“Unless it is his style of wearing smoked glasses.” “He wears smoked glasses when he plays?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Well, he claims the lights here hurt his eyes.” “That seems a very good reason why he should choose to play by day.” “Yes; but he always has an excuse when asked into a game in the daytime.” Merriwell’s face wore an expression of deep thought. “It seems to have the elements of a Sherlock Holmes case,” he finally remarked. “I’d like to be present when Darleton is playing. I think it is possible I might detect his trick, in case there is any trick about it.” “Are you a card expert?” “I make no pretensions of being anything of the sort,” answered Merry promptly. “Still I know something about the game of poker, and I did succeed in exposing card crooks, both at Fardale and at Yale.” Morton shook his head. “I think I’m ordinarily shrewd in regard to cards,” he said; “but I haven’t been able to find out his secret. I don’t believe you would have any success, Mr. Merriwell.” Merry persisted. “There is no harm in letting me try, is there?” “The only harm would be to arouse Darleton’s suspicion if he caught you rubbering at him. I know he has thought himself watched at various times.” “Leave it to me,” urged Frank. “I’ll not arouse his suspicions.” “But it won’t do a bit of good.” “If he is cheating, I’ll detect him,” asserted Merry, finding that it was necessary to make a positive declaration of that sort, in order to move Morton. Hugh looked at him incredulously. “You’re a dandy fencer, old man,” he laughed; “but you mustn’t get a fancy that you’re just as clever at everything. Still, as long as you are so insistent, I’ll give you a trial. Meet me in the billiard room at eight o’clock this evening. Play seldom begins here before eight-thirty or nine.” “I’ll be there,” promised Frank, satisfied. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER VIII AROUSED BY A MYSTERY. It was nine o’clock that evening when Morton and Merriwell strolled into the card room. They seemed to be wandering around in search of some amusement to pass away the time. “Come on here, Morton,” called a player. “Bring your friend into this game. It will make just enough.” Hugh shook his head. “No cards for me to-night,” he said. “My luck is too poor. Dropped more than enough to satisfy me last week.” “The place to find your money is where you lost it,” said another player. “I’m willing to let it rest where it is a while. I have a severe touch of cold feet.” “How about your friend?” “He may do as he likes.” “I know so little about cards—so very little,” protested Frank. “What are you playing?” “Poker.” He shook his head. “I have played euchre,” he said. “Quite a difference in the games,” laughed a man. “I suppose you have played old maid, also?” “Yes,” answered Merry innocently, “I have. Do you play that?”