ROGUES ANCIENT AND MODERN.
Consinor arrived early at the Lotus Club and took his seat at a small
table facing the doorway, where he whiled away the time by playing
solitaire.
Presently Kāra entered and greeted him cordially, seeming to be in an
especially happy mood.
“Well, shall we try our luck?” he said, seating himself at the opposite
side of the table.
Nodding assent, Consinor gathered up the cards and shuffled them.
Several loungers who knew of the previous game and wondered what the
next meeting between the two men would evolve, clustered around the
table to watch the result.
Kāra won the cut and dealt. He played rather carelessly and lost. The
stakes were a pound sterling.
“Double!” he cried, laughing, and again the viscount nodded.
The luck had shifted, it seemed, for the prince repeatedly lost. At
first he chatted gaily with those present and continued to double with
reckless disregard of his opponent’s success; but by and by he grew
thoughtful and looked at his cards more closely, watching the game as
shrewdly as his adversary. The stakes had grown to four hundred pounds,
and a subtle thrill of excitement spread over the little group of
watchers. Was Consinor going to win back his ten thousand pounds at one
sitting?
Suddenly Kāra, in dealing, fumbled the cards and dropped one of them. In
reaching to pick it up it slipped beneath his foot and he tore it into
two. It was the queen of hearts.
“How stupid!” he laughed, showing the pieces. “Here, boy, bring us a
fresh pack of cards,” addressing an attendant.
Consinor scowled and reached out his hand for the now useless deck. Kāra
slipped the cards into his pocket, including the mutilated one.
“They are mine, prince,” said the viscount; “I use them for playing my
game of solitaire.”
“Pardon, but I have destroyed their value,” returned Kāra. “I shall
insist upon presenting you with a new deck, since my awkwardness has
rendered your own useless.”
Consinor bit his lip, but made no reply, watching silently while the
prince tore open the new deck and shuffled the cards.
The viscount lost the next hand, and the score was evened. He lost
again, and still a third time.
“The luck has changed with the new cards,” said he. “Let us postpone the
game until another evening, unless you prefer to continue.”
“Very well,” Kāra readily returned, and throwing down the cards, he
leaned back in his chair, selected a fresh cigar from his case and
carefully lighted it.
Consinor had pushed back his own chair, but he did not rise. After
watching Kāra’s nonchalant movements for a time, the viscount drew from
his pocket three curious dice, and after an instant’s hesitation tossed
them upon the table.
“Here is a curiosity,” he remarked. “I am told these cubes were found in
an Egyptian tomb at Thebes. They are said to be three thousand years
old.”
The men present, including Kāra, examined the dice curiously. The spots
were arranged much as they are at the present day, an evidence that this
mode of gambling has been subjected to little improvement since the
early Egyptians first invented it.
“They are excellently preserved,” said van Roden. “Where did you get
them, viscount?”
“I picked them up the other day from a strolling Arab. They seemed to me
very quaint.”
“There are several sets in the museum,” remarked Pintsch, a German in
charge of the excavations at Dashur. “It is very wonderful how much
those ancients knew.”
Lord Consinor drew the dice toward him.
“See here, Prince,” said he, “let us try our luck with these
antiquities. It is quicker and easier than écarté.”
“Very well,” consented Kāra. “What are the stakes?”
“Let us say a hundred pounds the throw.”
This suggestion startled the group of spectators; but Kāra said at once:
“I will agree to that, my lord.”
He lost once, twice, thrice.
Then, as Consinor, with a triumphant leer, pushed the dice toward him,
Kāra thrust his hands in his pockets and said in a quiet voice to the
onlookers:
“Gentlemen, I call upon you to witness that I am playing with a rogue.
These dice are loaded.”
Following a moment’s horrified silence, the viscount sprang up with an
oath.
“This is an insult, Prince Kāra!” he cried.
“Sit down,” said Colonel Varrin, sternly. “No mere words can condemn
you, sir. Let us examine the dice.”
The others concurred, their faces bearing witness to their dismay and
alarm. Such a disgraceful occurrence had never before been known within
those eminently respectable walls. The honor of the club was, they felt,
at stake.
The cubes were carefully tested. It was as Kāra had charged--they were
loaded.
“Can you explain this, Lord Consinor?” asked one of the party.
“I cannot see why I should be called upon to explain,” was the reply.
“In purchasing the dice, I was wholly ignorant of their condition. It
was a mere impulse that led me to offer to play with them.”
“It is well known that these ancient dice are frequently loaded,”
interrupted Pintsch, eagerly, as if he saw a solution of the affair.
“Two of the sets exhibited in the museum have been treated in the same
clever manner.”
“That is true,” agreed Varrin, nodding gravely.
“In that case,” said Consinor, “I am sure you gentlemen will exonerate
me from any intentional wrong. It is simply my misfortune that I offered
to play with the dice.”
“Was it also your misfortune, my lord,” returned Kāra, calmly, “that you
have been playing all the evening with marked cards? I will ask you to
explain to these gentlemen why this deck, which you have claimed in
their presence to be your private property, bears secret marks that
could only have been placed there with one intent--to swindle an
unsuspecting antagonist.”
He drew the cards from his pocket as he spoke and handed them to Colonel
Varrin, who examined them with a troubled countenance and then turned
them over to his neighbor for inspection.
While the cards passed around, Consinor sat staring blankly at the
group. The evidence against him was so incontrovertible that he saw no
means of escape from the disgrace which was sure to follow.
“Gentlemen,” said Kāra, when the last man had examined the cards and
laid them upon the table again, “I trust you will all bear evidence that
it is not my usual custom or desire to win money from those I play with.
Rather do I prefer to lose, for in that way I obtain the
[Illustration: Following a moment’s horrified silence, the viscount
sprang up with an oath]
amusement of playing, without the knowledge that I may have
inconvenienced my friends. But when a common trickster and cheat
conspires to rob me, my temper is different. Lord Consinor owes me ten
thousand pounds, and I demand from him in your presence prompt payment
of the debt. Also, I depend upon you to protect me and my fellow-members
from card sharpers in the future, which I am sure you will gladly do.
For the rest, the matter is in your hands. Good evening, gentlemen.”
He bowed with dignity and withdrew. The others silently followed,
scattering to other rooms of the club. Varrin, as a club official, took
with him the incriminating dice and the marked cards.
Lord Consinor, knowing well that he was ruined, sat muttering curses
upon Kāra and his own “hard luck” until he noticed the deserted room and
decided to go home. The disaster had fairly dazed him, so that he failed
to realize the fact that as he called for his hat and coat in the lobby
the groups of bystanders ceased their eager talk and carefully turned
their backs in his direction.
The viscount had never heard of Hatatcha; yet it was her vengeance that
had overtaken him.