"Who's that he's playing with?" asked Potts. "I mean the dark one with a
scar."

An impressive and outstanding figure was the man Potts designated.
Stocky, sinister of eye and with a mouth whose half-sardonic smile drew
the lips a little out of line, he combed his thick black hair now and
then with delicate, long-fingered hands. They had a deftness and a
lightning energy, those fingers with their perfectly groomed nails,
which boded little good to his opponents. He sat back calmly in strange
contrast to the feverish uncontrol of other players. Now and then he
flashed a swift glance round the circle of his fellow players. Before
him was a heap of gold and silver. They watched him deal with the
uncanny skill of a conjurer before Jack Cooper answered.

"That's Aleck McTurpin from Australia. Thought you knew him."

"One of the Sydney coves?"

"Not quite so loud," the other cautioned hastily. "They call him
that--behind his back. But who's to tell? I'd like to get the lad out of
his clutches well enough."

"Think I'll watch the game," Potts said, and sauntered to the table. He
laid a friendly hand on Windham's shoulder. Benito's pile of coin was
nearly gone. McTurpin dealt. It was a jack-pot, evidently, for a heavy
stake of gold and silver was upon the center of the board. Benito's hand
shook as he raised his cards. He reached forth and refilled his glass,
gulping the contents avidly.