"No; he's where the playing is, I expect."
"That's where we are going," I said.
Dorcas rose, and she and I and Guiseppe made our way to the upstairs
room together.
On the landing we were challenged by a big square-shouldered Italian.
"Only members pass here," he said, gruffly.
Guiseppe answered in Italian, and the man growled out, "All right,"
and we entered a room which was as crowded as the other was empty.
One glance at the table was sufficient to show me that the game was
an illegal one.
Dorcas stood by me among a little knot of onlookers. Presently she
nudged my elbow, and I followed her glance. A tall, swarthy Italian,
the wreck of what must once have been a remarkably handsome man, sat
scowling fiercely as he lost stake after stake. I asked her with my
eyebrows if she meant this was Rinaldi, and she nodded her head
in assent.
A waiter was in the room taking orders, and bringing the drinks up
from the bar below.
"Order two brandies and sodas," whispered Dorcas.
Then Dorcas sat down at the end of the room away from the crowd,
and I joined her. The waiter brought the brandies and sodas and put
them down. I paid unchallenged.
A dispute had arisen over at the big table, and the players were
shouting one against the other. Dorcas took advantage of the din,
and said, close to my ear, "Now you must do as I tell you--I'm going
back to the table. Presently Rinaldi will leap up; when he does,
seize him by the arms, and hold him--a few seconds will do."
"But----"
"It's all right. Do as I tell you."
She rose, taking her glass, still full of brandy and soda, with her.
I wondered how on earth she could tell Rinaldi was going to jump up.
The stout old German frau pushed in among the crowd till she was
almost leaning over Rinaldi's shoulder. Suddenly she lurched and
tilted the entire contents of her glass into the breast pocket of
his coat. He sprang up with a fierce oath, the rest of the company
yelling with laughter. Instantly I seized him by the arms, as though
to prevent him in his rage striking Dorcas. The German woman had
her handkerchief out.
She begged a thousand pardons, and began to mop up the liquid which
was dripping down her victim. Then she thrust her hand into his
inner pocket.
"Oh, the pocket-book! Ah, it must be dried!"
Quick as lightning she opened the book, and began to pull out the
contents and wipe them with her handkerchief.
Carlo Rinaldi, who had been bellowing like a bull, struggled from me
with an effort, and made a grab at the book. Dorcas, pretending to
fear he was going to strike her, flung the book to him, and, giving
me a quick glance, ran out of the room and down the stairs, and I
followed, the fierce oaths of Rinaldi and the laughter of the members
of the Camorra still ringing in my ears.