“Any luck yet?” he asked carelessly.
“The devil—no,” returned the boy.
“Do you know what my advice to you is, the advice of a man who has seen high play everywhere from Monte Carlo to Shanghai?”
“What?”
“Play until your luck changes if it takes until to-morrow.”
A supercilious smile crossed Senator Danfield's fat face.
“I intend to,” and the haggard young face turned again to the table and forgot us.
“For Heaven's sake, Kennedy,” I gasped as we went down the stairway, “what do you mean by giving him such advice—you?”
“Not so loud, Walter. He'd have done it anyhow, I suppose, but I want him to keep at it. This night means life or death to Percival DeLong and his mother, too. Come on, let's get out of this.”
We passed the formidable steel door and gained the street, jostled by the late-comers who had left the after-theatre restaurants for a few moments of play at the famous club that so long had defied the police.