The first two players naturally enough, as there were only four cards out of fifty-two which could beat the nine, staked a nominal stake merely, and turned up their cards. One of them held the king of clubs, and this would have won, leaving only three cards in the pack which could win. He took a shilling, the amount of his stake, out of the pool, and said he wished he had trusted to his instinct. It was Feltham’s turn. He staked £20, which was madness. His hand contained the queen of clubs and he won. * * * * * Very soon after, the Babe renewed his proposition that they should limit the stakes, and this time there was no opposition, and as it was already after one, they settled to stop as soon as the pool had been emptied. The pool, seeing them change their tactics, also changed its own, and instead of mounting continued to sink steadily. Every now and then it would go up again by a couple of limit stakes, but the constant tendency was to sink, and in three-quarters of an hour it was empty. Broxton gathered up the cards and counters, and Feltham and two of the others said “Good-night,” and left the room, but Anstruther and the Babe sat down and waited. The Babe helped himself to whisky, tore up his own I O U’s which he had paid for, and there was a long awkward silence. Broxton got up, closed the door, and came and stood in front of the fire. “That fellow cheated,” he said at last. “I saw him, twice. Did you notice, Babe?” “I thought he saw the cards which were dealt him once. The turn-up was a nine of clubs and he staked £20. It struck me as unusual, particularly as the king was already out.” “Then he cheated twice, as Jim said,” answered Anstruther. “I am convinced he saw his cards once before, both times when Jim was dealing.” “Jim, you damned fool,” said the Babe, “why can’t you manage to deal properly?” “We’re all damned fools, I think,” said Broxton. “What business have we got to ask a fellow to play whom we don’t know, and who probably can’t afford it.” “Nor can I,” said Anstruther, “but I don’t cheat.” “Are we quite sure he did cheat?” asked the Babe. “Personally, I am,” said Broxton, “aren’t you, Anstruther?” “Good Lord, yes.” “Well, what’s to be done?” asked the Babe. “The men who play with him ought to know,” said Anstruther. The Babe got up, and threw his torn-up I O U’s into the fire. “Rot,” he said. “We can’t possibly be certain. And I’m not going to ask him to play again in order to watch him. That seems to me perhaps one degree lower than cheating oneself. It’s our own fault, as Jim said, for asking him.” “My dear Babe, we can’t leave it as it is.” “No, I don’t want to do that. I only meant that we couldn’t tell other people what we suspected, unless we were certain, and not even then. And we can’t be certain unless we play with him again, and that I don’t mean to do.” “What _do_ you propose to do then?” “I propose that one of us tells him what we thought we saw.”