He sipped at the Scotch, then rose and watched the game from a leaning position at the end of the lounge. The sharper dealt without apparent manipulation. His
hands spread over the card, lifted a corner, then reached for the deck as the Yorkshire squire tossed a sovereign upon the table.
Fay watched the deal. The light was glaring. The eyes behind the smoked glasses flashed, then centered on the gold piece. The game went on with more gold entering the pot. The show-down, where the sharper won, revealed the fact that the Yorkshire squire had a queen in the hole and the dealer had a king. It was that close!
Fay felt inclined to whistle. He was interested enough to watch other deals which all seemed set and regular. Ace-in-the-hole Harry had solved mind-reading, concluded the cracksman, as he sat down on the lounge and revolved the problem in his mind.
The game closed suddenly. The Yorkshire squire rose, glared at the two players, then stamped out through the door and went aft with a string of oaths falling behind him, like chips from a whittler.
“May gol blyme!� said the cockney. “’E’s a rum cove. We cawn’t always win, y’know.�
Harry with the long pseudonym removed his smoked glasses and stared at Fay.
“A bit o’ deck would help us out,� he said coldly. “I’m wondering if we make the connecting boat at Stavanger?�
Fay glanced at his hot Scotch and lifted it as the two men strode toward the door, through which they passed to the deck.
He allowed the thin shadow of a smile to cross his lips. He turned and caught a reflection of himself in