"I—I do appear to have a pack of cards; but—but how I have them is more than I can say."
"You didn't steal them, I suppose?"
"Not—not consciously."
My opposite neighbour and his friend began to laugh again. The man at the other end of the carriage sat quietly cold. How I knew I cannot say, but I did know that his eyes were fixed upon me all the time.
"Never mind how you got them, you have got them; that is the point. Supposing we have a hand at Nap, What do you say, Armitage?" He turned to his friend. Then to me: "I don't know if you're aware of it—I don't think we got so far as exchanging cards the other night—but my name's Burchell."
"And my name's Ranken."
"Very well, Mr. Ranken, supposing after this general naming of names we set to work. Hand me over the cards."
He stretched out his hand. I hesitated before I gave him these. To put it gently, they were not mine. And—should I tell him their history or should I not? He did not give me time for reflection.
"Come along! Are you afraid I'm going to steal them?"
He took them out of my grasp. I was so bewildered by the discovery of their presence that I had really not recovered sufficient presence of mind to say him either yea or nay.
"What points? Suppose we say pounds?"
Pounds! I started. Pound points at Nap! Not if I knew it. Pennies were more in my line. I was
