“Yes. One card. Diplomacy? So it is. I played a game with the Chinese ambassador in Washington one night. I was teaching him how to play. I lost all the ready money I had with me. Next day I found out that he was the shrewdest player in the diplomatic circles. Let's make it a jackpot.”
“All the same to me.”
And the game went on. Presently Maurice threw aside his coat. He was feeling the warmth of the wine, but he opened another bottle.
“Is there any truth,” said the Colonel, “about your shooting a man who is found cheating in your country?”
“There is, if you can draw quicker than he.” Maurice glanced at his hand and threw it down.
“What did you have?”
“Nothing. I was trying to fill a straight.”
“So was I,” said the Colonel, sweeping the board. “It's your deal.” He unbottoned his coat.
Maurice felt a shiver of delight. Sticking out of the Colonel's belt was the ebony handle of a cavalry revolver, and he made up his mind to get it. There were no troopers around—the Colonel had admitted as much. He began talking rapidly, sometimes incoherently. In a corner of the room he saw the cords which had been around his wrists and ankles the night before.
“Poker,” said the Colonel, “depends mostly on what you Americans call bluff. A bluff, as I understand it, is making the others think you have them when you haven't, or you haven't got them when you have. In one case you scare them, in the other you fish. You're getting flushed, my son; you'll have a headache to-night; and in an hour you start.”