He reached his hand, drew up five cards, and ran his eye through them. “Play!” he said. “The hand is good—very good.... Once when I played with the Princess—but it is no matter; and Tuscany is far away!... Play!” he repeated.
Pierre instantly picked up the cards, with an air of cool satisfaction. He had either found the perfect gamester or the perfect liar. He knew the remedy for either.
The Chief Factor did not move. Shon and Lazenby followed Pierre’s action. By their positions Lazenby became his partner. They played in silence for a minute, the Tall Master taking all. “Napoleon was a wonderful player, but he lost with me,” he said slowly as he played a card upon three others and took them.
Lazenby was so taken back by this remark that, presently, he trumped his partner’s ace, and was rewarded by a talon-like look from the Tall Master’s eye; but it was immediately followed by one of saturnine amusement.
They played on silently.
“Ah, you are a wonderful player!” he presently said to Pierre, with a look of keen scrutiny. “Come, I will play with you—for values—the first time in seventy-five years; then, no more!”
Lazenby and Shon drew away beside the Chief Factor. The two played. Meanwhile Lazenby said to Shon: “The man’s mad. He talks about Napoleon as if he’d known him—as if it wasn’t three-fourths of a century ago. Does he think we’re all born idiots? Why, he’s not over sixty years old now. But where the deuce did he come from with that Italian face? And the funniest part of it is, he reminds me of someone. Did you notice how he limped—the awkward beggar!”
Lazenby had unconsciously lifted his voice, and presently the Tall Master turned and said to him: “I ran a nail into my foot at Leyden seventy-odd years ago.”
“He’s the devil himself,” rejoined Lazenby, and he did not lower his voice.
“Many with angelic gifts are children of His Dark Majesty,” said the Tall Master, slowly; and though he appeared closely occupied with the game, a look of vague sadness came into his face.