neat sum of his losses in three figures.

"On Major Montgomerie's escort as a raw boy when I came out," promptly
interrupted Hawke. "I went all over Thibet in '75 with Nana Singh
as a youngster. He was a wonderful chap and besides executing the
secret survey of Thibet, he ran all over Cashmere, Nepaul, Sikkim,
and Bhootan, secretly charged with securing authentic details
of the death of Nana Sahib." The cool assurance of the adventurer
disarmed the now serious Anstruther, for both the sagacious
English officer and his disguised assistant, Nana Singh, were both
dead these many years. "Morley's is my regular address; I keep up
no home club memberships now," coolly said Hawke, as at last they
threw the cards down.

Anstruther picked up his marker card as he glanced at Hawke's ready
money upon the table. There was a ten-pound note folded under the
Major's neat pocket case and a plethoric fold of Bank of England
notes bulged the neat Russia leather. He never knew that only thirteen
one-pound notes made up this brave financial show of his adversary.
Alan Hawke was a past master of keeping up a brave exterior and
he blessed the Cook's Tourists who had that day left these small
bills with the hotel cashier.

"Now, here you are," hastily said Anstruther. "Do you make the
same total as I do?" The spoiled partrician boy carelessly shoved
out sixty pounds in notes and rummaging over his portmanteau produced
a check book. "There, I think that's right. Check on Grindlay,
11 and 12 Parliament Street, for four hundred and twenty-eight."
Hawke bowed gravely with the air of a satisfied duelist, and then
carelessly swept the check and notes into his breast pocket.