THE GAMBLERS.
The lights were flaring at No. 1 Lytton Avenue, as they seemed to
flare almost day and night. The red carpet crossed the pavement;
inside the banks of flowers nodded their brilliant heads, there
was a rustle of silken drapery and a ripple of laughter from the
drawing-room. It was all typical of a life of pleasure.
In one corner was an oblong table, surrounded by an eager, silent
group. A bald-headed man with a matted black beard and a great curved
nose was taking the place of banker. The great financier Isaac Isidore
was as keen over the banknotes here as he was over the millions he
gambled in the city.
No servants were present, they had been sent away long ago. Tempting
things were set out on a side table, and whoever wanted anything
helped himself. The players were so intent upon their game that
nothing could be heard beyond their laboured breathing.
They were gambling in earnest, there were hundreds of pounds in notes
and gold on the dull green cloth. A handsome youth, who was ruining
himself and his estate as speedily as possible, sat easy and collected
next to a young society lady, whose husband would have been shot
rather than see her in such company. A pretty marchioness, the
daughter of an American millionaire, was plunging greedily and losing
as steadily. Countess Lalage smiled with perfect equanimity as she saw
her own counters vanishing. She pushed over two small notes with a
little sigh. She did not look as if they were the last she had in the
world, but they were.
The whole brilliant house of cards must topple down soon unless help
came from somewhere. Already capitalists in the city were asking
questions about the securities they held, the hearts of certain
tradesmen were beginning to grow anxious.
"Lend me £500, Lady Longmere," the Countess asked gaily.
"Not a cent," Lady Longmere cried in a high nasal voice. "I guess my
luck's just in, and I'm going to make the most of it. I'm £8,000 to
the bad, and once I make that up you don't catch me at this game
again. If Longmere knew that I had broken my word like this he would
kill me."
"Who'll lend me a few hundreds?" Leona Lalage cried with a red spot on
her cheeks.
Nobody replied. They were all under her own roof, they had all enjoyed
her hospitality times out of mind, but not one of them was prepared to
lend her money. And Leona had had a fearful run of luck lately. Out of
all those dainty smiling friends of hers seated round that table there
was not one who did not hold her I.O.U. for considerable sums of
money. She was beginning to be talked about. That very morning in the
Park a well-known society leader had ignored her until recognition was
forced upon her by sheer audacity.
"No one to help me at all?" she pleaded. Her voice was low, but she
shook with passion. The big financier growled out that he would trust
her to £50. In two minutes this was gone, and the banker made no
further sign.
She must go on, it was absolutely necessary. Audacity would carry her
far, but even she had need of ready money. And luck must turn now, if
she had a hundred or two she was certain of it. It was madness, to sit
there, and watch that golden stream change hands and not share it. She
could have risen up and smitten her guests, and turned them furiously
out of the house, but she had to sit there and smile. The gambler's
fever was upon her, and there was dire necessity for some ready money
on the morrow. She rose from the table with a sudden resolution. As
she turned, she saw Lawrence looking critically round him.
"You don't play," she said. "What interest is there to you?"
"It is a fine study in human nature," Lawrence replied. "All the evil
emotions are here nicely chained up. I like to watch and study for
myself. Let me sit down and smoke a cigarette and study."
Leona Lalage flew up into her own room. She was going to do a
desperate thing. She had always recognised the fact that at some time
or other it might be necessary to disappear suddenly and mysteriously
from the brilliant field, and that is not possible even to the
cleverest without money. Desperately needy as she had been more than
once lately, she had never broken into the little reserve that she
kept for emergencies.
"Our hostess has gone to rob a bank," the gentlemanly youth suggested.
"Or to pawn her jewels," Lady Longmere laughed. "Isidore, why didn't
you offer to lend her money on her tiara?"
"Because it is probably paste," the banker said, coolly. "Hein, I have
seen enough of society women to know something of the value of their
gems."
The spiteful little ripple of laughter was hushed as Leona Lalage
returned. There was a flush on her face and a glitter in her eyes that
Lawrence did not fail to notice. A little sheaf of banknotes fluttered
in her hands.
"Give me gold for these," she cried. "Gold, red gold, two hundred
sovereigns. Now, we will see whether fortune is still going to spite
me."
For an hour they played on steadily with varying fortune. The clocks
were striking two as three of the party dropped out, having lost
everything. A great pile of gold stood before Leona Lalage, a large
pile of notes opposite Lady Longmere. There were only five in the game
now, and the banker was losing in a manner that caused the beads to
stand out on his bald head. He shovelled out the last of his notes and
his remaining gold and shook his head.
"I have gone to my limit," he said. "Gordon, give me a brandy and
soda. Would you like to take my place, Lady Longmere?"
The American beauty shook her head and smiled.
"Not I!" she said. "I've got all my season's losings back, and I've
done with this kind of thing, right here. I'm very fond of Longmere in
my funny way, and I'm not going to deceive him any more. But I shall
be afraid to go home with all these notes on me."
"I'll take them off your hands and give you a cheque," said Isidore.
"I shall want a lot of notes in the morning."
He scribbled out a cheque, and then, with the custom of his class,
went through the whole pile of notes down to the last one. There was a
puzzled frown on his face.
"Are they bad?" Lady Longmere asked quizzically?
"It isn't that," said Isidore. "I've got a fine head for figures, and
some of the numbers of these notes strike me as familiar. They are
identified in my mind with some sensation or tragedy. It seems to
me--ah! got it!"
"What is it now you have got?" Leona asked.
"Why, the corner house," Isidore cried. "Forty of these notes form
part of the money taken from the body of that poor murdered fellow in
the corner house. Here they are--190793 to 190832. Now which of you
was it who came here tonight with these particular notes in your
pocket?"
The gamblers looked at one another uneasily, but not one word was
said.