The shadower
had managed to crowd in beside our hero, and Oscar had favored him in
securing the seat, and as was expected the man opened a conversation.
"A slow game," he said.
"Very," answered our hero laconically.
"I don't like this faro anyhow," said the man.
"It passes time."
"I prefer a good game of draw."
Oscar detected that the man was just playing a good game of _draw_--he
was trying to _draw_ our hero into a private little game of draw-poker;
but it was not the poker that he wanted to inaugurate. His game was to
draw our hero to some convenient place where he could play a still more
significant game of _draw_.
"I like a game of draw myself," said Oscar, nowise loath to favor the
man's game.
The detective did not know where it was all leading to, or what it was
leading up to as a final denouement, but he was inured to the taking of
desperate chances. Peril was a pastime to him. He was ever watchful and
always prepared for danger.
"I think I've seen you before," said the man.
"Where?"
"I can't recall; possibly in some club."
Our hero had detected that he was dealing with a very smart man--a man
of nerve and coolness--a man who went slow but sure. He also discerned
that it was to be a play of skill and experience in roguery against
experience and skill in detective work.
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