l, I'm just going to make this another ten shillings to come in."

That frightened no one; they all came in; what caused them to halt and
reflect was that, on Lionel being subsequently asked how many cards he
wished to have, he said,

"None, thank you."

Not a syllable was uttered; there were surmises too occult for words.
The player on Lionel's left bet an humble two shillings. The next player
simply came in. So did the third--who was Mr. Percival Miles. Likewise
the dealer; in fact, they were all prepared to pay that modest sum to
inspect the age's hand. But Lionel wanted a higher price for that
privilege.

"I'm coming in with the little two shillings," said he, "and I will
raise you a sovereign."

That promptly sent out the player on his left; his neighbor also
retired. Not so the pallid young man with the thin lips.

"And one better," he said, depositing another sovereign.

The dealer incontinently fled. There only remained Lionel and his enemy;
and the position of affairs was this--that while Lionel had taken no
additional cards, and was presumably in possession of a straight or a
flush (unless he was bluffing), Miles had taken one card, and most
likely had got two pairs (unless he was finessing). Two pairs against
two pairs, then? But Lionel had aces and queens.

"And five better," Lionel said, watching his enemy.

"And five better," said the younger man, stolidly.

And now the onlookers altered their surmises. No one but a lunatic would
challenge a player who had declined to take supplementary cards unless
he himself had an exceptionally strong hand, or unless he was morally
certain that his opponent was bluffing. Had Miles "filled," then, with
his one card; and was a straight being played against a straight, or a
flush against a flush? Or had the stolid young man started with fours?
The subdued excitement with which this duel was now being regarded was
enthralling; they forgot to protest against the wild raising of the
bets; and when Lionel and his implacable foe, having exhausted all their
money, had recourse of nods--merely marking their indebtedness to the
pool on a bit of paper lying beside them--the others could only guess at
the amount that was being played for. It was Lionel who gave in; clearly
that insatiate bloodsucker was not to be shaken off.

"I call you."

"Three nines," was the answer, and Miles laid down on the table a pair
of nines and the joker. The other two were worthless; clear