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Updated: June 25, 2025
I've got no money. By speaking to your sister?" The other was silent. "Shall I do it?" Rawley peered anxiously into the other's face, and he knew that there was no real security against the shameful trouble being laid bare to her. "I want a chance to start straight again."
Of course she would, and of course you ought to be ashamed of yourself for thinking of it." Rawley lighted his cigar and smoked fiercely. "It would be better for her than my going to jail," stubbornly replied the other. "But I don't want to tell her, or to ask her for money. That's why I've come to you. You needn't be so hard, Flood; you've not been a saint; and Di knows it."
For this purpose, he has established a literary intimacy, quite the most remarkable one on record at least, between scholars of different and remote nationalities between himself and two English gentlemen, a Mr. Smith, and the Rev. Dr. Rawley. He writes from the Hague but he appears to have acquired in some way a most extraordinary insight into this business.
Rawley had trusted to the inspiration of the moment; he had had no clearly defined plan; he had believed that he could frighten the old man, and by force of will bend him to his purposes. It had all been more difficult than he had expected. He kept cool, imperturbable, and determined, however.
I may stumble upon good fortune if I put her out among the young men. Yes, I must exhibit her, but how how?" The inspiration was simple and satisfying. He would give a garden-party in honor of Mr. Rawley Plumston, the British Consul. Of course he would have to invite Mrs. Plumston and then, out of deference to European custom, he would have his two daughters present.
The voice was fluttered, almost whining; it carried no conviction; but the words had in them a reminder of words that Rawley himself had said to Diana Welldon but a few months ago, and a new spirit stirred in him. He stepped forwards and, gripping Dan's shoulder with a hand of steel, said fiercely: "No, Dan. I'd rather take you to her in your coffin.
But you've had a lot of luck that you haven't swung high, too." He paused and flicked away the ash from his cheroot, while the figure before him swayed animal-like from side to side, muttering. "You've got brains, a great lot of brains of a kind however you came by them," Rawley continued; "and you've kept a lot of people in the West from passing in their cheques before their time.
Some woman's instinct drove straight to the centre of a disconcerting possibility, and in consternation she told her husband; and Jansen husbands had a freemasonry of gossip. An hour, and all Jansen knew, or thought they knew; and the "saved" rejoiced; and the rest of the population, represented by Nicolle Terasse at one end and Flood Rawley at the other, flew to arms.
Then he seemed to wake, as from a dream, and looked at the man at the table. Busby was leaning on it with both hands, and staring at Rawley like some animal jaded and beaten from pursuit. Rawley walked back to the table and laid down two thousand dollars. "I only wanted two thousand," he said, and put the other two thousand in his pocket.
"And stake what's left on the last throw?" "Yes." There was silence for a moment, in which Rawley seemed to grow older, and a set look came to his mouth a broken pledge, no matter what the cause, brings heavy penalties to the honest mind. He shut his eyes for an instant, and, when he opened them, he saw that his fellow-gambler was watching him with an enigmatical and furtive smile.
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