“A short rubber,” commented Parry; the silence was over, and the cards lay in disorder on the table.
“Yes, my lord,” said Hornblower.
Bush, taking note of everything with the keen observation of anxiety, saw Hornblower put his hand to his breast pocket—the pocket that he had indicated as holding his reserve—and take out a little fold of onepound notes. When he had made his payment Bush could see that what he returned to his pocket was only a single note.
“You encountered the worst of good fortune,” said Parry, pocketing his winnings. “On the two occasions when you dealt, the trump that you turned up proved to be the only one that you held. I cannot remember another occasion when the dealer has held a singleton trump twice running.”
“In a long enough period of play, my lord,” said Hornblower, “every possible combination of cards can be expected.”
He spoke with a polite indifference that for a moment almost gave Bush heart to believe his losses were not serious, until he remembered the single note that had been put back into Hornblower’s breast pocket.
“But it is rare to see such a run of ill luck,” said Parry. “And yet you play an excellent game, Mr—Mr—please forgive me, but your name escaped me at the moment of introduction.”
“Hornblower,” said Hornblower.
“Ah, yes, of course. For some reason the name is familiar to me.”
Bush glanced quickly at Hornblower. There never was such a perfect moment for reminding a Lord Commissioner about the fact that his promotion to commander had not been confirmed.