“Gentlemen,” he shouted, “this fellow is cheating; there is a card in his hand which he has just brought from under the table.”
In a moment there was a dead silence of surprise; then Mark forced the hand open and took Emerson's card, which he held up.
“There, you see, gentleman; it is a king.”
Then a Babel of sounds arose, a dozen hands were laid upon Emerson, who was pulled back from his chair and thrown down on a sofa, while hands were run over his coat, waistcoat, and breeches.
“Here they are!” a man shouted, and held a dozen cards over his head.
The place of concealment had been cleverly chosen; the breeches apparently buttoned closely at the knee, but in reality they were loose enough to enable a finger and thumb to be passed between them and the stocking, and in the lining of the breeches was a pocket in which the cards had been placed, being held there by two pieces of whalebone, that closed the pocket. The searchers, among whom were Dick and Boldero, did not have it all their own way; four or five men rushed upon them, and endeavored to pull them off Emerson. The din of voices was prodigious, but Mark, still standing on the table, stilled it for a moment by shouting:
“The scoundrel has an accomplice, who this evening and yesterday has been signaling the strength of the cards in Mr. Cotter's hands.”
“Who is he?” was shouted over the room.
“It is Sir James Flash,” Mark said. “I denounce him as a cheat and a sharper.”
As pale as death, Flash rushed to the table.