"I came for an interview—in fact——"
"Private room back here," McCoppet announced, and he started to lead the way, pausing for a moment near a faro table to cast a cold glance at the dealer.
"Wonderfully interesting game," said Bostwick. "It seems as if a man might possibly beat it."
There might have been a shade of contempt in the glance McCoppet cast upon him. He merely said: "He can't."
Bostwick laughed. "You seem very positive."
McCoppet was moving on again.
"I own the game."
He owned everything here, and had his designs on two more places like it, down the street. He almost owned the souls of many men, but gold and power were the goals on which his eyes were riveted.
Bostwick glanced at him with newer interest as they passed down the room, and so to a tight little office the walls of which were specially deadened against the transmission of sound.
"Have anything to drink?" inquired the owner, before he took a chair, "—whiskey, wine?"