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He stooped again to play, but in that moment something had gone out of him. The stroke he attempted was an easy one; but he missed it hopelessly.

He straightened himself up with a sharp gesture and looked at Hill. “I am sorry,” he said.

Hill said nothing whatever. Their scores were exactly even. With machine-like precision he took his turn, utterly ignoring the grumbling criticisms of his adversary’s play that were being freely expressed around the room. With the utmost steadiness he made his stroke, scoring two points. Then there fell a tremendous silence. The choice of two strokes now lay before him. One was to pocket his adversary’s ball; the other a long shot which required considerable skill. He chose the second without hesitation, hung a moment or two, made his stroke–and failed.

A howl of delight went up from the watchers, their hot partisanship of Warden amounting almost to open animosity against his opponent. In the midst of the noise Hill, perfectly calm, contemptuously indifferent, touched Warden again upon the shoulder, and spoke to him.

Warden said nothing in reply, but he went to his ball with a hint of savagery, bent, and almost without aiming sent it at terrific speed up the table. It struck first the red, then the white, pocketed the former, and whizzed therefrom into the opposite pocket.

A yell of delight went up. It was a brilliant stroke of which any player might have been proud. But Warden flung down his cue with a gesture of disgust.

“Damnation!” he said, and turned to put on his coat.

CHAPTER VIII

THE MEETING

The two girls left the billiard-room, shepherded by Fletcher, almost before the tumult had subsided. It seemed to Dot that he was anxious about something and desirous to get them away. But Adela was full of excited comments and refused to be hurried, stopping outside to question Hill upon a dozen points regarding the game while he stood stiffly responding, waiting to say good-night.

Dot leaned upon the stair-rail, waiting for her, and eventually Fletcher drew Adela’s attention to the fact.

Adela laughed. “Oh, that’s just her way, my dear Fletcher. Some women were born to wait. Dot does it better than anyone I know.”

It was at that moment that Warden came quietly up the passage from the billiard-room, moving with the lightness of well-knit muscles, and checked himself at sight of Fletcher.

“I should like a word with you–when you have time,” he said.

Adela swooped upon him with effusion. “Mr. Warden! Your play is simply astounding. Allow me to congratulate you!”

“Please don’t!” said Warden. “I played atrociously.”

She laughed at him archly. “That’s just your modesty. You’re plainly a champion. Now, when are you going to let Mr. Hill show us that wonderful mine? We are dying to see it, aren’t we, Dot?”

“The mine!” Warden turned sharply to Hill. “You’re not going to take anyone over that–surely! Not in person–anyhow! What, sir?” He looked hard at Hill, who said nothing. “Then you must be mad!”

“He isn’t obliged to go in person,” smiled Adela. “I am sure you are big enough to take care of us single-handed. Dot and I are not in the least nervous. Will you take us alone if we promise not to tease the animals?”

Warden’s eyes flashed a sudden glance upwards to the girl who still stood silently leaning upon the rail. It was almost like an appeal.

As if involuntarily she spoke. “What is the danger?”

Hill turned to her. “There is no danger,” he said, curtly. “If you wish to go, I will take you to-morrow.”

Warden made a brief gesture as of one who submits to the inevitable, and turned away.

Fletcher held out his hand to Adela with finality. “Good-night,” he said.

“Are you really going to take us to-morrow?” she said.

“Yes,” said Fletcher.

She beamed upon him. “What time shall we be ready?”

He did not refer to Dot. “At five o’clock,” he said. “I shall be busy at the court all day. I will come and fetch you.”