There was certainly no appearance of evil, for the place was still, and no sound of angry altercation or ribald jest, which his fancy connected with the vice of gambling, saluted his ears.

He cautiously entered Gangway D, and paused where he could hear what was said in mess room No.
8.
"I'm five shillings into your half sovereign," said one of the gamblers; and then Paul distinctly heard the rattling of the props.
"There's the half sovereign," added another, whose voice the officer recognized as that of Wilton.

"You own five shillings in it, and I own five shillings." "That's so," replied Sanborn, who appeared to be the lucky one.
"Let us shake for the coin," added Wilton.

"It's my throw." "That's rather steep." "We get along faster--that's all.

If I throw a nick, or a browner, it's mine; if an out, it's yours." "I am agreed--throw away," replied Sanborn, without perceiving that the one who held the props had two chances to his one.
The props rattled, and dropped on the bed.
"A browner!" exclaimed Wilton, thereby winning all he had lost at one throw.
"Hush! don't talk so loud," interposed Adler.