The face of the Englishman grew very red. His voice rose nastily.
“But I insist on having the place. This man rose and I put my money down. The place is clearly mine.”
“Yes,” said the Chef du Table, “it is evident that the place is monsieur’s.”
“I’ll see ye dawmed firrst,” said MacTaggart, sitting square. “There’s no force in Monte Carlo ’ill budge me from this spot. Tak’ awaw yer dirrty money....”
He started to push away the man’s louis that lay in front of him.
“Here, don’t touch my money. Don’t dare to touch my money,” the Englishman exclaimed.
MacTaggart’s reply was to take the louis and flip it back at him. Every one was aghast. It was unheard of, an outrage. One of the lymphatic lackeys recovered the money and handed it to its owner, who was boiling over with rage. There is no knowing how the row might have ended had not a player opposite risen to catch a train, and the Chef, with great presence of mind, promptly claimed the place for the Englishman. The situation was saved. Tant Mieux. That mad Ecossais looked quite dangerous.
MacTaggart and the red-faced man sat opposite each other, and muttered, growled, and glared. Then the second incident occurred. Just as the ball was about to drop, MacTaggart pushed a placque to the croupier.
“Passe, please.”
But the croupier did not hear him correctly and threw it on pair, and at that moment the ball fell.