“And if he denies it?” “The matter ends there. At the same time to make it clear to him that three people separately thought they saw him.” “Thought they saw him!” said Broxton. “Certainly. Thought they saw him. I daresay he isn’t a bad chap. I daresay he was playing for far more than he could afford. It is even possible he will confess he did cheat, and it is quite possible that we are all wrong and that he didn’t. Personally I certainly thought he did, but I wouldn’t take my oath on it.” “Who’s to ask him?” There was a short silence. Then-- “I will, if you like,” said the Babe. “Thanks, Babe,” said Jim, “you’d do it better than either of us.” The Babe lit a cigarette, and finished his whisky. “I’m off to bed,” he said, “I would sooner have played ‘old maid’ than that this should have happened. Of course none of us say a word about it? Good-night, you chaps.” Anstruther and Broxton sat on for a bit after the Babe had gone. “It’s a devilish business,” said the latter at length. “But I’m sure the Babe will manage it as well as it can be managed.” “The Babe isn’t half a bad chap,” said Anstruther. “No, I don’t think he is. In fact, I don’t think I ever knew a better. Are you off? Good-night.” The Babe wrote a note to Feltham next morning asking him if he would be in at seven that evening, and receiving an affirmative answer, it thus came about that he tapped at his door at that hour. XVIII.--THE CONFESSION. Qui s’accuse, s’excuse. FROM THE FRENCH. The Babe’s supposition that Feltham “perhaps wasn’t a bad chap” was perfectly correct. At the same time it is perfectly true that he had cheated at cards, which, quite rightly, is one of the few social crimes for which a man is ostracised. He had cheated, and he knew it, and he was thoroughly, honestly, and unreservedly ashamed of it. He did not try to console himself by the fact that he had never done it before, and by the knowledge that he would never do it again, because he knew that he would fail to find the slightest consolation in that, though it was perfectly true. The thing was done and it was past mending. Twice he had seen the cards, or at any rate had a suspicion of one of them, when they were dealt him, without saying anything. On one of these occasions what he had seen did not help him, for he saw only a card of another suit, but once, when he had seen the queen of clubs, he traded on it, and swindled the company of £20. How he had come to do it, he did not know. He thought the devil must have taken possession of him, and he was probably quite right. The temptation was the stronger because he had lost, as the Babe had suggested, much more than he could afford, and the thing was done almost before he meant to do it. He more than half suspected that the Babe had noticed it, but to do him justice this suspicion weighed very light in his mind, compared with the fact that he had cheated.