A half-consumed log fell out on to the hearth, and lay smouldering there. “I make that fifteen hundred points,” said Ravenscar, adding up the last rubber. He rose, and walked over to the fire to replace the log. “Your luck is quite out: you held wretched cards, until the very last hand.”
“You are a better player than I am,” his lordship said, with a twisted smile. “I am done-up.”
“Oh, nonsense! Play on, my lord; your cards were better at the end. I dare say you will soon have your revenge on me.”
“Nothing would give me more pleasure, I assure you,” said Ormskirk. “But, unhappily, my estates are entailed.”
“Is it as bad as that?” Ravenscar asked, as though in jest.
“Another hour such as the last, and it certainly would be,” replied Ormskirk frankly. “I don’t play if I cannot pay.”
Ravenscar came back to the table, and sat down, idly running the cards through his hands. “If you choose to call a halt, I am very willing. But you hold certain assets I would be glad to buy from you.”
Ormskirk’s thin brows drew together. “Yes?”
Mr Ravenscar’s hard grey eyes lifted from the cards, and looked directly into his. “Certain bills,” he said. “How many and what are they worth?”
“Good God!” said Ormskirk softly. He leaned back in his chair, wryly smiling. “And how came you by that knowledge, my dear Ravenscar?”