“Do you play to-night?” The speaker was a tall, slender young man, scarcely past his minority, but with a wan, sickly countenance, and the premature stoop of old age. “Do you play to-night?” he repeated. “I—I believe not,” answered Tremaine, again glancing round the room. “You are a foolish fellow; the fickle goddess may even now be turning the wheel in your favor. Come,” he continued, laughing, “if you have not been at your banker’s to-day, I have, and can accommodate you with a few hundreds;” and he took a roll of bills from his pocket, and handed them to Tremaine. “But when shall I return this, Gladsden?” “Oh, a fortnight hence will be time enough.” Tremaine turned to the table and staked the money—he won; staked the whole amount—won again; the third time. “You had better stop now,” whispered a voice in his ear. He turned, and saw the person for whom, a short time before, he had been looking so eagerly; but he was elated with success, and paid no heed to the speaker. The fourth—the fifth time, he won. Such a run of luck was most extraordinary; he trembled with excitement, and now determined that he would try but once more, and, if successful, he might yet retrieve the past. “Are you mad, Tremaine?—you surely will not risk all?” again whispered the voice. “All or nothing. I am fortune’s chief favorite to-night. All or nothing,” repeated the gamester, as if communing with himself, “all or nothing!” The bystanders looked on earnestly; for a few moments there was a dead silence—then Tremaine’s face became livid, his brow contracted, and his lips compressed. He had risked all; he had gained—nothing! “What a fool you have made of yourself!” once more whispered the ominous voice. “Not a word, Browne; perhaps it needed this to make me wholly yours,” replied Tremaine, as he walked through the crowd, which opened to let him and his companion pass. When in the street, the two walked on for a time in moody silence, which was first broken by Browne. “Well, Tremaine, that last was a bad stake of yours, and may cost one of us the halter.” “Why, I thought you told me there would be no blood spilt?” “Well, blood _is_ rather ugly looking, I must confess; but if the man should wake?” “Did you not say you would have him well drugged?” “I did, but by the slightest possible chance, I find it cannot be done!” “How so?” “You know it was expected that he would sail in the packet from this port, but I find he has determined on going by the steamer, and will start to-morrow morning by the Long Island railroad; so that we must do it now or never.” “Now or never be it, then. I am a ruined man, and ripe for mischief.” Again the two walked on in silence, until they reached a fine looking house in the vicinity of the Battery. Here Browne applied his key to the night latch, and in a few moments he and Tremaine had entered one of the upper rooms and locked the door. “Where does he sleep?” abruptly inquired Tremaine. “In the opposite room.”