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The cuekeeper repeated his announcement:

“Last turn! Four for one if you call it!”

The man last described glanced at the cuekeeper:

“What’s in, Humpty?” he demanded.

“A cat-hop, Mr. Kendall—two kings and a seven. He’s got to show a king first, hasn’t he?” replied the humpback, with a weird smile stealing over his broad, unpleasant-looking face.

“It’s two to one he does,” growled Kendall, as the dealer briefly paused before making the turn.

Kendall placed a hundred to win on the seven, coppered the king for a like amount, and called the turn for fifty.

Several other players, most of whom were wealthy bloods about town, men who would have given thousands rather than have been caught in Flood’s gaming-house—these men also had placed their bets.

“All ready?” queried the dealer indifferently.

“Let her come, Mr. Bruce,” said one impatiently.

Tom Bruce, a dealer who had been in Flood’s employ for several years, deftly pushed the cards from the box.

He showed a seven, and then two kings.

Cecil Kendall had lost two hundred and fifty dollars on the turn.