Beth Norvell

"Ah, señor," and she bent toward him in seductive whisper, "so my lady,

de Americana, let you escape early to-night!"

Surprised at her recognition, he failed to answer immediately, and the

girl touched him gently with her hand.

"De girls of my race never so cold, señor. Try me some time, an' see."

With a happy laugh and coquettish uplifting of the dark eyes, the

dancer was as quickly gone, vanishing into the throng like a flash of

red flame. For a breathless moment Winston's admiring gaze followed,

conscious merely of her dark beauty, her slender, graceful figure. He

was young, impressionable, and there was rare witchery about the girl

which momentarily fascinated him. His attention shifted back to

Farnham with a swift remembrance of the stern purpose which had brought

him there. The gambler was playing out his case silently, emotionless

as ever. If he had observed anything unusual, if he considered

anything beyond his card-play, no eye could have detected it in that

impassive countenance, those cold, expressionless eyes. Apparently he

was a mere automaton, the sole symbol of life showing in the white

fingers so deftly dealing the fateful pasteboards from the box. The

impatient, excited crowd facing him moved restlessly, cursing or

laughing with each swift turn of play; but he who wrought the spell

neither spoke nor smiled, his face remaining fixed, immutable, as

emotionless as carven granite. Suddenly he glanced meaningly aside,

and, nodding silently to a black-moustached fellow lounging beside the

croupier, rose quickly from his chair. The other as instantly slipped

into it, his hands guarding the few remaining cards, while Farnham

stood for a moment behind the chair, idly looking on. There was no

noticeable interruption to the game, and when the final card came

gliding forth from the silver box, the imperturbable gamester turned

deliberately away from the table, heedless of the desperate struggle

about him, the curses and uproar, and faced the younger man still

leaning against the wall.

"Mr. Winston?" he questioned quietly.

Surprised by this unexpected notice, the other bowed in silent

acknowledgment of his name.

A faint sarcastic smile curved the thin, compressed lips, while Farnham

ran one hand carelessly through his slightly curling hair.

"I should like a few words with you in private," he explained politely.

"There is a vacant room we can use--this way."

Astonished into yielding without protest, and at the same time feeling

sufficiently eager to learn the cause for such a request, Winston

unhesitatingly followed the other through the press, marking as he did

so the slender erectness of that figure in advance, the square set of

the broad shoulders, the easy air of authority with which he cleared

the way. Without ceremony Farnham flung aside a heavy brocaded

curtain, glancing inquiringly into the smaller room thus revealed. It

contained a square table and half a dozen chairs. Three men sat

within, their feet elevated, quietly smoking. The gambler coolly ran

his eyes over their uplifted faces.