took three strides over to the card table and, reaching over, seized Ahlberg by the collar, and lifted him bodily up from the table into a standing position.
"Produce that king of spades," he said.
If he had shot Ahlberg no greater surprise could have been created. Hibbs jumped up, dashing the cards and money in a heap on the floor, and nearly upsetting the table. One of his companions grabbed the lamp to save it.
Ahlberg turned a deathly color, and made some inarticulate effort to be heard, and tried to wrest himself from Pembroke's grasp. But it was in vain. Pembroke shook him slightly, but never relaxed his hold.
"The king of spades, I say."
Without a word Ahlberg reached down, and from some unknown depths produced the card. He was no coward, but he was overmastered physically and mentally. He knew in an instant that Pembroke had seen it all, and there was no shadow of escape for him.
Pembroke let go of Ahlberg's collar, and, taking out a white handkerchief, wiped his hands carefully. Ahlberg had sunk back, panting, in a chair. The grip of a hand like Pembroke's in the neighborhood of the wind-pipe is calculated to shorten the breath.
Hibbs looked dazed, from one to the other, and then to the floor, where the cards had fallen. The one damning card lay on the table.
