He stopped and gave a little cry as he saw the shining barrel of a small revolver pointed at him.
"You—you would murder me, then?"
"Morally, yes, but not physically unless you drive me to it. I would say you shot yourself at being found out. This," and he tapped the little package, "would prove everything; marked cards are the finest of evidence."
Then the boy—he was hardly more—was on his knees. "Why are you doing this, Señor Dasso?" he pleaded. "Before God it's the first time. You knew my mother—I've never harmed you. I will return the money to-morrow. I—I—wanted it for Julie."
"Yes, I know that, bless her. It isn't the first time that a woman has played my game for me. There is no mercy in ambition, and I want you. I can make use of you. Oh, your secret is safe with me, provided you write as I say."
"And place my honour and my life in your hands for ever."
"Precisely, that is all I want."
Tremblingly the boy looked past the muzzle to the steady hand and up to the cruel, thin face. Then he righted the table, and whilst Dasso held the package he wrote.
"And your seal," said his tormentor, when the lieutenant had signed his name, and he fetched a stick of black wax from the writing table. Then after Mozara had sealed it with his signet ring, Dasso placed the envelope in his pocket and leant back with a half smile.
"And now, my dear lieutenant, for my motive. Believe me I like you, and I have no personal objection to your method of playing poker. I can be frank with you now that I have this," and he tapped the pocket over the cards.