“This is an insult, Prince Kāra!” he cried.
“Sit down,” said Colonel Varrin, sternly. “No mere words can condemn you, sir. Let us examine the dice.”
The others concurred, their faces bearing witness to their dismay and alarm. Such a disgraceful occurrence had never before been known within those eminently respectable walls. The honor of the club was, they felt, at stake.
The cubes were carefully tested. It was as Kāra had charged—they were loaded.
“Can you explain this, Lord Consinor?” asked one of the party.
“I cannot see why I should be called upon to explain,” was the reply. “In purchasing the dice, I was wholly ignorant of their condition. It was a mere impulse that led me to offer to play with them.”
“It is well known that these ancient dice are frequently loaded,” interrupted Pintsch, eagerly, as if he saw a solution of the affair. “Two of the sets exhibited in the museum have been treated in the same clever manner.”
“That is true,” agreed Varrin, nodding gravely.
“In that case,” said Consinor, “I am sure you gentlemen will exonerate me from any intentional wrong. It is simply my misfortune that I offered to play with the dice.”
“Was it also your misfortune, my lord,” returned Kāra, calmly, “that you have been playing all the evening with marked cards? I will ask you to explain to these gentlemen why this deck, which you have claimed in their presence to be your private property, bears secret marks that could only have been placed there with one intent—to swindle an unsuspecting antagonist.”