we dice with death

Tuppence stopped by last evening. First time we'd seen him properly in ages.
"Crikey you've aged, Uncle Tuppy," he trilled in his callous way."In fact, you look like DEATH!"
I took another sip of madeira, and stared at him sourly. "You might at least say death warmed up."
"Heh heh heh." a horrible snigger emanated from outside the half opened window. Geoffrey flew over.
"Wilson!"
Who else. There he was, clad in black, swinging his scythe without a by your leave or a care in the world.
"Come in, Wilson, why don't you," I suggested in a cold high voice. Geoffrey stared at me in amazement. Wilson had never before crossed our threshold. (for reasons which need no repeating for regular readers)
"Tuppy, old fellow - what on earth are you thinking of?"
I winked. "Yes, come in Wilson! make yourself at home. But leave your scythe at the door, if you please."
Tuppence pricked up his ears. Unlike Geoffrey, he had cottoned on.
"Shall we all have a game of poker dice?" said Tuppence, as Wilson eased himself into the shabby armchair opposite my own - which is usually Geoffrey's favourite. Been to uni and all that, but he's got no manners and not an ounce of sensibility. Geoffrey flew on to the mantelpiece and perched uneasily by the clock.
"Why not?" said Wilson expansively.
"Shake em and bake em," said Tuppence, blowing on his knuckles. Little did Wilson know what he was up against....