There was silence, that curious silence which suggests discomfort, which presages a storm. It is not often that an accusation of foul play is made at a card-table around which are seated English gentlemen. These men were officers in one of His Majesty's regiments of Guards; they were having what they called "a little flutter at poker" after the mess dinner--it had gone farther perhaps than some of them had intended. Considerable sums had been staked, and won and lost. Sydney Beaton in particular had punted heavily. For the most part he had lost--all his ready cash and more. For some time he had been betting with I.O.U.'s scribbled on odd scraps of paper. There had just been a jackpot. Five men had come in, dropping out one after the other until only Beaton and Tickell had been left. Tickell's last raise had been a hundred pounds; Beaton had covered the bet with an I.O.U. for £100 to see him; the hand he had exposed was, of course, the better one; there was a large sum of money in the pool, much the largest which it had as yet contained; if it was his, then it would probably more than set him on his feet again. It was the fact that there seemed to be an "if" which caused those present to stare at each other and at him as if all at once tongue-tied. Beaton had gone red, then white; and now one felt that something must have happened to the muscles of his face, its expression seemed to have become so set and rigid. Major Reith, who was the oldest man present, broke the silence. "Dodwell, please be careful what you say. Come, Sydney, tell him he is mistaken." What Beaton said was gasped rather than spoken. "It's a lie!" Dodwell's manner continued unruffled. He turned to Draycott. "Noel, I fancy I caught your eye. Am I wrong in supposing that you also saw what happened?" "I'm afraid I did." "You saw Beaton drop one of the three cards he gave himself, and take another off the top of the pack?" "I'm afraid I did." As Draycott repeated his former words, Beaton, still on his feet, swinging round, struck him with such violence that the man and the chair on which he was seated both went together to the floor. The thing was so unexpected that it had been done before anyone could interpose. Frank Clifford, who was on the other side of him, caught at Beaton's arm. "Sydney! That won't do!" Beaton, instead of heeding his words, was endeavouring to thrust the table away in order to get at Dodwell, who was on the other side. The others were able to prevent his doing that. "If I get at him," he gasped, "I'll kill him." But they did not allow him to get at his accuser, for they held him back; and they were five or six to one. Major Reith spoke. "Don't make bad worse, Beaton, please; this is not a matter with which you can deal on quite those lines. Do we understand you to deny what Dodwell and Draycott say?"