Dead Man's Rock Part 21

"You have been here before," I answered, "and know more about the game."

"Here before! Yes, to my cost. No, no, the idea of play is your own and you shall carry it out. I am always unlucky, and as for knowledge of the game, you can pick that up by watching a round or two; it's perfectly simple."

Again the bank had won. At the left hand of our hostess stood a stolid man holding a small shovel with which he gathered in the winnings. All around were faces as of souls in torture; even the features of the winners (and these were few enough) scarcely expressed a trace of satisfaction, but seemed rather cast into some horrible trance in which they saw nothing but the piles of coin, the spinning needle, and the flas.h.i.+ng hands of the woman that turned it.

She all the while sat pa.s.sionless and cold, looking on the scene as might some glittering and bejewelled sphinx.

As I gazed, as the needle whirled and stopped and once more whirled, the mad excitement of the place came creeping upon me. The glittering fingers of our hostess fascinated me as a serpent holds its prey. The stifling heat, the glare, the confused murmurs mounted like strong wine into my brain. The clink and gleam of the gold as it pa.s.sed to and fro, the harsh voice of the man with the shovel calling at intervals, "Put on your money, gentlemen," the mechanical progress of the play, confused and staggered my senses. I forgot Tom, forgot the reason of our coming, forgot even where I was, so absorbed was I, and craned forward over the hurrying wheel, as intent as the veriest gambler present.

I was aroused from my stupor by a muttered curse, as the grey-headed man before me staggered up from his chair, and left the table with desperate eyes and stupid gait. As he rose the jewelled fingers made a slight motion, and I dropped into the vacant seat.

The bank was still winning. At our hostess' left hand rose a swelling pile of gold and silver that time after time absorbed all the smaller heaps upon the black and red s.p.a.ces. Meanwhile the woman had scarcely spoken, but as the needle went round once more, slackened and stopped--this time amid deep and desperate execrations--she turned to me and said--

"Now is your time to break the bank if you wish. Play boldly; I should like to lose to so proper a man."

I looked back at Tom, who merely nodded, and put my first half-crown upon the red s.p.a.ce marked 19. My neighbour, without seeming to notice the smallness of the sum, bent over the table and sent the wheel spinning on its errand. I, too, bent forward to watch, and as the wheel halted, saw the coin swept, with many more valuable, into the great pile.

"A bad beginning," said the sweet voice beside me. "Try again."

I tried again, and a third time, and two more half-crowns went to join their fellow.

There was one more chance. White with desperation I drew out my last half-crown, and laid it on the black. A flash, and my neighbour's hand sent the needle whirling. Round and round it went, as though it would never cease; round and round, then slackened, slackened, hesitated and stopped--where?

Where but over the red square opposite me?

For a moment all things seemed to whirl and dance before me.

The candles shot out a million glancing rays, the table heaved, the rings upon the woman's fingers glittered and sparkled, while opposite me the devilish finger of Fortune pointed at the ruin of my hopes, and as it pointed past them and at me, called me very fool.

I clutched the table's green border and sank back in my seat.

As I did so I heard a low curse from Tom behind me. The overwhelming truth broke in upon my senses, chasing the blood from my face, the hope from my heart. Ruined! Ruined! The faces around me grew blurred and misty, the room and all my surrounding seemed to fade further and yet further away, leaving me face to face with the consequences of my folly. Scarce knowing what I did, I turned to look at Tom, and saw that his face was white and set. As I did so the musical voice beside me murmured--

"The game is waiting: are you going to stake this time?"

I stammered out a negative.

"What? already tired? A faint heart should not go with such a face,"

and again she swept the pointer round.

"Is it," she whispered in my ear, "is it that you cannot?"

"It is."

"Ah, it is hard with half-a-sovereign to break the bank. But see, have you nothing--nothing? For I feel as if my luck were going to leave me."

"Nothing," I answered, "nothing in the world."

"Poor boy!"

Her voice was tender and sympathetic, but in her eyes there glanced not the faintest spark of mercy. I sat for a moment stunned and helpless, and then she resumed.

"Can I lend to you?"

"No, for I have no chance of repaying. This was my all, and it has gone. I have not one penny left in the world."

"Poor boy!"

"I thank you. I could not expect you to pity me, but--"

"Ah, but you are wrong. I pity you: I pity you all. Fools, fools, I call you all, and yet I make my living out of you. So you cannot play," she added, as she set the game going once again. "What will you do?"

"Go, first of all."

"And after?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"No, do not go yet. Sit beside me for a while and watch: it is only Fortune that makes me your enemy. I would willingly have lost to you."

She looked so curious, sitting there with her yellow face, her wrinkles and her innumerable diamonds, that I could only sit and stare.

"I have seen many a desperate boy," continued this extraordinary woman, "sitting beside me in that very chair. Ah, many a young life have I murdered in this way. I am old, you see, very old; older even than you could guess, but I triumph over youth none the less.

Sometimes I feel as if I fed on the young lives of others."

She delivered these confidences without a change in her emotionless face, and still I stared fascinated.

"Ah, yes, they sit here for a moment, and then they go--who knows where? You will be going presently, and then I shall lose you for ever, without a thought of what happens to you. Money is my blood: you see its colour in my face. Here they all come, and I suck their blood and fling them aside. They win sometimes; but I can wait.

I wait and wait, and they come back here as surely as there is a destiny. They come back, and I win in the end. I always win in the end."

She turned her attention to the game for a moment and then went on:--

"It is a rare drink, this yellow blood: and all the sweeter when it comes from youth. I have had but a drop from you, but I like you nevertheless. Oh, yes, I can pity, my heart is always full of pity as I sit here drinking gold. Your friend is a charming boy, but I like you better: and now you will go. These partings are very cruel, are they not?"

There was not a trace of mockery in her voice, and her eyes were the same as ever. I merely looked up in reply, but she divined my thoughts.

"No, I am not mocking you. I should like you to win--once: I say it, and am perfectly honest about it. You would be beaten in the end, but it would please me while it lasted. Has your friend no money?"

"No, this was all we had between us."

"So he came back and got you to play with your money. That was strange friends.h.i.+p."

"You are wrong," I answered, "he was set against coming; but I persuaded him--or rather, I insisted. It is all my own fault."

"Well," she said, musingly, "I suppose you must, go; but it is a pity. You are too handsome a boy to--to do what you will probably do: but the game does not regard good looks, or it would fare badly with me. Good-bye."

Still there was no shadow of pity in those unfathomable eyes.

I looked into them for a moment, but their s.h.i.+ning jet revealed nothing below the surface--nothing but inexorable calm.

"Good-bye," I said, and rose to go, for Tom's hand was already on my shoulder. I dared not look in his face. All hope was gone now, all wealth, all--Stay! I put my fingers in my waistcoat-pocket and drew out the Golden Clasp. Worthless to me as any sign of the hiding-place of the Great Ruby, it might yet be worth something as metal. I had carried it ever since the day when Uncle Loveday and I read my father's Journal. But what did it matter now? In a few hours I should be beyond the hope of treasure. Might I not just as well fling this accursed clasp after the rest? For aught I knew it might yet win something back to me--that is, if anyone would accept it as money. At least I would try.

I sank back into my chair again. The woman turned her eyes upon me carelessly, and said--