It was a pretty show. When the time
came for him to declare his intention, he said,
"Well, I'm just going to make this another ten shillings to come in."
That frightened no one; they all came in; what caused them to halt and
reflect was that, on Lionel being subsequently asked how many cards he
wished to have, he said,
"None, thank you."
Not a syllable was uttered; there were surmises too occult for words.
The player on Lionel's left bet an humble two shillings. The next player
simply came in. So did the third--who was Mr. Percival Miles. Likewise
the dealer; in fact, they were all prepared to pay that modest sum to
inspect the age's hand. But Lionel wanted a higher price for that
privilege.
"I'm coming in with the little two shillings," said he, "and I will
raise you a sovereign."
That promptly sent out the player on his left; his neighbor also
retired. Not so the pallid young man with the thin lips.
"And one better," he said, depositing another sovereign.
The dealer incontinently fled. There only remained Lionel and his enemy;
and the position of affairs was this--that while Lionel had taken no
additional cards, and was presumably in possession of a straight or a
flush (unless he was bluffing), Miles had taken one card, and most
likely had got two pairs (unless he was finessing).
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