“Well, what about a 100 up before we go?” I took a cue and walked to the billiard-table.
“Right-O,” said Anthony. “A little relaxation won’t harm either of us.”
The three balls were in the bottom right-hand pocket where they had lain, presumably, for some days.
“Let’s have them,” I cried. “Spot or Plain?”
“Anything,” he answered. “Spot!” He put his flat hand, palm upwards, underneath the pocket and sent the balls rolling on to the green cloth.
“Go on,” I said, “break.” He opened by giving me the usual point. I replied by coming off the red ball on to the spot-ball and in attempting a second cannon I failed, leaving the red nicely in front of the bottom right-hand pocket. Anthony smiled in appreciative approval.
“Thank you, Bill!” He promptly potted the red. “I can see visions of a nice healthy little break here,” said he, as he sidled round to pick the red ball out. He plunged his hand into the pocket. Then I saw his face register surprise.
“What’s up?” I queried half-interestedly.
“Something down here in the pocket, Bill,” he returned. “A piece of paper.” He drew out a twisted piece of paper and smoothed it out with his fingers—it was a portion of envelope. In a second it flashed into my mind what it was. Something seemed to hammer it into my brain instantaneously. Before my tongue could give sound to the message that was flooding my brain Anthony spoke very quietly, and very gravely. I remember that I marvelled at the time that he could retain so undisturbed an equanimity.
“Bill,” he said, “Barker’s I.O.U.! By Jove!”