Mortimer?" he asked.

    Jack had dealt two hands of five cards, and was now looking at one of them.

    "I'm playing poker against myself," he said, "and I've already lost three thousand pounds."

    "Have you ever lost as much as that in your life?" sneered Dennis.

    "I have lost fifty thousand pounds," replied the other calmly, and Dennis looked at him with a new respect.

    "That was going some," he said. "Where did this occur?"

    "It occurred twice—once in Melbourne and once on the ship from Melbourne to Colombo. I got more than my losses back in Melbourne; but I was a loser, not to the full amount, but quite enough, on the ocean trip."

    Dennis seated himself and offered his cigarette case to the other.

    "Do you like high play?" he asked.

    "I love it," said Jack.

    "You do, eh? Well, I can take you to a place where you can lose a hundred thousand pounds in a hundred minutes."

    "Here in London?" said the other contemptuously. "There isn't a sport in London who'd risk a hundred thousand shillings."

    "That shows what a fool you are," declared Mr. Dennis Wollaston rudely. "Why, man, I've lost forty thousand pounds in this last two days."

    "A straight game?"

    "Of course it's a straight game," said the other indignantly. "Do you think I'm the type of man they could take in by a crooked game?"

    Jack was silent.

    "I'll give fifty thousand a flutter on the first opportunity."

    "You can come to-morrow night," said the other quickly. "But you've got to be very careful. This is the hottest place in town. It is run by Boolby. He's a pretty well-known character, and as tough as they make them, but he's straight."

    "Quite," said the other dryly.

    "But you mustn't say a word to my sister, you understand. She's a fool about cards."

    "Don't worry about that."

    "And not a word to Mrs. Fleming. I hate her, though she did me a good turn when she introduced me to Boolby's. Now meet me to-morrow at the Cridero at eleven o'clock. I'll pick you up in my car."

    At eleven o'clock Jack was keeping his appointment. He had told the girl before he left the house what were his plans for the night.

    Mr. Dennis was not as prompt as his sister had been. It was nearly a quarter to twelve before his big, boat—like limousine swerved up to the kerb.

    "Jump in quick," he said, and Jack obeyed. "I have to dodge about the town, because all sorts of detectives chase me. They know that Boolby's running a big game, and they think that I'm one of the goats."

    He drove swiftly down the Bayswater Road, and turned into a terrace of big houses. Before one of these he stopped and jumped out.

    The door of the house was opened by a sedate manservant, and the two were ushered in. It looked for all the world like the abode of a middle-class household. A dim gaslight was burning in the hall; a solid mahogany hatstand and a barometer, beside a chair and a table were the only ornaments the hall contained.

    Dennis led the way down a passage, and opened a small door which appeared to be a cupboard. "Come in," he said, and Jack followed.

    The door slammed there was a rumble, and the "cupboard" started moving up wards.

    "An elevator. It's the only way you can get to the top floor," chuckled Wollaston. "The stairs end at the third floor, and if you don't know the ropes you could no more get into Boolby's place than fly."

    "Boolby's place" proved to be a large room, ornamented with a big, green, baize-covered table at which about fifty men and women were grouped. The game in progress was baccarat.

    "I'll watch the run of the cards for a bit," said Jack. "Let me introduce you to Boolby."

    Mr. Boolby was a large man, who might have been an ex-prize-fighter, an ex-butler, or an ex-gentleman.