Mr. Endacott chuckled as he took the cards in his hands and shuffled them.
“You will lose, young man,” he warned Gregory. “I’ve seen a great many games of cards in this city, but I have never yet seen a European who could hold his own against a Chinese.”
“This isn’t a game,” Gregory pointed out. “It’s just a show-down. My chance must be as good as his. We’ll make it the best of three, though.”
“How?” Wu Ling queried politely.
“A card each three times,” his partner explained, “and the one who wins twice out of three times gets the Images. It appears to me that I too am rather largely interested in this. Any choice as to who turns the first card up?”
Gregory shook his head, cut the cards which were handed to him, and passed them to Wu Ling. The latter hesitated only for the fraction of a second. Then he threw one card to his opponent and one to himself. Gregory’s card was a knave; his own a queen.
“One up to the firm,” Mr. Endacott observed.
Gregory took the cards. His hands were beginning to shake. He gave his opponent a four. He himself threw down a ten.
“One each,” he exclaimed, trying his best to keep his tone level.
He shuffled and passed the cards across once more. Wu Ling sat for a moment toying with them, almost as though in silent prayer. Then he threw a card to Gregory.