"What's the matter with you? Have you laid an egg?" asked Nash insolently.
For a second the old man's face was twisted with white-hot rage and his eyes fairly flamed upon the doctor. He trembled—then smiled calmly.
"Some one has, evidently," he said, and spread his five cards face-up upon the table. He pointed at the ace of clubs with a lean finger. It was marked with two little red crosses!
"You!" cried Jim Harley, staring incredulously from the card to the old man and back again to the card.
Nash and David Marsh began to laugh uproariously. Goodine and Rayton looked bewildered, and Banks scratched his head reflectively.
"That beats the band!" cried Nash, at last. "Jim, the spook who works that family curse of yours must be going daffy. Good for you, captain! There's life in the old dog yet! No wonder you are dressed up so stylish."
He leaned halfway across the table, guffawing in the old man's face.
Wigmore's hands darted forward. One gripped Nash's necktie, and the other darted into an inner pocket of his coat.
"Here! Drop it, you old devil!" cried the doctor.
Captain Wigmore sat back in his chair, laughing softly. He held something in his hand—something that they had all seen him draw from Nash's pocket.