Pachuca, however, shrugged his shoulders and showed his teeth, as he rolled a cigarette.
“You have won, Ramon,” he returned. “Keep the money. My turn comes.”
“Any time you like,” was the defiant challenge. “When I lose it is not like a stuck pig that I squeal.”
Then Ramon sat down as if quite satisfied, and the game proceeded without Pachuca participating further.
Merry was disappointed. Still he saw there was bad blood among the men, and he felt that what he had heard in the courtyard and since indicated dissension and dissatisfaction.
As the gamblers continued they again fell to speaking of “the girl.”
Suddenly behind him, toward the stairs, Merry heard a soft footfall. He pressed himself closer into the darkness of his niche and scarcely breathed as a man brushed past. This man halted in the door, hearing something of the words of the gamblers. Suddenly he stepped forward.
“What is this?” he demanded angrily. “Again you are talking too much. I have warned you before. You are not to speak at all of the girl. You know she’s here; let that be enough, and hold your tongues!”
“Hello, my fine friend!” whispered Frank to himself, as the light fell on the face of the newcomer and he saw that there was a scar on the man’s cheek. “So it’s you?”
Sudden silence fell upon the men. The man with the the scar singled out Ramon, at whom he pointed.