The banker paled.
"You don't mean it?"
"Yes. My checks are out to the tune of some sixty thousand dollars."
"Whew! Beaten at your own game. This is serious; I must find out just what we have got on hand at once."
He went into the outer room, and his caller smiled as the door closed after him. There was something familiar about that smile, now that Card-Sharp Cale was alone.
When the banker returned his face was like death.
"I am in a hole," he declared. "A check has just been paid to the tune of thirty-four thousand, and there is not five thousand left on hand."
"This is serious, Mr. Brown. I have got to have my balance, or I shall have to close my game to-night for want of funds. You must gather in all you can and make me whole."
"What is your balance, less this check I speak of?"
"It must be fifty thousand."