“I certainly do,” McMurtrey said. “Depend upon it, the company will honour his paper up and past your letter of credit.”
“Low deals,” Grief said, placing the deck before Deacon on the table.
The latter hesitated in the midst of the cut and looked around with querulous misgiving at the faces of the others. The clerks and captains nodded.
“You're all strangers to me,” Deacon complained. “How am I to know? Money on paper isn't always the real thing.”
Then it was that Peter Gee, drawing a wallet from his pocket and borrowing a fountain pen from McMurtrey, went into action.
“I haven't gone to buying yet,” the half-caste explained, “so the account is intact. I'll just indorse it over to you, Grief. It's for fifteen thousand. There, look at it.”
Deacon intercepted the letter of credit as it was being passed across the table. He read it slowly, then glanced up at McMurtrey.
“Is that right?”
“Yes. It's just the same as your own, and just as good. The company's paper is always good.”
Deacon cut the cards, won the deal, and gave them a thorough shuffle. But his luck was still against him, and he lost the game.