The headwaiter approached him at once, took hat and coat, whispering, “The marble table?” and looking closely at the visitor as he did so. Wenk gave a nod of assent, and the headwaiter rapidly preceded him to the back, Wenk following more leisurely. Then he was led up the winding stair.
The first person he saw at the gaming-table was the sandy-bearded man. He sat in his niche, his broad shoulders bent forward, with his eyes fixed in a steady gaze upon a player opposite. His attitude was that of a beast of prey who has already played his victim and is only waiting to pounce upon him. He seemed to be all sinews—at least, that was the impression he made upon Wenk, who started back at his aspect.
There was one empty seat. Wenk took it and drew out his pocketbook. An idea crossed his mind, that something special had occurred at the table. He saw all the players cowering over the little heaps of money in front of them, and yet there was in them all a distinct, even if unintentional, glance given to one among their number.
The sandy-bearded stranger was holding the bank, and now he looked up. Wenk noticed how, at first, annoyed at the disturbance, he raised his eyes towards him, and then it was clearly noticeable that his face quivered. At the same moment, however, he closed his jaws so firmly that his beard stood out round them. The rest was a mere impression, but this Wenk saw clearly. A shudder went through him as if at some sudden and dangerous encounter. At this moment the “banker” displayed the cards he held. Someone said, “Basch has lost again!” All turned to look openly at the pale thin man whom they had been furtively regarding when Wenk entered.
With a quiet and drowsy movement Basch pushed the notes lying on the oval in front of him over to the stranger. He grabbed at them like a bird of prey. The loser sank back in his seat, and in the same slow and dreamy way he brought out a fresh thousand-mark note and laid it in front of him.
“How much are you losing now?” said a lady from the divan behind Basch. “You will have a lucky life. When one loses to that extent! I regard you as a champion. You must establish a record. … In losing, you know! Then you will be so lucky in life that I shall want to. …” She broke off in embarrassment. Then Wenk, with a delicious tremor in his veins, recognized the speaker as the lady whom he had so abruptly encountered on the stairs on the previous evening.
“Get ready to stake,” said the sandy-bearded man in a harsh voice, drowning the speaker’s concluding words.
Basch had not answered her. As the banker called out, he merely made a movement of his hand over his thousand-mark note, a movement as if he were secretly conjuring it to do his bidding.
He looked at his cards; it was his turn, and no one else was punting.
“Do you take one?” said the banker sharply.
Basch shook his head dreamily. Wenk noticed Cara Carozza’s auburn-tressed head behind one the spectators, but his glance always returned to the other woman.
The banker bought a Court card and disclosed his own hand. He had only a total of four. Basch, too, with a feverish movement, laid his on the table. His points were but three.
“He plays as if he were drugged!” whispered Wenk’s neighbour. “To hold three, and yet not take a card! What folly!”
As he raked in his gains the sandy-bearded stranger gave a hasty glance at Wenk. The latter felt himself pitted against the winner. He increased his stakes, won, then lost for several rounds, and won again.
Basch continued to lose every time. By degrees Wenk ranged himself more and more on his side. He staked his money as if it were a weapon for Basch against the stranger, a weapon with which to strike him down.
Wenk noticed that the latter looked at no one but himself and Basch. He therefore accepted the challenge, and threw himself eagerly and wholeheartedly into the struggle, impelled by some mysterious power that incited him against the banker. He forgot himself altogether, and no longer played for the purpose of observing and discovering. He abandoned himself to the game and played like all those whom he had come to rescue from the gaming-table. He even forgot the lovely lady. When he first realized this, he was ashamed, and for the first time during the evening he glanced round the room to see whether Hull were there.
But it was not Hull who now sat behind Cara Carozza. Wenk’s search was vain; Hull was not present. Cara sat with a stranger behind a player with whom she was sharing the stakes. Then Wenk came to himself. He stopped playing and at once left the hall, sorely vexed with himself. When he was on the winding stair he turned and saw that the stranger with the fair sandy beard was also rising from the table.
Wenk had ordered his car to call for him at the house where the musical party was held, and did not remember this till he had walked some distance. Then he retraced his steps and drove home. He went to bed at once, but he could get no sleep, for the thought continually recurred that he had made a mistake to come away, that he ought to have stayed and talked to Basch.
He got out of bed again and went through a bundle of depositions in order to quiet his conscience. In going through these documents, written by men who were strangers to him, he got the impression that all of them, losing so much that they could not but ascribe it to foul play, must have sat at the gaming-table very
