nd had a long talk
with the Hon. John Hazel, who, for the first time during the voyage,
seemed to be enjoying himself.

Next morning the Hon. John paced up and down one deck after another, as
if in search of someone. On an almost deserted lower deck he met the
person whom he sought.

"I beg your pardon," said Hazel in his suavest manner, "but I am trying
to find three men as tired of this journey as I am. I have never been on
a voyage before, and I confess I miss London and the convenience of its
clubs. A quiet little game of poker in the smoking-room might help to
while away the time."

The keen eyes of Mr. Branksome Poole narrowed, as was a custom of
theirs, and he took in the points of the man who addressed him.

"I am not much of a hand at poker," he said hesitatingly and
untruthfully.

The Hon. John laughed.

"Don't mind that in the least," he said. "The requirement for this game
is cash. I have approached several men, and they object to playing for
money; but I confess I don't give a rap for sitting at a card-table
unless there's something substantial on."

"I'm with you there," agreed the stout man, his eyes glistening at the
thought of handling a pack of cards once more. His momentary hesitation
had been because he feared someone might recognise him, for he felt
himself quite able to cope with anyone when it came to the shuffle and
the deal. They were a strangely contrasted pair as they stood there,
the pleb and the patrician--the pleb grim and serious, the patrician
carrying off the situation with a light laugh--yet it was hard to say
which was the more expert scoundrel when it came to cards.

A little later four men sat down to a table. Hazel ordered a new pack of
cards from the smoke-room steward, broke the seal, and pulled off the
wrapper.

It is not worth while to describe the series of games: only the one
matters. At first Poole played very cautiously, watching out of the
tail of his eye for any officer who might spot him as one who had
been ordered off the green, and so expose him for what he was. The
consequence of this divided attention was soon apparent. He lost
heavily, and finally he drew a couple of fifty-pound notes from his
pocket-book. He fingered them for a moment as if loath to part with
paper so valuable.

"Where's that steward?" he asked.

"What do you want?" demanded Hazel, as though impatient for the game to
go on.

"Change for a fifty."

"I'll change it for you." And the