And again Crozier declines to take up his bet.
He has now eight hundred pounds sterling upon the card--sixteen hundred
on the turn of the game--while the others, thoroughly assured that his
luck is on the run, double theirs, till the bets against the bank post
up to as many thousands.
De Lara begins to look anxious, and not a little downhearted. Still
more anxious, and lower in heart, appears him seated on the opposite
side--Calderon; for it is his money that is moving away. He is visibly
excited. On the contrary, Crozier is as cool as ever, his features set
in a rigid determination to do what he promised--break the bank, or lose
all he has got about him. The last, not likely yet, for soon again
comes the cry:
"_The Queen winner_!"
There is a pause longer than usual, for the settling of such a large
score; and after it an interval of inaction. The dealer seems inclined
to discontinue; for still lying upon the Queen is Crozier's stake, once
more doubled, and now counting three thousand two hundred pounds!
Asked if he intends to let it remain, he replies sneeringly:
"Of course I do; I insist upon it. And once more I go for the Queen.
Let those who like the Knave better, back him!"
"Go on! Go on!" is the cry around the table, from many voices speaking
in tone of demand.
De Lara glances at Calderon furtively, but, to those observing it, with
a look of interrogation. Whatever the sign, or answer, it decides him
to go on dealing.
The bets are again made; to his dismay, almost everybody laying upon the
Queen, and, as before, increasing their stakes. And in like proportion
is heightened the interest in the game. It is too intense for any
display of noisy excitement now. And there is less throughout the
saloon; for many from the other tables, as all the saunterers, have
collected round, and standing several deep, gaze over one another's
shoulders, with as much eager earnestness as if a man were expiring in
their midst.
The ominous call at length comes--not in clear voice, or tone exultant,
but feeble, and as if rung reluctantly from the lips of the Monte
dealer. For it is again a verdict adverse to the bank:
"_Caballo en la puerta mozo_!"
As De Lara utters the words, he dashes the cards down, scattering them
all over the table. Then rising excitedly from his chair, adds in
faltering tone:
"Gentlemen, I'm sorry to tell you the bank's broke!"