Terence O'Rourke, Gentleman Adventurer
protested. "Let's see, this is your proposition: First, we play an innocent game of cards; then one of us commits a murder? Is that it? Well—since ye are the one to propose it, I'm your man. Deal on, monsieur!"
Chambret nodded coldly, stripped the deck and shuffled with care, O'Rourke watching him narrowly. Finally Chambret was satisfied, took up the deck and drew off the top card.
"One moment, monsieur!" interposed O'Rourke. "There's a man of me race that has said, 'Trust every man, but cut the cards.' Faith, I'm thinking that's good advice."
The Frenchman ground an imprecation between his teeth, and slammed the deck upon the desk. O'Rourke cut them with care.
"Proceed," he consented calmly.
Trembling with anger, Chambret dealt: a card to himself first—the nine of hearts; a card to O'Rourke—
The Irishman felt the room swimming about him; he clutched the arms of his chair with a grip of agony, his gaze transfixed upon the card before him: the ace of spades.
He heard Chambret laughing lightly, saw the gleam of his white teeth in the lamplight, and staggered to his feet.
"Very well," he heard himself saying, as with another's voice, distantly. "'Tis the fortune of war. Proceed, monsieur."
He was aware that he walked, but as one dreaming, to the farther end of the apartment; he remembers turning and facing Chambret; he recalls folding his arms and reminding himself to hold his head high; but the heart of him was like water. He waited there what seemed an interminable time, while Chambret, grinning malevolently, tested the revolver, assuring himself that it was properly loaded.
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