Pierce Phillips had left his post behind the scales; he, Count Courteau, and Ben Miller, the proprietor, were arguing hotly. Rock, the Police lieutenant, was listening to first one then another. The Count was deeply intoxicated; nevertheless, he managed to carry himself with something of an air, and at the moment he was making himself heard with considerable vehemence. "I have been drinking, to be sure," he acknowledged, "but am I drunk? No. Damnation! There is the evidence." In his hand he was holding a small gold-sack, and this he shook defiantly under the officer's nose. "Do you call that eight hundred dollars? I ask you. Weigh it! Weigh it!" Rock took the little leather bag in his fingers; then he agreed. "It's a lot short of eight hundred, for a fact, but--" In a strong voice Phillips cried: "I don't know what he had. That's all there was in the sack when he paid his check." The Count lurched forward, his face purple with indignation. "For shame!" he cried. "You thought I was blind. You thought I was like these other--cattle. But I know to a dollar--" He turned to the crowd. "Here! I will prove what I say. McCaskey, bear me out." With a show of some reluctance Frank, the younger and the smaller of the two brothers, nodded to the Police lieutenant. "He's giving you the straight goods. He had eight hundred and something on him, when he went up to the cage." Rock eyed the speaker sharply. "How do you know?" said he. "Joe and I was with him for the last hour and a half. Ain't that right, Joe?" Joe verified this statement. "Understand, this ain't any of our doings. We don't want to mix up in it, but the Count had a thousand dollars, that much I'll swear to. He lost about a hundred and forty up the street and he bought two rounds of drinks afterward. I ain't quick at figures--" Pierce uttered a threatening cry. He moved toward the speaker, but Rock laid a hand on his arm and in a tone of authority exclaimed: "None of that, Phillips. I'll do all the fighting." Ben Miller, who likewise had bestirred himself to forestall violence, now spoke up. "I'm not boosting for the house," said he, "but I want more proof than this kind of chatter. Pierce has been weighing here since last fall, and nobody ever saw him go south with a color. If he split this poke he must have the stuff on him. Let Rock search you, Pierce." Phillips agreed readily enough to this suggestion, and assisted the officer's search of his pockets, a procedure which yielded nothing. "Dat boy's no t'ief," 'Poleon whispered to Rouletta. "M'sieu' le Comte has been frisk' by somebody." The girl did not answer. She was intently watching the little drama before her.