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“Is that all you know about it?”
“That’s all now, Mose,” laughed the girl, with a wink. “Isn’t that enough?”
Flood nodded.
“Quite enough,” said he oddly. “Belle, dear, keep this to yourself till I give you permission to open your lips about it, will you?”
The girl colored deeply when thus addressed, and slipped her hand into his.
“Sure thing,” she answered fondly. “You know I’d do anything for you, Mose.”
“Do this, then, will you?”
“Trust me.”
“Not one word about it.”
“I’m as dumb as an oyster—for your sake, mind you!”
“I’ll not forget that part of it, Belle,” said Flood pointedly.
Then he turned and moved on—and his face was a study for an artist.
CHAPTER III.
THE TIGER’S CLAWS.
ssss1
“Last turn! Four for one if you call it right!”
The monotonous voice of the cuekeeper, announcing with hackneyed phrase the alluring possibility, broke the strained silence of an elaborately furnished room.
It was a room on the second floor of the famous gambling resort owned and conducted by Moses Flood. It was that particular room in the house in which King Faro held sole sway.