Even people in the next house had been able to hear most of it.
Ambrose made his furious way toward the Social Club, his mind set on
mortal encounter with the hated Dominique. But--here was an
inspiration!--why not win his money away from him first? To win away
his last cent--to humble him--to ruin him--and then to break him in
two and kick the pieces through the San Juan causeways, as per
programme! This would be a revenge indeed!
Ambrose noted with satisfaction that Mr. Raffin was already at play,
and crossing the smoke-filled room he threw down some money and took
his place in the game.
Now, Mr. Travis was ordinarily a very garrulous and vociferous crap
shooter, but to-night he was savagely silent. There was a disturbing,
electric _something_ in the air that the neutrals felt and feared.
There was a look in the Travis eye that boded ill for somebody, and
one by one the more prudent gamesters withdrew.
Then suddenly the storm broke.
Later accounts were not clear as to just what started the fray, but
start it did.
Dominique's knife appeared from some place, and the table crashed.
Then the knife swished through space like a hornet and buried its
point harmlessly in a door across the room.
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