rbing, exciting, exasperating, nerve-stretching, and finally it
grew to be tragic. The Major with the St. Moritz reputation was playing
a long way below his form, young Strinnit was playing slightly above his,
and had all the luck of the game as well. From the very start the balls
seemed possessed by a demon of contrariness; they trundled about
complacently for one player, they would go nowhere for the other.

"A hundred and seventy, seventy-four," sang out the youth who was
marking. In a game of two hundred and fifty up it was an enormous lead
to hold. Clovis watched the flush of excitement die away from Dillot's
face, and a hard white look take its place.

"How much have you go on?" whispered Clovis. The other whispered the sum
through dry, shaking lips. It was more than he or any one connected with
him could pay; he had done what he had said he would do. He had been
rash.

"Two hundred and six, ninety-eight."

Rex heard a clock strike ten somewhere in the hall, then another
somewhere else, and another, and another; the house seemed full of
striking clocks. Then in the distance the stable clock chimed in. In
another hour they would all be striking eleven, and he would be listening
to them as a disgraced outcast, unable to pay, even in part, the wager he
had challenged.

"Two hundred and eighteen, a hundred and three." The game was as good as
over. Rex was as good as done for. He longed desperately for the
ceiling to fall in, for the house to catch fire, for anything to happen
that would put an end to that horrible rolling to and fro of red and
white ivory that was jostling him nearer and nearer to his doom.

"Two hundred and twenty-eight, a hundred and seven."

Rex opened his cigarette-case; it was empty. That at least gave him a
pretext to slip away from the room for the purpose of refilling it; he
would spare himself the drawn-out torture of watching that hopeless game
played out to the bitter end. He backed away from the circle of absorbed
watchers and made his way up a short stairway to a long, silent corridor
of bedrooms, each with a guests' name written in a little square on the
door. In the hush that reigned in this part of the house he could still
hear the hateful click-click of the balls; if he waited for a few minutes
longer he would hear the little outbreak of clapping and buzz of
congratulation that would hail Strinnit's victory. On the alert tension
of his nerves there broke another