The Queen said: "Please. One moment." The cowboy stopped halfway in his reach for the enormous pile of chips. The Queen laid down her four clubs--Ace, King, Queen and ten--and for the first time flipped over her fifth card. It was the Jack of clubs. "My God," the cowboy said, and it sounded like a prayer. "A royal flush." "Naturally," the Queen said. "What else?" Her Majesty calmly scooped up the tremendous pile of chips. The cowboy's hands fell away. Five mouths were open around the table. Her Majesty stood up. She smiled sweetly at the men around the table. "Thank you very much, gentlemen," she said. She handed the chips to Malone, who took them in nerveless fingers. "Sir Kenneth," she said, "I hereby appoint you temporary Chancellor of the Exchequer--at least until Parliament convenes." There was, Malone thought, at least thirty-five thousand dollars in the pile. He could think of nothing to say. So, instead of using up words, he went and cashed in the chips. For once, he realized, the Government had made money on an investment. It was probably the first time since 1775. Malone thought vaguely that the Government ought to make more investments like the one he was cashing in. If it did, the National Debt could be wiped out in a matter of days. He brought the money back. Boyd and the Queen were waiting for him, but Barbara was still in the ladies' lounge. "She's on the way out," the Queen informed him, and, sure enough, in a minute they saw the figure approaching them. Malone smiled at her, and, tentatively, she smiled back. They began the long march to the exit of the club, slowly and regally, though not by choice. The crowd, it seemed, wouldn't let them go. Malone never found out, then or later, how the news of Her Majesty's winnings had gone through the place so fast, but everyone seemed to know about it. The Queen was the recipient of several low bows and a few drunken curtsies, and, when they reached the front door at last, the doorman said in a most respectful tone: "Good evening, Your Majesty." The Queen positively beamed at him. So, to his own great surprise, did Sir Kenneth Malone. Outside, it was about four in the morning. They climbed into the car and headed back toward the hotel. * * * * * Malone was the first to speak. "How did you know that was a Jack of clubs?" he said in a strangled sort of voice. The little old lady said calmly: "He was cheating." "The dealer?" Malone asked. The little old lady nodded. "In _your_ favor?" "He couldn't have been cheating," Boyd said at the same instant. "Why would he want to give you all that money?" The little old lady shook her head. "He didn't want to give it to me," she said. "He wanted to give it to the man in the cowboy's suit. His name is Elliott, by the way--Bernard L. Elliott. And he comes from Weehawken. But he pretends to be a Westerner so nobody will be suspicious of him. He and the dealer are in cahoots ... isn't that the word?"