Tresco answered by putting his ten pounds in the pool.
The situation seemed to amuse Young William. He stood behind the goldsmith’s chair, holding his sides to suppress his laughter, and making pantomimic signs to Garstang, who looked on with stolid composure and an evil smile.
The players made their throws, and Carnac won the pool.
“Never mind,” cried the Prospector, with strong expletives. “There’s my stake—let me have another shy. Game to the finish.” He rose to his feet, threw his money down on the table with a bang, reeled as he stood, and sat down heavily.
And so the game went on. No luck came to Tresco, and but a few pounds remained in front of him. “One more Kitty, and that finishes me,” he said, as he placed his stake in the pool.
As usual, he lost.
“Here’s seven pounds left,” he cried. “Even money all round, and sudden death on a single throw.”
The final pool was made up. The digger threw first—a paltry seven. Dolphin followed with five. It was Tresco’s turn to play next, and he threw eleven.
Carnac dallied long with the dice. He was about to throw, when the Prospector rose from his seat and, swaying, caught at the suave gambler’s arm for support. With a rattle the dice-box fell. Carnac uttered an oath. Before the players three dice lay upon the table.
Tresco swore deep and loud, and in a moment had fastened both his hands upon the cheat’s throat. Carnac struggled, the table with all its money fell with a crash, but the sinister Garstang made a swift movement, and before Tresco’s face there glittered the barrel of a revolver.