ion to his presence. At Tenison's table he saw in
the dealer's chair the large, white, smooth face, dark eyes, and
clerical expression of the proprietor, whose presence meant a real
game and explained the interest of the idlers crowded about one
player whom de Spain, without getting closer in among the onlookers
than he wanted to, could not see.

Tenison, as de Spain approached, happened to look wearily up; his face
showed the set lines of a protracted session. He neither spoke nor
nodded to the newcomer, but recognized him with a mere glance. Then,
though his eyes had rested for only an instant on the new face, he
spoke in an impassive tone across the intervening heads: "What
happened to your red tie, Henry?"

De Spain put up his hand to his neck, and looked down at a loose end
hanging from his soft cravat. It had been torn by the bullet meant for
his head. He tucked the end inside his collar. "A Calabasas man tried
to untie it a few minutes ago. He missed the knot."

Tenison did not hear the answer. He had reverted to his case. De Spain
moved on and, after making the round of the scattered tables, walked
again through the archway into the anteroom, only to meet, as she
stood hesitating and apparently about to enter the room, Nan Morgan.

CHAPTER VIII

THE GAMBLING-ROOM

They confronted each other blankly. To Nan's confusion was added her
embarrassment at her personal appearance. Her hat was wet, and the
limp shoulders of her khaki jacket and the front of her silk blouse
showed the wilting effect of the rain. In one hand she clutched wet
riding-gloves. Her cheeks, either from the cold rain or mental stress,
fairly burned, and her eyes, which had seemed when he encountered her,
fired with some resolve, changed to an expression almost of dismay.

This was hardly for more than an instant. Then her lips tightened, her
eyes dropped, and she took a step to one side to avoid de Spain and
enter the gambling-room. He stepped in front of her. She looked up,
furious. "What do you mean?" she exclaimed with indignation. "Let me
pass."

The sound of her voice restored his self-possession. He made no move
to get out of her way, indeed he rather pointedly continued to
obstruct her. "You've made a mistake, I think," he said evenly.

"I have not," she replied with resentment. "Let me pass."

"I think you have. You don't know where you are going," he persisted,
his eyes bent uncompromisingly on hers.

She showed inc