“What have you got?” asked the gambler.
“Four fours,” said Storm, putting down his hand.
The gambler closed up his and threw the cards over to the man who was to deal. Storm paused a moment and then pulled towards him the money in the centre of the table and handed me my five-pound note.
When the cards were next dealt, Storm seemed to have rather an ordinary hand, so apparently had all the rest, and there was not much money in the pile. But, poor as Storm’s hand was, the rest appeared to be poorer, and he raked in the cash. This went on for two or three deals, and finding that, as Storm was winning all the time, although not heavily, I was not getting an object lesson against gambling, I made a move to go.
“Stay where you are,” whispered Storm to me, pinching my knee with his hand so hard that I almost cried out.
Then it came to the gambler’s turn to deal again. All the time he deftly shuffled the cards he watched the players with that furtive glance of his from out his half-shut eyes.
Storm’s hand was a remarkable one, after he had drawn two cards, but I did not know whether it had any special value or not. The other players drew three cards each, and the gambler took one.
“How much money have you got?” whispered Storm to me.
“I don’t know,” I said, “perhaps a hundred pounds.”
“Be prepared to lend me every penny of it,” he whispered.