Jubilee shook his head and closed his cards up. The next man refused. Cy Liskard picked up some chips and counted them.
“I’m opening for ‘fifty,’” he said, while his curious eyes levelled themselves at the dealer. “Guess that calls a hundred.”
The hush was profound. The onlookers foresaw a big gamble if all the table came in. Then again, it might be a crude bluff on the part of this man who was almost a stranger to them.
McLagan was observing the man with almost cat-like watchfulness. Victor Burns was smiling interestedly, wondering the while how long his customer would last in the hands of these skilled and merciless gamblers. To him there was, there could be, no doubt as to the end. This man would stand no chance. He would stand no more chance than a lamb in the midst of a wolf pack.
Of the six players at the table Jubilee alone refused to come in. He threw his cards in and sat back while Claire began to deal for the draw. The betting started at fifty dollars, and the spectators’ interest deepened, for, after the draw, all but Claire and the man who had opened the pot threw in their hands.
Claire’s instant response to the stranger was a raise to five hundred dollars.
It was the sort of thing expected of her, and interest deepened. Cy Liskard had drawn two cards, and the smiling dealer had matched his draw. There could be no indication as to what either of the players held beyond the fact that the man had opened the pot.
Cy’s response was slower in coming. He glanced at his cards and closed them instantly. Then, in a moment, he raised the girl’s bet by one hundred dollars.
McLagan never for an instant withdrew his gaze from the man, for it was the man who interested him. It seemed to him the dead eyes had somehow come to life under the purpose driving him, and he was endeavouring to read and grasp that purpose. To McLagan it was a face masking completely every sign of emotion, but he felt that emotion was burning deeply behind the lustreless eyes, and somehow the conviction of lurking evil was irresistible.