The Face and the Mask by Robert Barr (beach read book txt) đź“–
- Author: Robert Barr
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“You’re young at the business, I see,” remarked the professional quietly.
“Why do you think that?” asked the youngster, coloring, for one likes to be taken for a veteran, especially when one is an amateur.
“Because you fool away your time at roulette. That is a game for boys and women. Have you nerve enough to play a real game?”
“What do you call a real game?”
“A game with cards in a private room for something bigger than half- dollar points.”
“How big?”
“Depends on what capital you have. How much capital can you command?”
The cashier hesitated for a moment and his eyes fell from the steady light of Rowell’s, which seemed to have an uncomfortable habit of looking into one’s inmost soul.
“I can bring $1,000 here on Saturday night.”
“All right. That will do as a starter. Is it an appointment then?”
“Yes, if you like. What time?”
“I generally get here pretty late, but I can make an exception in your case. What do you say to 10 o’clock?”
“That will suit me.”
“Very well, then. Don’t fool away any of your money or nerve until I come. You will need all you have of both.”
The professional gambler and the amateur began their series of games a few minutes after ten in a little private room. The young man became more and more excited as the play went on. As for Pony, he was cool under any circumstances. Before an hour had passed the $1,000 was transferred from the possession of Forme into the pockets of the professional, and by midnight the younger man was another $1,000 in Rowell’s debt.
“It isn’t my practice,” said Rowell slowly, “to play with a man unless he has the money in sight. I’ve made an exception in your case, as luck was against you, but I think this has gone far enough. You may bring me the $1,000 you owe any day next week. No particular hurry, you know.”
The young fellow appeared to be dazed. He drew his hand across his brow and then said mechanically, as if he had just heard his opponent’s remark:
“No hurry? All right. Next week. Certainly. I guess I’ll go home now.”
Forme went out, leaving Rowell idly shuffling the cards at the small table. The moment the young man had disappeared all Rowell’s indolence vanished. He sprang up and put on his overcoat, then slipped out by the rear exit into the alley. He had made up his mind what Forme would do. Mentally he tracked him from the gambling rooms to the river and he even went so far as to believe he would take certain streets on his way thither. A gambler is nothing if not superstitious and so Rowell was not in the least surprised when he saw the young man emerge from the dark stairway, hesitate for a moment between the two directions open to him, and finally choose the one that the gambler expected him to take. The cold streets were deserted and so Rowell had more difficulty in following his late victim unperceived than he would have had earlier in the evening. Several times the older man thought the pursued had become aware of the pursuit, for Forme stopped and looked around him; once coming back and taking another street as if trying to double on the man who was following him.
Rowell began to realize the difficulty of the task he had set for himself, and as he had never had any faith in it anyhow, he began to feel uncomfortable and to curse the tender heart of Mellish. If the youngster got the idea into his head that he was followed he might succeed in giving his pursuer the slip, and then Rowell would find himself with the fool’s death on his conscience, and what was to him infinitely worse, with a thousand dollars in his pocket that had been unfairly won. This thought made him curse Mellish afresh. It had been entirely against his own will that he had played with marked cards, but Mellish had insisted that they should take no chances, and the veteran knew too well the uncertainties of playing a fair game where a great object lesson was to be taught. It would make them look like two fools, Mellish had said, if Forme won the money. In answer to this Rowell had remarked that they were two fools anyhow, but he had finally succumbed to Mellish as the whole scheme was Mellish’s. As Rowell thought bitterly of these things his attention was diverted from the very matter he had in hand. Few men can pursue a course of thought and a fellow-creature at the same time. He suddenly realized that young Forme had escaped him. Rowell stood alone in the dimly-lighted silent street and poured unuttered maledictions on his own stupidity. Suddenly a voice rang out from a dark doorway.
“What the devil are you following me for?”
“Oh, you’re there, are you?” said Pony calmly.
“I’m here. Now what do you want of me? Aren’t you satisfied with what you have done to-night?”
“Naturally not, or I wouldn’t be fool-chasing at such an hour as this.”
“Then you admit you have been following me?”
“I never denied it.”
“What do you want of me? Do I belong to myself or do you think I belong to you, because I owe you some money?”
“I do not know, I am sure, to whom you belong,” said Rowell with his slow drawl. “I suspect, however, that the city police, who seem to be scarce at this hour, have the first claim upon you. What do I want of you? I want to ask you a question. Where did you get the money you played with to-night?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“I presume not. But as there are no witnesses to this interesting conversation I will venture an opinion that you robbed the bank.”
The young man took a step forward, but Pony stood his ground, using the interval to light another cigarette.
“I will also venture an opinion, Mr. Rowell, and say that the money came as honestly into my pocket as it did into yours.”
“That wouldn’t be saying much for it. I have the advantage of you, however, because the nine points are in my favor. I have possession.”
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