So fantastic did it appear to Hugh that at times he rubbed his eyes and wondered if it could be real. How he wished he were a writer. If only he could see into their hearts, know their histories, pick their brains, what books he could write, a library of books, a document of humankind that would outweigh the works of Balzac and Zola combined.
He became better acquainted with daily frequenters of the Casino and watched them with unceasing amusement. There was one, a Greek, a grossly fat man with three chins and a promontory of greasy waistcoat. On his pudgy hand he wore rubies as large as walnuts; and as he walked from table to table, laying mille placques on the dozens he never ceased to perspire. The tall woman in grey also attracted him. She was always gloved, always veiled. She played with persistency her game on number one, losing or winning with apparent indifference. Who was she? She went from table to table with the strangeness and mystery of a specter.
His attention was drawn irresistibly to the very tall man with the spade-shaped beard, who, he had learned, was a Brazilian diplomat. His name was Doctor Bergius and he was said to be of mixed Spanish and German parentage. From the moment he had entered the Rooms, the doctor had become a dominating personality. He was as straight as a shoot of bamboo, with a high carriage and an eye of piercing command. His long nose resembled the beak of a vulture of the Andes; his brow retreated from his piercing black eyes and his skin was as coppery as that of an Indian. He always dressed with immaculate care. He never played, but looking gravely on, with his hands behind his back, appeared only remotely interested in the game.
Then there was another man who attracted Hugh, partly because he was so graceful and handsome, partly because he had once broken the bank. He was an Italian called Castelli, of medium height and well-shaped figure. He had the olive skin, dark velvety eyes, and the perfect features often found in men who prey on women. He always had women with him. He played a dashing game, superbly indifferent to loss or gain.
Hugh was conscious of an atmosphere of unceasing suspicion. Every day hundreds of false louis were foisted on the bank, and no one knew how it was done. It was impossible to check them. Most of the players were too lazy to cash in before leaving the Casino and the chips continued to circulate in town as freely as money. The Casino inspectors were up on their toes, every one was being watched.
One day there came to him the mood for which he was waiting, the conquering mood. His nerves were of steel, and he felt that he could win a fortune or lose all without turning a hair. He had in his pockets seven packets of five thousand francs each. He sat down at the suicide table and began to play.
It was strange how confident he was. Something was fighting on his side. He could not be beaten. Then to his dismay, he lost the first coup, but won the three following. Again he lost a coup, but gained another two. And so it went on. The scales dipped, now for, now against him. On the whole, however, fortune favoured him, and he steadily drew ahead.
At last the great battle was on. He felt inspired. Silently he sat, watchful, emotionless as a wax figure. His eyes became opaque; and a crease of concentration came between his brows.
“A big game,” the rumour spread. “Come and see.”
The circle of watchers deepened and their interest increased. But to Hugh they were only a dull blur of meaningless faces. No, not all, for he saw one that thrilled him for a moment. It was that of Mrs. Belmire. Then her too he forgot in the stress of the struggle.