The balls had been left in an ideal position. Even Hargate could not fail to make a cannon. He made it.
A close finish to even the worst game is exciting. Jimmy leaned still farther forward to watch the next stroke. It looked as if Hargate would have to wait for his victory. A good player could have made a cannon as the balls lay, but not Hargate. They were almost in a straight line, with white in the centre.
Hargate swore under his breath. There was nothing to be done. He struck carelessly at white. White rolled against red, seemed to hang for a moment, and shot straight back against spot. The game was over.
“Great Scot! What a fluke!” cried the silent one, becoming quite garrulous at the miracle.
A quiet grin spread itself slowly across Jimmy’s face. He had remembered what he had been trying to remember for over a week.
At this moment the door opened and Saunders appeared. “Sir Thomas would like to see your lordship in his study,” he said.
“Eh? What does he want?”
“Sir Thomas did not confide in me, your lordship.”
“Eh? What? Oh, no. Well, see you later, you men.”
He rested his cue against the table and put on his coat. Jimmy followed him out of the door, which he shut behind him.