"The ante's ten, ma'am," the dealer said softly.
Without looking, Her Majesty removed a ten-dollar chip from the pile before her and sent it spinning to the middle of the table.
The dealer opened his mouth, but said nothing. Malone, meanwhile, was peering over the Queen's shoulder.
She held a pair of nines, a four, a three and a Jack.
The man to the left of the dealer announced glumly: "Can't open."
The next man grinned. "Open for twenty," he said.
Malone closed his eyes. He heard the cowboy say: "I'm in," and he opened his eyes again. The Queen was pushing two ten-dollar chips toward the center of the table.
The next man dropped, and the dealer looked round the table. "How many?"
The man who couldn't open took three cards. The man who'd opened for twenty stood pat. Malone shuddered invisibly. That, he figured, meant a straight or better. And Queen Elizabeth Thompson was going in against at least a straight with a pair of nines, Jack high.
For the first time, it was borne in on Malone that being a telepath did not necessarily mean that you were a good poker player. Even if you knew what every other person at the table held, you could still make a whole lot of stupid mistakes.