The wave of the silence reached to the barroom.

No one could have carried the tidings so soon, but the air was surcharged with the consciousness of an impending crisis.
Half a dozen men started to make their way on tiptoe toward the back room.

One stood with his whisky glass suspended in midair, and tilted back his head to listen.

In the gaming-room Hurley pushed back his chair and leaned to the left, giving him a free sweep for his right hand.

The Mexican smiled with a slow and deep content.
"Thank you," answered Pierre, "but I am waiting still, sir." The left hand of Hurley played impatiently on the table.
He said: "Of course, if you have enough--" "I--enough ?" flared the old aristocrat.
Pierre le Rouge turned fairly upon Hurley.
"In the name of God," he said calmly, "make an end of your game.
You're playing for money, but I think this man is playing for his eternal soul." The solemn, bookish phraseology came smoothly from his tongue.