Bill looked into her eyes; then he turned and closed the window, latching it securely. The door was closed. His keen eyes noted this.
"What do you mean?"
The girl shrugged.
"The next twelve hours must finish our game."
"Ah!"
"Yes," the girl went on, "it is Lablache's doing. We must settle our reckoning with him to-night."
Bill flung himself into a chair.
"Will you explain?—I don't understand. May I smoke?"
Jacky smiled. The request was so unnecessary. She always liked Bill's nonchalance. It conveyed such a suggestion of latent power.
"Yes, smoke, Bill; smoke and get your thinking box in order. My yarn won't take a deal of time to tell. But it'll take a deal of thought to upset Lablache's last move, without—shootin'."