“Back de red, I say; back de red dis time,” whispered he in Dalton's ear.
“Don't you see that I have no money?” said Dalton, angrily.
“Dey will lend on your name; ask for a hundred Naps. Be quick, be quick.”
Dalton stooped across the table, and whispered the croupier, who returned a look of doubt and uncertainty. Peter grew more pressing, and the other bent over, and spoke to his colleague. This time the request was not met with a smile and a bland bow, and Dalton watched with angry impatience all the signs of hesitation and deliberation between them.
“Say your banker is closed,—that you must have de moneys,” whispered the dark man.
“Must I wait till the bank is open to-morrow morning,” said Dalton, “or do you mean to give me this trifle?”
“Our rules are strictly opposed to the practice of lending, Count,” whispered the croupier at his side; “we have already transgressed them in your favor, and—”
“Oh, don't inconvenience the Count,” interposed his colleague. “How much is it?”
“Say two hundred,—two!” muttered the unknown.
“Two hundred Naps.,” cried Dalton, resolutely.