This was only one of the things which increased the mystery of Darleton’s playing. The fellow seemed to know exactly when to bet a hand for all it was worth, and once he persisted in raising a player who was bluffing recklessly. Finally the bluffer became angry and called.
“I have a pair of seven spots, Darleton? What have you got? I don’t believe you have much of anything.”
“Why, I have a pair of ten spots, and they win,” was the smiling retort.
“Bluffers, both of you!” cried another player. “But I swear this is the first time I’ve ever known Darleton to bluff at poker. And he got away with it on a show-down!”
The entire party regarded Darleton with wonderment, but the winner simply smiled a bit behind his dark goggles.
Morton glanced swiftly at Frank, as if to say: “You see how it goes, but you can’t make anything of it.”
Merriwell was perplexed, but this perplexity served as a spur to urge him forward in his desire to solve the mystery. For mystery about Darleton’s success there certainly seemed to be.
With an inquiring and searching mind, Merry was one who disliked to be baffled by anything in the form of mystery that might be legitimately investigated. A mystery amid common things and common events aroused him to insistent investigation, for he knew there should be no mystery, and that which was baffling should, in case it was natural, eventually develop to be simple indeed.
He now felt himself fully aroused, for he did not believe it possible that by any occult power or discernment Darleton was capable of reading the minds of his companions at the card table and thus learning when to drop two pairs and when to bet one very ordinary pair to a finish.
“The cards must be marked,” decided Frank.