Simon shook his head.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm playing table stakes. We agreed on that when we started."
Yoring peered at him.
"You meanin' something insultin' about my check?"
"I don't mean that," Simon replied evenly. "It's just a matter of principle. I believe in sticking to the rules. I'll play you a credit game some other time. Tonight we're putting it on the line."
He made a slight gesture towards the cigar box where they had each deposited five thousand-dollar bills when they bought their chips.
"Now look here," Kilgarry began menacingly.
The Saint's clear blue eyes met his with sapphire smoothness.
"I said cash, brother. Is that clear?"
Yoring groped through his pockets. One by one he untangled crumpled bills from various hiding places until he had built his bet up to thirty-two hundred and fifty dollars. Then he glared at Kilgarry.