"Cards?"
The man at the left, tall, gaunt, ill-kempt, flicked the pasteboards in his hand to the floor and ground them beneath his heavy boots.
"Give me five."
The point of the Vandyke beard was aimed straight past the speaker.
"Cards?" repeated the dealer.
"Five! Can't you hear?"
The man braced against the bar looked around with interest. In the mask of Mick Kennedy the single eye closed almost imperceptibly. Slowly the face of the dealer turned.
"I can hear you pretty well when you cash into the game. You already owe me forty blues, Blair."
The long figure stiffened, the face went pale.
"You—mean—you—" the tongue was very thick. "You cut me out?"