He rose to his
feet, threw his money down on the table with a bang, reeled as he stood,
and sat down heavily.

And so the game went on. No luck came to Tresco, and but a few pounds
remained in front of him. "One more Kitty, and that finishes me," he
said, as he placed his stake in the pool.

As usual, he lost.

"Here's seven pounds left," he cried. "Even money all round, and sudden
death on a single throw."

The final pool was made up. The digger threw first--a paltry seven.
Dolphin followed with five. It was Tresco's turn to play next, and he
threw eleven.

Carnac dallied long with the dice. He was about to throw, when the
Prospector rose from his seat and, swaying, caught at the suave
gambler's arm for support. With a rattle the dice-box fell. Carnac
uttered an oath. Before the players three dice lay upon the table.

Tresco swore deep and loud, and in a moment had fastened both his hands
upon the cheat's throat. Carnac struggled, the table with all its money
fell with a crash, but the sinister Garstang made a swift movement, and
before Tresco's face there glittered the barrel of a revolver.

"Drop him," said Garstang hoarsely. "Loose hold, or you're dead."

The goldsmith dropped his man, but Garstang still covered him with his
weapon.

"Stow the loot, William," said Dolphin, suiting the action to the word;
and while the two trusty comrades filled their pockets with gold and
bank-notes, Carnac slunk from the room. With a heavy lurch the digger
tumbled up against the wall, and then fell heavily to the floor.

"Don't give so much as a squeak," said Garstang to the goldsmith, "or
you'll lie beside your mate, only much sounder."

Dolphin and Young William, laden with booty, now retired with all speed,
and Garstang, still covering his man, walked slowly backward to the
door. He made a sudden step and was gone; the door shut with a bang; the
key turned in the lock, and Benjamin Tresco was left alone with the
insensible form of Bill the Prospector.

"Hocussed, by Heaven!" cried the goldsmith. "Fleeced and drugged in one
evening."

CHAPTER XI.

The Temptation of the Devil.

The atmosphere of the little room at the back of Tresco's shop was
redolent of frying chops. The goldsmith was cooking his breakfast.

As he sneezed and coughed, and watered at the eyes, he muttered, "This
is the time of all others that I feel the lack of Betsy Jane or a loving
wife."

There was the sound of a foot on the narr