"Pass," came from the next man.

"Pass," echoed the last of the quartette.

Five blue chips dropped in a row upon the cloth.

"I open it."

The dealer took up the pack lovingly.

"Cards?"

The man at the left, tall, gaunt, ill-kempt, flicked the pasteboards in
his hand to the floor and ground them beneath his heavy boots.

"Give me five."

The point of the Vandyke beard was aimed straight past the speaker.

"Cards?" repeated the dealer.

"Five! Can't you hear?"

The man braced against the bar looked around with interest. In the mask
of Mick Kennedy the single eye closed almost imperceptibly. Slowly the
face of the dealer turned.

"I can hear you pretty well when you cash into the game. You already owe
me forty blues, Blair."