A Game that Failed.

Southland Times, Issue 19185, 24 October 1903, Page 5 (Supplement)

A Game that Failed.

Starting as a gentleman, by force of circumstnnces a jack of all trades, by profession a raconteur ! Such wns my record when I arrived in „ whither the faui€ of my stories hiui preceded me.

Almost directly I received a letter from Heibeit Fullmer, squatting magnate, social lion, and otherwise known for his fine stables and general hospitality, requesting me to do him the honor of a visit to his place. My intitial appearance before Mr. Falkner's guests was to be at dinner, and I spent the last moments before leaving my room in reading over the list of topics I had jotted down for use during tho evening. A raconteur is expected to fill in every lull, every dull moment. Suddenly thero fell upon the quiet of my room these words :

" We must run it up to a thousand to night ! Do you hoar ? We must."

I stared around the room. It seemed as if the sound had come through some tapestry in a small recess. Perhaps the tapestry covered a secret door, but there was no time to investigate. A servant was waiting to conduct me to my host.

An interesting party wa3 assembled at dinner ; that is they were interesting to me as types of study. As conversationalists they were failures, for the only subjects on which they talked lluenlly were cards and horseflesh.

I selected my stories accordingly. The gues's were apparently familiar with the customs of every gaming place in existence, but I told them tales of , where I had spent si vi -ml years in a mining camp, of g Mies tliat laiily made them gasp, and after doiiicr they Mid 1 mutt leach iheiu some points at bridge.

Sitting opposite to me nt the table was a broad shoi/dered. dark man, whose eyes, black and act rat'.er cio ■■ !y t-.-gether. never left my face. Ihs lips were thin and bloodless, and nis long, rather aquiline nose had n cruel c-rrve ahoi 1 ' the n^'rils.

Liut what nio.t- ..tt i ;u'.e 1 my attention wns his odd tiie': of drumming almost constantly with his right hand, now on the table, now on the arm of his chair, and now on his square chin.

The instant he spoke I recognised the voice I bad heard in my room. Tho man was Captain Mart-hand, an ex-army ollicer with a French name.

Ilis wife sat at my right, a handsome woman with a profusion of soft brown hnir and beautiful blue eyes, which 1 learned in a short time wire pbiyinj* havoc with the mental peace oi a young follow named Chadwick, lie was 11 handsome, boyish-looking fellow, one of those chaps who imagine themselves violently in love with every pietty 1..-" they Tiv-t.

Mrs. .\lavd*and seemed to havo caught her husband's pecui'ar trick of beating thut maddening tattoo wiih her lingers. It fairly got on my nerves, but. no one else at the table appeared to notice it.

She had long, slim, nervous- looking hands covered with rings, the kind of hands one always associates with an artistic temperament, and they were terribly restless. Never for ono moment did she keep them still, but played the tattoo with maddening persistency. During the evening I was kept busy explaining the intricacies of bridge, alter which I watched the guests yield to the fascination of the game. Soon little piles of silver and gold appeared and disappeared at the table. Excitement grew apace.

Finally interest centred where Marclmnd and Chadwick played alone. At the beginning the latter won. and with a triumphant gesture hauled in his little pile of gold. The excitement brought a spaikletc his eye and daring to his tongue, and he kept Sirs. Mai'chand i.t-w, declaring that she brought him luck.

When Chndwick won she clipped her hands in girlish glee, and once or twice 1 c 'ught a cynical smile on Marc-hand's lip-". Clearly her presence wa-s turning Chadwiek's head ; he played recklessly. ••I'll make it £400!" exclaimed Marchum!. A hush fell on the room. Then rose Mrs. Marchand's clear, sweet voice : " How exciting ! Oh. Mr. Chadwick, go one better. Make it £500." The other guests rose and gathered round tbe table. Falkner stood on tho hearth rug, glancing towards the group with troubled eyes. I hoard him say under hi-, breath : "Tho lad can't afford to lose that amount." I joined the spectators just as Chadwick called for another card. Then I felt a thrill pass over me. The blood rushed to my face, and instinctively I clenched my ii>t. Mrs. Marcband was gently tapping the back of Chadwiek's chair. Each tap meant that she was telegraphing Chadwiek's hand to her husband. My first impulse wns to denounce them then and there. Then came an inspiration. With something of tbo Captain's cynical smile. I, too, began to drum on the back of a chair, and this was what reached the situ tied couple : '• You — are— caught." Captain Marcband turned rigid ns he grasped the nrnis of the chair, nnd for a single instant his eyes met iuin». 1 smiled grimly, enjoying the situation. The turn of events had a different effect on Mrs. Marcband. She fainted away, at which the Captain's composu-.o returned. He sprang to her rescue, and the table was overturned. When Mrs. Marcband recovered, the guests clamored for the finish of the game, but Marchand shook his head, perhaps because I drummed a rhythmic warning ; '• Don't play j " Over an hour passed and I was sitting in my room, cogitating whether I should inform Falkner that he was entertaining a pair of very clever sharpers, when a servant brought me a inesssge from Marehand asking for an interview In his sitting room. I found him waiting for me with an ugly scowl on his face ; bit his wife, palo and with her hair in ai'tistio disarray, was chcil'i".-. ing in hey role of beauty in discr-"";. Marchand came dir^y , 0 the point. " We", "^nat do you intend to do ? " " Nothing," I replied nonchalantly. -• It