downward in
the form of a fan, he thrust them towards Schomberg.

"Come, man, take one quick!"

Schomberg was so surprised that he took one hurriedly, after a very
perceptible start. The eyes of Martin Ricardo gleamed phosphorescent
in the half-light of the room screened from the heat and glare of the
tropics.

"That's the king of hearts you've got," he chuckled, showing his teeth
in a quick flash.

Schomberg, after looking at the card, admitted that it was, and laid it
down on the table.

"I can make you take any card I like nine times out of ten," exulted the
secretary, with a strange curl of his lips and a green flicker in his
raised eyes.

Schomberg looked down at him dumbly. For a few seconds neither of them
stirred; then Ricardo lowered his glance, and, opening his fingers,
let the whole pack fall on the table. Schomberg sat down. He sat down
because of the faintness in his legs, and for no other reason. His mouth
was dry. Having sat down, he felt that he must speak. He squared his
shoulders in parade style.

"You are pretty good at that sort of thing," he said.

"Practice makes perfect," replied the secretary.

His precarious amiability made it impossible for Schomberg to get away.
Thus, from his very timidity, the hotel-keeper found himself engaged
in a conversation the thought of which filled him with apprehension. It
must be said, in justice to Schomberg, that he concealed his funk very
creditably. The habit of throwing out his chest and speaking in a severe
voice stood him in good stead. With him, too, practice made perfect; and
he would probably have kept it up to the end, to the very last moment,
to the ultimate instant of breaking strain which would leave him
grovelling on the floor. To add to his secret trouble, he was at a loss
what to say. He found nothing else but the remark:

"I suppose you are fond of cards."

"What would you expect?" asked Ricardo in a simple, philosophical tone.
"It is likely I should not be?" Then, with sudden fire: "Fond of cards?
Ay, passionately!"

The effect of this outburst was augmented by the quiet lowering of the
eyelids, by a reserved pause as though this had been a confession of
another kind of love. Schomberg cudgelled his brains for a new topic,
but he could not find one. His usual scandalous gossip would not serve
this turn. That desperado did not know anyone anywhere within a thousand
miles. Schomberg was almost compelled to keep to the subject.

"I