The seven Bank of Scotland pound notes lay carelessly bunched together opposite me on the side of the table and within easy reach, whilst the door of the “snug” was but a couple of feet away from where I sat, I being nearest to it.
The next moment I saw my opportunity and seized it.
As the dealer manipulated the cards, he, as he had done all through, spread out his hand over a card for a couple of seconds. I clutched the open knife firmly in my right hand, and before any one of those present could have the slightest idea of my intentions I bounded to my feet, raised my arm in the air, and the next instant had pinned the sharper’s hand to the table with the long, keen blade!
With his scream of agony ringing in my ears, and the sight of the knife quivering in his hand photographed, as it were, upon my vision, I grabbed at the loose notes which lay in front of me, bunched them up into the palm of my hand, and, leaving the knife where I had driven it, flung open the door of the “snug” and bounded through the saloon and out into the busy street.
“THE NEXT INSTANT I HAD PINNED THE SHARPER’S HAND TO THE TABLE WITH THE LONG, KEEN BLADE!”
Though the recital of this incident occupies some little time in the telling, it was all accomplished in the space of a few seconds, and as soon as I found myself mixed up with the traffic outside I considered I was safe from pursuit—if, indeed, it had ever been likely any attempt would be made by the sharpers to run me to earth.
I reached my uncle’s place of business an hour or two later than I should have done in the ordinary course, but gave some plausible excuse for my delay.
He was inclined to be angry at first, but as I produced the money all right he did not pursue the matter further, although it was not until a considerable time afterwards that I ventured to give any of my relations an account of my exciting adventure with the card-sharpers.