Lablache took the cards and a fresh deal went round. Now the game became
one-sided. With that one large pull the money-lender's luck seemed to
have set in. Seemingly he could do no wrong. If he drew to "three of a
kind," he invariably filled; if to a "pair," he generally secured a
third; once, indeed, he drew to jack, queen, king of a suit and
completed a "royal flush." His luck was phenomenal. The other men's
luck seemed "dead out." Bunning-Ford and the doctor could get no hands
at all, and thus they were saved heavy losses. Occasionally, even, the
doctor raked in a few "antes." But John Allandale could do nothing
right. He was always drawing tolerable cards--just good enough to lose
with. Until, by the time daylight came, he had lost so heavily that his
two friends were eagerly seeking an excuse to break up the game.

At last "Lord" Bill effected this purpose, but at considerable loss to
himself. He had a fairly good hand, but not, as he knew, sufficiently
good to win with. Lablache and he were left in. The money-lender had in
one plunge raised the bet to the "limit." Bill knew that he ought to
drop out, but, instead of so doing, he saw his opponent. He lost the
"pot."

"Thank you, gentlemen," he said, quietly rising from the table, "my
losses are sufficient for one night. I have finished. It is daylight and
the storm is 'letting up' somewhat."

He turned as he spoke, and, glancing at the staircase, saw Jacky
standing at the top of it. How long she had been standing there he did
not know. He felt certain, although she gave no sign, that she had heard
what he had just said.

"Poker" John saw her too.