end, that from now on must be with him always. He had lost her—lost Helena.
From his pocket he drew out his keys and opened his trunks, and took out the trays and spread them about. There were very many trays, they nested one upon the other—and they were exceedingly ingenious trays—false-bottomed every one. And now he opened these false-bottoms, every one of them, and stood and looked at them. The surest, safest, biggest game he had ever played, the game that had known no single hitch, the game that had brought no whispering breath of suspicion flung its tribute in his face. Money that he had never tried to count, notes of all denominations, large and small, glutted the receptacles—jewels in necklaces, in rings, in pendants, in brooches, in bracelets, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, winked at him and scintillated and glowed and were afire.
And he stood and looked upon them. What was it the Flopper had said when they had brought the Patriarch back—he did not remember. What was it that Pale Face Harry had said a little while ago—he did not remember. These were jewels here and money—wealth—and he had won the greatest game that was ever played—only he had lost her—lost Helena. And he stood and looked upon them—and slowly there crept to his face a white-lipped smile.
"I'm beat!" he whispered hoarsely. "Beat—by the game—I won."
