Piotr told Klimkov to order a bottle of whiskey and some refreshments. Yevsey obeyed, then seated himself at the table, putting the samovar between his face and the visitor's, so as not to be seen by him. "How's business, card sharper?" he asked, nodding his head at the cards. Piotr suddenly half raised himself from the chair, and said animatedly: "I have found out the secret! I have found out the secret!" "You have found it out?" queried the visitor. "Fool!" he exclaimed, drawling the word and shaking his head. Piotr seized the note-book and rapping his fingers on it continued in a hot whisper: "Wait, Sasha. I have had the sixteenth coincidence already. You get the significance of that? And I made only one one thousand two hundred and fourteen deals. Now the cards keep repeating themselves oftener and oftener. I must make two thousand seven hundred and four deals. You understand? Fifty-two times fifty-two. Then make all the deals over again thirteen times, according to the number of cards in each color. Thirty-five thousand, one hundred and fifty-two times. And repeat these deals four times according to the number of colors. One hundred and forty thousand six hundred and eight times." "Fool!" the visitor again drawled through his nose, shaking his head and curling his lips in a sneer. "Why, Sasha, why? Explain!" Piotr cried softly. "Why, then I'll know all the deals possible in a game. Think of it! I'll look at my cards--" he held the book nearer to his face and began to read quickly--"ace of spades, seven of diamonds, ten of clubs. So of the other players one has king of hearts, five and ten of diamonds, and the other, ace, seven of hearts, queen of clubs, and the third has queen of diamonds, two of hearts, and ten of clubs." His hands trembled, sweat glistened on his temples, his face became young, good, and kind. Klimkov peering from behind the samovar saw on Sasha's face large dim eyes with red veins on the whites, a coarse big nose, which seemed to be swollen, and a net of pimples spread on the yellow skin of his forehead from temple to temple like the band worn by the dead. He radiated an acrid, unpleasant odor. The man recalled something painful to Yevsey. Piotr pressed the book to his breast, and waved his hand in the air. "I shall then be able to play without a single miss," he whispered ecstatically. "Hundreds of thousands, millions, will be lost to me, and there won't be any sharp practice, any jugglery in it, a matter of my knowledge--that's all. Everything strictly within the law." He struck his chest so severe a blow with his fist that he began to cough. Then he dropped on his chair, and laughed quietly. "Why don't they bring the whiskey?" growled Sasha, throwing the stump of his cigarette on the floor. "Yevsey, go tell--" Piotr began quickly, but at that instant there was a knock at the door. "Are you drinking again?" Piotr asked smiling. Sasha stretched out his hand for the bottle.