"No, monsieur," said De Coude. "I will submit to a search only at
the hands of a gentleman."

"It is unnecessary to search the count. The cards are in his
pocket. I myself saw them placed there."

All turned in surprise toward this new speaker, to behold a very
well-built young man urging a resisting captive toward them by the
scruff of his neck.

"It is a conspiracy," cried De Coude angrily. "There are no cards
in my coat," and with that he ran his hand into his pocket. As he
did so tense silence reigned in the little group. The count went
dead white, and then very slowly he withdrew his hand, and in it
were three cards.

He looked at them in mute and horrified surprise, and slowly the
red of mortification suffused his face. Expressions of pity and
contempt tinged the features of those who looked on at the death
of a man's honor.

"It is a conspiracy, monsieur." It was the gray-eyed stranger
who spoke. "Gentlemen," he continued, "monsieur le count did not
know that those cards were in his pocket. They were placed there
without his knowledge as he sat at play. From where I sat in that
chair yonder I saw the reflection of it all in the mirror before
me. This person whom I just intercepted in an effort to escape
placed the cards in the count's pocket."

De Coude had glanced from Tarzan to the man in his grasp.