Page:Vance--Terence O'Rourke.djvu/334

 swift glance did not fail to record the fact that one of the croupier's hands had sunk beneath the level of the table.

Abruptly the ball hesitated; it seemed about to fall into the 25. Indeed, for the fraction of an instant it was in that compartment; and then it recoiled, slid gracefully out in a slight arc, and settled in the double zero.

Impassively the croupier took up his rake, announcing the result with merciless clearness. He glanced at the two stakes—madam's on the 25, black; O'Rourke's modest bet upon the red—and reached forth with the rake like a hungry, clutching claw.

Madame sank back with a half-suppressed cry.

O'Rourke put out his hand, and deflected the rake. "One moment," he said calmly.

"Monsieur!" expostulated the scandalized croupier.

"Oh, come now!" remonstrated O'Rourke pleasantly. "Ye're not meaning to do anything like that, now, are ye?"

"What does m'sieur mean?"

"M'sieur means," mimicked O'Rourke, still good-naturedly, "that ye're a trifle barefaced in your swindling, me lad. Steady, now! Don't shout! Ye'll only attract undesirable notoriety."

The croupier paused, his mouth open, his eyes glaring undying hate into O'Rourke's. The Irishman dropped his hand nonchalantly into the side pocket of his coat, and turned to the woman—but without taking his gaze from the gambler.

"One moment, if ye please, madam," he begged her, as, frightened and apprehensive, she was about to rise and take her leave. "There has been a trifle of a mistake here. This gentleman is about to make amends."

From the gentleman's expression, one would have said,