“I’m coming in with the little two shillings,” 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.