uddenly darted forward, and seemed to be
plunging his hand--the hand which almost disappeared within the ample
folds of the voluminous lace cuff--into the breast pocket of the young
man's doublet.

His movements were so quick, so sure and so unexpected that no
one--least of all Lambert--could possibly guess what was his purpose.

The next moment--less than a second later--he had again withdrawn his
hand, but now everyone could see that he held a few cards in it. These
he dropped with an exclamation of loathing and contempt upon the table,
whilst those around, instinctively drew back a step or two as if fearful
of coming in contact with something impure and terrible.

Endicott's movements, his quick gestures, well aided by the wide lace
cuffs which fell over his hand, his exclamation of contempt, had all
contributed to make it seem before the spectators as if he had found a
few winning cards secreted inside the lining of Richard Lambert's
doublet.

"Nay! young sir," he said with an evil sneer, "meseems that explanations
had best come from you. Here," he added, pointing significantly at the
cards which he had just dropped out of his own hand, "here is a vastly
pleasing collection ... aces and kings ... passing serviceable in a
quiet game of primero among friends."

Lambert had been momentarily dumfounded, for undoubtedly he had not
perceived Endicott's treacherous movements, and had absolutely no idea
whence had come those awful cards which somehow or other seemed to be
convicting him of lying and cheating: so conscious was he of his own
innocence, that never for a moment did the slightest fear cross his mind
that he could not immediately make clear his own position, and proclaim
his own integrity.

"This is an infamous plot," he said calmly, but very firmly. "Sir
Marmaduke de Chavasse," he added, turning to face his employer, who
still stood motionless and silent in the background, "in the name of
Heaven I beg of you to explain to these gentlemen that you have known me
from boyhood. Will you speak?" he added insistently, conscious of a
strange tightening of his heartstrings as the man on whom he relied,
remained impassive and made no movement to come to his help. "Will you
tell them, I pray you, sir, that you know me to be a man of honor,
incapable of such villainy as they suggest? ... You know that I did not
even wish to play ..."

"That reluctance of yours, my good Lambert, seems to have been a pretty
comedy f