But even the onlookers, intensely interested as they were in this fell
combat, began to grow afraid when they guessed at the sum that was now
in the imaginary pool. The story might get about the club; the committee
might shut up the card-room; there might be a talk of expulsion. As for
Lionel, he kept saying to himself, "Well, this is a safe thing; and I
could go on all night; but I won't take a brutal advantage. As soon as I
think I have got back about what this young fellow has already taken
from me since he came into the club, I will stop. I don't want to break
him. I don't want to send him to the money-lenders."
As for the pale young man across the table, his demeanor was that of a
perfect poker-player. The only thing that could be noticed was a slight
contraction of his pupils, as if he were concentrating his eyes on the
things immediately around him and trying to leave his face quite
inscrutable. There was no eagerness in his betting--nor was there any
affected resignation; it was entirely mechanical; like clock-work came
the raised and raised bet.
"I call you," said Lionel, at last, amid a breathless silence.
Without a word Percival Miles laid his cards on the table, arranging
them in sequence; they were five, six, seven, eight, and nine of
clubs--not an imposing hand, certainly, but Lionel knew his doom was
sealed.
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