But whatever
was going on, Her Majesty's face was as calm as if she were asleep.

Malone's worked overtime. If the Queen hadn't been losing so obviously,
the dealer might have mistaken the play of naked emotion across his
visage for a series of particularly obvious signals.

An hour went by. Barbara left to find a ladies' lounge where she could
sit down and try to relax. Fascinated in a horrible sort of way, both
Malone and Boyd stood, rooted to the spot, while hand after hand went
by and the ten thousand dollars dwindled to half that, to a quarter, and
even less--

Her Majesty, it seemed, was a mighty poor poker player.

The ante had been raised by this time. Her Majesty was losing one
hundred dollars a hand, even before the betting began. But she showed
not the slightest indication to stop.

"We've got to get up in the morning," Malone announced to no one in
particular, when he thought he couldn't possibly stand another half hour
of the game.

"So we do," Her Majesty said with a little regretful sigh. "Very well,
then. Just one more hand."

"It's a shame to lose you," the cowboy said to her, quite sincerely. He
had been winning steadily ever since Her Majesty sat down, and Malone
thought that the man should, by this time, be awfully grateful to the
United States Government. Somehow, he doubted that this gratitude
existed.

Malone wondered if she should be allowed to stay for one more hand.
There was, he estimated, about two thousand dollars in front of her.
Then he wondered how he was going to stop her.

The cards were dealt.

The first man said quietly: "Open for two hundred."

Malone looked at the Queen's hand. It contained the Ace, King, Queen and
ten of clubs--and the seven of spades.

_Oh, no_, he thought. _She couldn't possibly be thinking of filling a
flush._

He knew perfectly well that she was.

The second man said: "And raise two hundred."

The Queen equably tossed--counting, Malone thought, the ante--five
hundred into the pot.

The cowboy muttered to himself for a second, and finally shoved in his
money.

"I think I'll raise it another five hundred," the Queen said calmly.

Malone wanted to die of shock. Unfortunately, he remained alive and
watching. He was the last man, after some debate internal, to shove a
total of one thousand dollars into the pot.

"Cards?" said the dealer.

The first man said: "One."

It was too much to hope for, Malone thought. If that first man were
try