"The game is closed," he announced evenly, with a slow smile.

"Sir"--directly to P. Sybarite--"although it lacks the resources of Monte Carlo, this establishment nevertheless imitates its protective measures. A table losing twenty-five thousand dollars in one day ceases operations. You are just twenty-five thousand to the good.

Accept my congratulations."

"You are very amiable," insisted P. Sybarite, rising, with a little bow. "But if you care for revenge, I shall be pleased to continue at the other table."

"Unfortunately that, too, has suspended operations," returned Penfield. "However, I hope before long to relieve you of your gains."

Opening the cash drawer, he cleared it completely of its contents, placing before P. Sybarite a tremendous acc.u.mulation of bills, old and new, of all denominations, loose and in packages, together with some ten or twelve golden double-eagles.

"I believe you will find that correct," he observed genially.

"Afterwards, I trust you will do me the honour of splitting a bottle with me in the lounge."

"Delighted," said P. Sybarite.

Penfield strolled off, exchanged a few words with an acquaintance or two, and a few more with his employees, and went downstairs. The remaining handful of patrons disappeared gradually, yet so quickly that P. Sybarite was a lonely outsider by the time he had finished counting his winnings and stowing them away about his person.

Presenting the croupier with five hundred dollars, he recovered his hat (at last) and descended, to find Penfield awaiting him at the foot of the steps.

X

UNDER FIRE

Bloated though he was with lawless wealth and fat with insufferable self-satisfaction, P. Sybarite, trotting by the side of his host, was dwarfed alike in dignity and in physique, strongly resembling an especially c.o.c.ky and ragged Airedale being tolerated by a well-groomed St. Bernard.

Now when Pete had placed a plate of caviare sandwiches between them, and filled their gla.s.ses from a newly opened bottle, he withdrew from the lounge and closed the door behind him; whether or not at a sign from Penfield, P. Sybarite was unaware; though as soon as they were alone and private, he grew unpleasantly sensitive to a drop in the temperature of the entente cordiale which had thus far obtained between himself and the gambler. Penfield's eyes promptly lost much of their genial glow, and simultaneously his face seemed weirdly less plump and rosy with prosperity and contentment. Notwithstanding this, with no loss of manner, he lifted a ceremonious gla.s.s to the health of his guest.

"Congratulations!" said he; and drank as a thirsty man drinks.

"May your shadow never grow less!" P. Sybarite returned, putting down an empty gla.s.s.

"That's a perfectly good wish plumb wasted," said Penfield, refilling both gla.s.ses, his features twisted in the wriest of grimaces. "Fact is--I don't mind telling you--your luck to-night has, I'm afraid, played the very devil with me. This house won't open up again until I raise another bank-roll."

"My sympathy," said P. Sybarite, sipping. "I'm really distressed....

And yet," he added thoughtfully, "you had no chance--none whatever."

"How's that?" said Penfield, staring.

"You couldn't have won against me to-night," P. Sybarite ingenuously explained; "it could _not_ be done: I am invincible: it is--_Kismet_!--my Day of Days!"

Penfield laughed discordantly.

"Maybe it looks that way to you. But aren't you a little premature?

You haven't banked that wad yet, you know. Any minute something might happen to make you think otherwise."

"Nothing like that is going to happen," P. Sybarite retorted with calm conviction. "The luck's with me at present!"

"And yet," said the other, abandoning his easy pose and sitting up with a sharpened glance and tone, "you are wrong--quite wrong."

"What makes you think that?" demanded P. Sybarite, finishing his second gla.s.s.

"Because," said his host with a dangerous smile, "I am a desperate man."

"Oh?" said P. Sybarite thoughtfully.

"Believe me," insisted the other with convincing simplicity: "I'm such a b.u.m loser, I'm willing to stake my last five hundred on the proposition that you don't leave this house a dollar richer than you entered it."

"Done!" said P. Sybarite instantly. "If I get away with it, you pay me five hundred dollars. Is that right?"

"Exactly!"

"But--where shall we meet to settle the wager?"

Penfield smiled cheerfully. "Dine with me at the Bizarre this evening at seven."

"If I lose, with pleasure. Otherwise, you are to be my guest."

"It's a bargain."

"And--that being understood," pursued P. Sybarite curiously--"perhaps you won't mind explaining your grounds for this conspicuous confidence."

"Not in the least," said the other, pulling comfortably at his cigar--"that is, if you're willing to come through with a little information. I'm curious to know how you came to b.u.t.t in here on my personal card of introduction. Where did you get it?"

"Found it in a hat left in my possession by a gentleman in a great hurry, whom I much desired to see again, and therefore--presuming him to be Mr. Bailey Penfield--came here to find."

"A gentleman unknown to you?"

"Entirely: a tall young man with an ugly mouth; rather fancies himself, I should say: a bit of a bounder. You recognise this sketch?"

"Perhaps ..." Penfield murmured thoughtfully.

"His name?"

"Maybe he wouldn't thank me for telling you that."

"Very well. Now then: why and how are you going to separate me from my winnings?"

"By force," said Mr. Penfield with engaging candour. "It desolates me to descend to rough-neck methods, but I am a larger, stronger man than you, Mr.--"

"Sybarite," said the little man, flushing, "P.--by the grace of G.o.d!--Sybarite."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Sybarite.... But before we lose our tempers, what do you say to a fair proposition: leave me what you have won to-night, and I'll pay it back to the last cent with interest in less than six months."

P. Sybarite shook his head: "I'm sorry."

The dark blood surged into Penfield's cheeks. "You won't accept my word--?"