"You shuffle first; I'll cut," said Rowell. His lips seemed parched and he moistened them now and then, which was unusual for so cool a gambler. Mellish fidgeted around with lowered brow. Bert shuffled the cards as nonchalantly as if he had merely a $5 bill on the result. When each had taken a card, Bert held an ace and Pony a king. Pony shuffled and the turn up was a spot in Pony's hand and queen in that of his opponent. Bert smiled and drops began to show on Pony's forehead in spite of his efforts at self-control. No word was spoken by either players or onlookers. After the next deal Pony again lost. His imperturbability seemed to be leaving him. He swept the cards from the table with an oath. "Bring another pack," he said hoarsely. Bert smiled at him across the table. He thought, of course, that they were playing for even stakes. Mellish couldn't stand it any longer. He retired to one of the inner rooms. The first deal with the new pack turned in Pony's favor and he seemed to feel that his luck had changed, but the next deal went against him and also the one following. "It's your shuffle," said Rowell, pushing the cards towards his opponent. Bert did not touch the cards, but smiled across at the gambler. "What's the matter with you? Why don't you shuffle?" "I don't have to," said Bert, quietly, "I've won five." Rowell drew his hand across his perspiring brow and stared at the man across the table. Then he seemed to pull himself together. "So you have," he said, "I hadn't noticed it. Excuse me. I guess I'll go now." "Sit where you are and let us have a game for something more modest. I don't care about these splurges myself and I don't suppose you do-- now." "Thanks, no. I told you this was my last game. As to the splurge, if I had the money I would willingly try it again. So long." When Mellish came in and saw that the game was over he asked where Pony was. "He knew when he had enough, I guess," answered Bert. "He's gone home." "Come in here, Bert. I want to speak with you," said Mellish. When they were alone Mellish turned to him. "I suppose Pony didn't tell you where the money is to come from?" "No, he told you. That was enough for me." "Well, there's no reason why you should not know now. I promised silence till the game was finished. He's insured his life for $100,000 and is going to commit suicide so that you may be paid." "My God!" cried Bert, aghast. "Why did you let the game go on?" "I tried to stop it, but I had given my word and you----" "Well, don't let us stand chattering here. He's at the Metropolitan, isn't he? Then come along. Hurry into your coat." Mellish knew the number of Rowell's room and so no time was lost in the hotel office with inquiries. He tried the door, but, as he expected, it was locked. "Who's that?" cried a voice within. "It's me--Mellish. I want to speak with you a moment." "I don't want to see you." "Bert wants to say something. It's important. Let us in."