“What’s up?” inquired Kempshead.
“Oh, the old story—overrunning the constable, that’s all. Wine and women, sir,” said the captain, turning towards Peace, “would double up any man sooner or later.”
The captain, having finished his drink, joined the languid swell and Kempshead, and Peace took stock of the company, which, by this time, was far more numerous than when they first entered the precincts of the unhallowed ground.
Some of the members were seated at the tables, and others stood behind them. The banker took up his position by the roulette.
Before him was a heap of gold, which had been turned out of a cash-box that stood on the table.
In one hand he held a stick, about two feet long, across the top of which was fixed a triangular piece of wood.
This is technically known as the “rake.”
He was not altogether an ordinary-looking individual—such as one meets with in places of public resort. It struck Peace that he was playing a part, and this inference was a tolerably correct one.
He was decidedly clever, or he would not have been chosen for the position he occupied.
There was an engaging manner about him; he was loquacious, and affected to be more of the pigeon than the hawk.