"No, thanks," he answered, listlessly looking on at the cards.
"A cigarette, then?"
"No, thanks. I think I must give up smoking altogether—my throat isn't quite right."
But an extraordinary stroke of good-luck aroused him. On looking at his cards he found he had been dealt four aces and a ten. Surely the hour of his revenge had sounded at last; for with such a hand he could easily frighten the others out, while he knew that Percival Miles would remain in, if he had anything at all. Accordingly, when it came to his turn he raised before the draw—raised the pool a sovereign; and this caused two of the players to retire, leaving himself, Miles, and the dealer. He took one card—to his astonishment and concealed delight he found it was the joker. Five aces!—surely on such a hand he might bet his furniture, his clothes, his last cigarette. Five aces!—it was nothing but brute force; all that was wanted was to pile on the money; he could well afford to be reckless this time. He saw that Miles also asked for one card, and that the dealer helped himself to two; but what the took was a matter of supreme indifference to him.
It was Percival Miles's turn to bet.
"I will bet a sovereign," said he.
"And I'll stay in with you," remarked the dealer, depositing the golden coin.
"One better," said Lionel.
"And one better," said Miles.
Here the dealer retired, so that these two were left in as before—well, not as before, for Lionel had five aces in his hand! And now they made no pretence of keeping to the limit that had been imposed; their bets were registered on the bit of paper which each had by him; and pertinaciously did these two gladiators hack and slash at each other. Lionel was quite reckless. His enemy had taken one card. Very well. Supposing he had "filled" a flush or a straight, so much the better. Supposing he also had got fours—that, too, was excellent well; for he