. Seems\u003cbr\u003eto me we're about through with this racket. We've got to either split up\u003cbr\u003eor find some place where the Star Spangled Banner doesn't flutter.\u003cbr\u003eWe've had the cream. Let's leave the slops for Tim.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePaul Viotti, a swarthy, black-haired Corsican, expensively dressed,\u003cbr\u003eclean-shaven and perfumed, shook a fat forefinger at them all, a\u003cbr\u003eforefinger upon which flashed a wickedly assertive diamond.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I've got a hunch for you,\" he announced. \"There's only one place for us\u003cbr\u003ein the world. Money there for the picking up and a clear field.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMarcus Constantine looked swiftly across the table.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Where's that?\" he demanded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The South of France,\" was the prompt and triumphant reply. \"Listen, I\u003cbr\u003egot a brother there and I know something. Cannes, Nice, Monte Carlo--why\u003cbr\u003eat the baccarat there there's millions, millions you can handle, mind,\u003cbr\u003ein good _mille_ notes, changes hands every night. Suckers there by the\u003cbr\u003ethousands and not a nursemaid to look after them. Hauling liquor round\u003cbr\u003ehere has been a good-enough job while it lasted, but the shooting's\u003cbr\u003egetting a bit too free and easy for me.\"","brand":"WDS Publishing","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47073827717360,"sku":"2940013703094","price":2.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940013703094_p0.jpg?v=1763584153","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940013703094","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}