"Come, man, take one quick!"
Schomberg was so surprised that he took one hurriedly, after a very
perceptible start. The eyes of Martin Ricardo gleamed phosphorescent
in the half-light of the room screened from the heat and glare of the
tropics.
"That's the king of hearts you've got," he chuckled, showing his teeth
in a quick flash.
Schomberg, after looking at the card, admitted that it was, and laid it
down on the table.
"I can make you take any card I like nine times out of ten," exulted the
secretary, with a strange curl of his lips and a green flicker in his
raised eyes.
Schomberg looked down at him dumbly. For a few seconds neither of them
stirred; then Ricardo lowered his glance, and, opening his fingers,
let the whole pack fall on the table. Schomberg sat down. He sat down
because of the faintness in his legs, and for no other reason. His mouth
was dry. Having sat down, he felt that he must speak. He squared his
shoulders in parade style.
"You are pretty good at that sort of thing," he said.
"Practice makes perfect," replied the secretary.
His precarious amiability made it impossible for Schomberg to get away.
Thus, from his very timidity, the hotel-keeper found himself engaged
in a conversation the thought of which filled him with apprehension. It
must be said, in justice to Schomberg, that he concealed his funk very
creditably.
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