If Sinners Entice Thee Part 19

she exclaimed, turning upon him resentfully. "I have already told you that I do not wish him to play."

"I have not invited him," Zertho declared with a laugh. "If he chooses to follow the run I cannot well prevent it."

At that moment Brooker, who still kept his keen eyes riveted upon the table, heard the croupier's voice, hesitated a moment, and taking two rapid steps forward tossed upon the red diamond the four notes he had just picked up.

Whirr-r! click! went the ball again, and the croupier's announcement a few seconds later told him that he had won four hundred francs.

Liane, annoyed, flushed slightly, compressed her lips and turning from them with a gesture of anger walked straight out from the great gilded salons so hateful to her. As she pa.s.sed, many turned and remarked how beautiful she was. She knew that the mania which had caused her father's downfall had returned, that this double success would cause him to plunge still more deeply. Zertho smiled contemptuously at her fears, and neither men went after her to induce her to return.

The Prince, on the contrary, shrugged his shoulders, and laughing said,--

"She's annoyed. She'll return in a minute or two, when she knows you've won. Now that she's gone I'm going to risk a little myself."

At that moment two players rose from their chairs, and the pair so well-known to the croupiers and attendants "marked" their places. The man sitting before the red and black disc which slowly revolved while the players laid down their coin, gave both men a little nod of recognition.

"_Messieurs, faites vos jeux_," cried the croupier.

"What's your fancy? The impair?" Zertho inquired of his companion in the same tone as was his wont long ago.

"Of course," the other replied, selecting at the same moment three notes from those in his hand, and tossing them over upon the marked square indicated.

Once more sounded the monotonous cry, "_Rien ne va plus_!" The croupier sat immovable as one joyless, hopeless, and impa.s.sionate, a veritable machine raking in and paying out gold and silver and notes without caring one jot whether the bank gained or lost. The ball was an instant later sent on its way, and Brooker watching, saw it suddenly spring about and fall.

Again he won.

With one elbow resting upon the table he gathered up his winnings with that impa.s.sive manner which marks the professional gamester as one apart. Whether he gained or lost Erle Brooker never made sign, except sometimes when he lost more heavily than usual he would perhaps smile a trifle bitterly. Already the furrows were showing in his brow, and his deep-set eyes watched keenly the run of the game as time after time he would hesitate, apparently reflecting, until the ball was already in motion, and then toss his notes into the "manque" or "pa.s.se," the first being the numbers 1 to 18, and the latter 19 to 36, or place them upon the lines of the various numbered squares, whichever he deemed wisest for the composite chances of a "sixain," a "carre," a "douzaine," or a "colonne." Heedless of all around him, heedless of his old partner at his side, the man who had once shared his losses and his winnings, heedless of the pale delicate girl who was wandering about alone somewhere outside, fearing lest he should lose the whole of the little money they now had, he won and won, and still won.

Sometimes he lost. Twice in succession the bank gained six hundred francs of his winnings; still nothing daunted, he continued, and found that the knowledge he had gained of the game proved true, for he won again and again, although sometimes doubling and even trebling his stake.

The crowd of eager ones around the table now began to wait until he selected the place whereon he should put down his stake, and commenced to follow his play narrowly, playing when he played, and refraining when he held back.

Zertho noticed this and whispered: "Your luck's changed, old chap. Why not try bigger stakes?"

"I know what I'm about," the other snapped viciously, pulling towards him a dozen notes from the "pa.s.se" opposite. "If you won't play yourself keep count for me, and see that I get fully paid."

Zertho well knew that his old partner had now become oblivious to everything. His mouth was hard-set, his eyes gleamed with a fierce excitement he strove to suppress, and great beads of perspiration stood upon his heavily-lined brow. A lady standing behind him, a tourist evidently, reached over his head to stake her modest five-franc piece on the red, whereupon he turned, and muttering something uncomplimentary regarding "those women who ought to play for sous," withered her with a look.

Somebody had handed Zertho one of the cards printed with parallel columns under the letters "N" and "R," with a pencil wherewith to keep count. He glanced up, and noticing all eyes directed upon them, suddenly reflected that if any person came up who knew him as Prince Zertho d'Auzac it would scarcely be dignified to be discovered counting the gains and acting as clerk to a professional gamester.

But Brooker wanted money badly, and was winning; therefore he could not disturb him. Both men were gamblers at heart, and the one feared to move just as much as the other, lest the spell should be broken and the luck change.

The good fortune attending the Captain's play seemed to the onlookers little short of marvellous. With apparent unconcern he flung down his notes, sometimes six or ten twisted carelessly together, and each time there came back towards him upon the point of the croupier's rake his own notes with a similar number of others.

Suddenly, having thrown four notes upon the "manque," he rested his hot whirling brow upon his hand. The ball clicked into its little numbered part.i.tion, the croupier announced that the number 20 had gained, and he knew he had lost. The excited crowd sitting and standing around the table exchanged smiles and glances, and at that moment the croupiers changed.

Again the game was made, and the man upon whom everyone's eyes were turned threw five hundred francs upon the simple chance of the red.

Black again won.

Once more he threw a similar sum upon the red. A third time black won.

He had lost fourteen hundred francs in three spins of the wheel!

It seemed that his luck had suddenly departed. It is often remarked by professional gamesters that luck departs from the fortunate when the croupiers are changed.

But the pa.s.sion was now full upon him. His face was rigid; his mouth tightly closed. He had spoken no word to Zertho, and had seemed hardly to notice how much his companion had been gathering into his hands, or to take the trouble to glance at the revolving roulette. The croupier's voice was, for him, sufficient.

Now, each time that the tiny ball dropped into its socket he knew that its click cost him four hundred francs. Time after time he lost, and those who, half-an-hour before, had been carefully following his play and winning heavily thereby, began to forsake him and trust in their own discretion. In eighteen games only twice the red turned up, still with the dogged pertinacity of the gamester he pinned his faith to the colour upon which he had had his run of luck, and continued to stake his notes in the expectation that the black must lose.

"You're getting reckless," Zertho whispered. "This isn't like you, old fellow."

But his companion turned from him with angry gesture, and flung on his money as before.

At that moment red won. The colour had changed. From Zertho's hand he took the bundle of notes, still formidable, although his losses had been so heavy, and counted them as quickly and accurately as a bank-teller.

There were eighty-three, each for one hundred francs.

For an instant he paused. Already the ball was on its way. His keen eyes, gleaming with an unnatural fire, took in the table at a glance; then withdrawing twenty-three of the notes, he screwed up the remainder into a bundle and tossed it upon the scarlet diamond.

"Good heavens!" Zertho gasped. "Are you mad, Brooker?"

But the Captain paid no heed. His blotchy countenance, a trifle paler, was as impa.s.sive as before, although he had staked six thousand francs, the maximum allowed upon the simple chance.

"_Rien ne va plus_!" cried the croupier once more, and those crowding around the table, witnessing the heavy stake, glanced quickly at the reckless gamester, then craned their necks to watch the tiny ball.

Slowly, very slowly, it lost its impetus. The breathless seconds seemed hours. All were on tiptoe of expectation, the least moved being the man sitting with his chin resting upon his hand, his eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the table before him; the man who had spent whole years of his life amid that terrible whirl of frenzied greed and forlorn hope. Even the croupiers, whose dark, impa.s.sive faces and white s.h.i.+rt-fronts had haunted so many of the ruined ones, bent to watch the progress of the ball.

Zertho, in his eagerness, rose from his chair to obtain a better view.

Whirr-r. Click! It fell at last, and scarcely had it touched the number when the croupier's voice clearly and distinctly announced that the red had gained. Then the crowd breathed once more.

Brooker raised his head in the direction of the croupier, and a slight smile played about the corners of his hard-set mouth. A moment later six notes for a thousand francs each were handed to him at the end of the rake, while Zertho drew in the big bundle of small notes his companion had staked. Brooker had re-won all the winnings he had lost.

He toyed with the bundle of sixty notes which Zertho handed to him until the ball was again set spinning, when, as if with sudden resolution, he tossed them once more upon the same spot.

A silent breathlessness followed, while he remained still motionless, his chin sunk upon his breast. It was a reckless game he was playing, and none knew it better than himself. Yet somehow that afternoon a desperate frenzy had seized him, and having won, he played boldly, with the certain knowledge that the bad luck which had hitherto followed him had at last changed.

Again the disc, revolving in the opposite direction, sent the ball hopping about as it struck it. Once more it fell.

The red again won, and he added six additional notes to the six already in his hand.

"_Messieurs, faites vos jeux_!"

A third time was the game made, a third time he held in his hand in indecision that bundle of notes, and a third time he tossed them upon the scarlet diamond.

In an instant gold and notes were showered upon them from every hand until they formed a formidable pile. The other players crowding around, seeing his returning run of luck, once more followed his game.

A third time was the ball projected around the edge of the disc, followed eagerly in its course by two hundred eyes; a third time the croupier's voice was raised in warning that no more money was to be placed upon the table, and a third time the ivory dropped with a sudden click upon the red.

A third time came the six thousand francs handed upon the end of the croupier's rake.

Brooker, taking the bundle of small notes and thrusting them all together in his pocket, rose at once from the table with a smile at those opposite him, the richer by a thousand pounds.