players were not likely to be
disturbed by the conversation.

"Cheating is the simplest thing in the world, at Nice or in Paris,"
Cranley went on; "but to show you how it is done, in case you ever do
play in foreign parts, I must explain the game. You see the men first
put down their stakes within the thin white line on the edge of the
tabla Then the Banker deals two cards to one of the men on his left, and
all the fellows on that side stand by _his_ luck. Then he deals two to
a chappie on his right, and all the punters on the right, back that
sportsman. And he deals two cards to himself. The game is to get as
near nine as possible, ten, and court cards, not counting at all. If the
Banker has eight or nine, he does not offer cards; if he has less, he
gives the two players, if they ask for them, one card each, and takes
one himself if he chooses. If they hold six, seven, or eight, they
stand; if less, they take a card. Sometimes one stands at five; it
depends. Then the Banker wins if he is nearer nine than the players, and
they win if _they_ are better than he; and that's the whole affair."

"I don't see where the cheating can come in," said one of the young
fellows.

"Dozens of ways, as I told you. A man may have an understanding with
the waiter, and play with arranged packs; but the waiter is always the
dangerous element in _that_ little combination. He's sure to peach or
blackmail his accomplice. Then the cards may be marked. I remember, at
Ostend, one fellow, a big German; he wore spectacles, like all Germans,
and he seldom gave the players anything better than three court cards
when he dealt One evening he was in awful luck, when he happened to
go for his cigar-case, which he had left in the hall in his great-coat
pocket. He laid down his spectacles on the table, and someone tried
them on. As soon as he took up the cards he gave a start, and sang out,
'Here's a swindle! _Nous sommes voles!_' He could see, by the help of
the spectacles, that all the nines and court cards were marked; and the
spectacles were regular patent double million magnifiers."

"And what became of the owner of the glasses?"

"Oh, he just looked into the room, saw the man wearing them, and didn't
wait to say good-night. He just _went!_"

Here Cranley chuckled.

"I remember another time, at Nice: I always laugh when I think of it!
There was a little Frenchman who played nearly every night. He would
take the bank for three or four turns,