Mark took his place behind him as play began. The game
was ecarte, and for a time Emerson lost.

"I think the luck has changed, Mr. Cotter, but as we generally raise the
stakes after playing for a bit, I am ready to do so. Shall we make it
fifty pounds again?"

"With pleasure," the young man said.

He won the next two games, then for some time they won alternately.

"Shall we say a hundred again?" he said.

"As you like," Emerson replied. "We don't seem to get much forwarder
either way at present."

A considerable number of lookers on had now gathered round. So far Mark,
although watching the fingers of the opposite player intently, had seen
no sign whatever of unfair play. He now redoubled his attention. Cotter
won the first game, his adversary the three next. Mark noticed now that
after looking at his hand Emerson looked abstractedly, as if meditating
before taking the next step; there was no expression in his face, but
Mark fancied that his eyes rested for a moment on the man standing next
to himself. He looked at his watch and then, as if finding the hour
later than he had expected, moved away from his place, and presently
joined Dick, who was standing with Boldero on the other side of the
table.

"Who is that man playing with Emerson?" he asked in a whisper.

"He is the son of Cotter, the head of Cotter's Bank, in Lombard Street."

As the men were standing two or three deep round the table, Mark could
not see the table itself, but this mattered little, for his attention
was entirely directed towards the man standing behind Cotter's chair. He
saw that after glancing down at the young man's hand he looked across as
if seeing what Emerson was going to do; sometimes his eyes dropped
for an instant, at other times there was no such movement, and after
noticing this four or five times, and noticing the course Emerson took,
he had no doubt whatever in his own mind that the movement of the man's
eyes was an intimation to Emerson of the nature of Cotter's hand. The
young man had lost four games in succession; he had grown very pale, but
showed no other signs of agitation. Presently he said:

"You have your usual luck again; I will only play one more game tonight,
but we may as well make it worth playing. Shall we say five hundred?"

"At your service," Emerson replied.

This time the face of the man standing behind Cotter's chair was
immovable, and Mark, placing himself behind a short man and straining
his head