The only nonchalant man of the lot was he who had
actually used the weapon. For Ronicky Doone stood
with his shoulders propped against the wall, his hands
clasped lightly behind him. For all that, it was
plain that he was not unarmed. A certain calm
insolence about his expression told Frederic Fernand
that the teeth of the dragon were not drawn.
“Gents,” he was saying, in his mild voice,
while his eyes ran restlessly from face to face, “I
sure do hate to bust up a nice little party like this
one has been, but I figure them cards are stacked.
I got a pile of reasons for knowing, and I want somebody
to look over them cards—somebody that knows
stacked cards when he sees ’em. Mostly it
ain’t hard to get onto the order of them being
run up. I’ll leave it, gents, to the man
that runs this dump.”
And, leaning across the table, he pushed the pack
straight to Frederic Fernand. The latter set
his teeth. It was very cunningly done to trap
him. If he said the cards were straight they might
be examined afterward; and, if he were discovered
in a lie, it would mean more than the loss of McKeever—it
would mean the ruin of everything. Did he dare
take the chance? Must he give up McKeever?
The work of years of careful education had been squandered
on McKeever.
Fernand looked up, and his eyes rested on the calm
face of Ronicky Doone. Why had he never met a
man like that before? There was an assistant!
There was a fellow with steel-cold nerve—worth
a thousand trained McKeevers! Then he glanced
at the wounded man, cowering and bunched in his chair.
At that moment the gambler made up his mind to play
the game in the big way and pocket his losses.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said sadly,
placing the cards back on the edge of the table, “I
am sorry to say that Mr. Doone is right. The pack
has been run up. There it is for any of you to
examine it. I don’t pretend to understand.
Most of you know that McKeever has been with me for
years. Needless to say, he will be with me no
more.” And, turning on his heel, the old
fellow walked slowly away, his hands clasped behind
him, his head bowed.
And the crowd poured after him to shake his hand and
tell him of their unshakable confidence in his honesty.
McKeever was ruined, but the house of Frederic Fernand
was more firmly established than ever, after the trial
of the night.
Trapped!
“Get the money,” said Ronicky to Jerry
Smith.
“There it is!”
He pointed to the drawer, where McKeever, as banker,
had kept the money. The wounded man in the meantime
had disappeared.
“How much is ours?” asked Jerry Smith.
“All you find there,” answered Ronicky
calmly.
“But there’s a big bunch—large
bills, too. McKeever was loaded for bear.”
“He loses—the house loses it.
Out in my country, Jerry, that wouldn’t be half
of what the house would lose for a little trick like
what’s been played on us tonight. Not the
half of what the house would lose, I tell you!
He had us trimmed, Jerry, and out West we’d wreck
this joint from head to heels.”
