id the other, abandoning his easy pose and sitting up
with a sharpened glance and tone, "you are wrong--quite wrong."

"What makes you think that?" demanded P. Sybarite, finishing his
second glass.

"Because," said his host with a dangerous smile, "I am a desperate
man."

"Oh?" said P. Sybarite thoughtfully.

"Believe me," insisted the other with convincing simplicity: "I'm such
a bum loser, I'm willing to stake my last five hundred on the
proposition that you don't leave this house a dollar richer than you
entered it."

"Done!" said P. Sybarite instantly. "If I get away with it, you pay me
five hundred dollars. Is that right?"

"Exactly!"

"But--where shall we meet to settle the wager?"

Penfield smiled cheerfully. "Dine with me at the Bizarre this evening
at seven."

"If I lose, with pleasure. Otherwise, you are to be my guest."

"It's a bargain."

"And--that being understood," pursued P. Sybarite curiously--"perhaps
you won't mind explaining your grounds for this conspicuous
confidence."

"Not in the least," said the other, pulling comfortably at his
cigar--"that is, if you're willing to come through with a little
information. I'm curious to know how you came to butt in here on my
personal card of introduction. Where did you get it?"

"Found it in a hat left in my possession by a gentleman in a great
hurry, whom I much desired to see again, and therefore--presuming him
to be Mr. Bailey Penfield--came here to find."

"A gentleman unknown to you?"

"Entirely: a tall young man with an ugly mouth; rather fancies
himself, I should say: a bit of a bounder. You recognise this sketch?"

"Perhaps ..." Penfield murmured thoughtfully.

"His name?"

"Maybe he wouldn't thank me for telling you that."

"Very well. Now then: why and how are you going to separate me from my
winnings?"

"By force," said Mr. Penfield with engaging candour. "It desolates me
to descend to rough-neck methods, but I am a larger, stronger man than
you, Mr.--"

"Sybarite," said the little man, flushing, "P.--by the grace of
God!--Sybarite."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Sybarite.... But before we
lose our tempers, what do you say to a fair proposition: leave me what
you have won to-night, and I'll pay it back to the last cent with
interest in less than six months."

P. Sybarite shook his head: "I'm sorry."

The dark blood surged into Penfield's cheeks. "You won't accept my
word--?"

"I have every confidence