Part 54 (2/2)

”Oh, have it in by all means,” Percival Miles said, with his eyes fixed on the table.

And perhaps it was that Lionel was anxious and nervous (for much depended on the results of this night's play), but he seemed to feel that the pale young man who sat opposite him appeared to be even more cold and implacable in manner than was usual with him. He began to have superst.i.tious fears--like most gamblers. That was an uncanny suggestion his recent companion had put into his head--that here was an avenger--a deputed instrument--an agent to inflict an awarded punishment. At the same time he tried to laugh at the notion. Punishment--from this stripling of a boy! It was a ludicrous idea, to be sure. When Lionel had in former days accepted his challenge to fight, it was with some kind of impatient resolve to teach him a wholesome lesson and brush him aside.

And he had regarded his running after Miss Burgoyne with a sort of good-natured toleration and contempt; there were always those young fools in the wake of actresses. But that he, Lionel, should be afraid of this young idiot? What was there to be afraid of? He was no swashbuckler--this pallid youth with the thin lips, who concentrated all his attention on the cards, and had no word or jest for his neighbors.

How could there be anything baleful in the expression of eyes that were curiously expressionless? It was a pretty face (Lionel had at one time thought), but now it seemed capable of a good deal of relentless determination. Lionel had heard of people s.h.i.+vering when brought into contact with the repellent atmosphere that appeared to surround a particular person; but what was there deadly about this young man?

The game at first was not very exciting, though now and again the joker played a merry trick, appearing in some unexpected place, and laying many a good hand low. Indeed, it almost seemed as if Lionel had resolved to recoup himself by steady play; and so far there had been no duel between him and young Miles. That was not distant, however. On this occasion Lionel, who was seated on the left of the dealer--in other words, he being age--when the cards were dealt found himself with two pairs in his hand, aces and queens. It was a pretty show. When the time came for him to declare his intention, he said,

”Well, I'm just going to make this another ten s.h.i.+llings to come in.”

That frightened no one; they all came in; what caused them to halt and reflect was that, on Lionel being subsequently asked how many cards he wished to have, he said,

”None, thank you.”

Not a syllable was uttered; there were surmises too occult for words.

The player on Lionel's left bet an humble two s.h.i.+llings. The next player simply came in. So did the third--who was Mr. Percival Miles. Likewise the dealer; in fact, they were all prepared to pay that modest sum to inspect the age's hand. But Lionel wanted a higher price for that privilege.

”I'm coming in with the little two s.h.i.+llings,” said he, ”and I will raise you a sovereign.”

That promptly sent out the player on his left; his neighbor also retired. Not so the pallid young man with the thin lips.

”And one better,” he said, depositing another sovereign.

The dealer incontinently fled. There only remained Lionel and his enemy; and the position of affairs was this--that while Lionel had taken no additional cards, and was presumably in possession of a straight or a flush (unless he was bluffing), Miles had taken one card, and most likely had got two pairs (unless he was finessing). Two pairs against two pairs, then? But Lionel had aces and queens.

”And five better,” Lionel said, watching his enemy.

”And five better,” said the younger man, stolidly.

And now the onlookers altered their surmises. No one but a lunatic would challenge a player who had declined to take supplementary cards unless he himself had an exceptionally strong hand, or unless he was morally certain that his opponent was bluffing. Had Miles ”filled,” then, with his one card; and was a straight being played against a straight, or a flush against a flush? Or had the stolid young man started with fours?

The subdued excitement with which this duel was now being regarded was enthralling; they forgot to protest against the wild raising of the bets; and when Lionel and his implacable foe, having exhausted all their money, had recourse of nods--merely marking their indebtedness to the pool on a bit of paper lying beside them--the others could only guess at the amount that was being played for. It was Lionel who gave in; clearly that insatiate bloodsucker was not to be shaken off.

”I call you.”

”Three nines,” was the answer, and Miles laid down on the table a pair of nines and the joker. The other two were worthless; clearly, he had taken the one card as a blind.

”That is good enough--take away the money,” Lionel said, calmly; and the younger man, with quite as expressionless a face, raked over the pile of gold, bank-notes, and counters.

There was a general sense of relief; that strain had been too intense.

”Very magnificent, you know,” said the player who was next to Lionel, as he placed his ante on the table, ”but it isn't poker. I think if you fix a limit you should stick to it. Have your private bets if you like; but let us have a limit that allows everybody to see the fun.”

”Oh, certainly, I agree to that,” Lionel said, at once. ”We will keep to the sovereign limit; and Mr. Miles and I will understand well enough what we are betting when we happen to play against each other.”

Thereafter the game went more quietly, though Lionel was clearly playing with absolute carelessness; no doubt his companions understood that he could not hope to retrieve his losses in this moderate play. He seemed tired, too, and dispirited; frequently he threw up his cards without drawing--which was unusual with him.

”Have a drink, old man, to wake you up?” his neighbor said to him, about half-past two.

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