H. C. McNeile

“ Locked in the Comte's heart was a system—the system—the only system by which one could with absolute certainty make money gambling. If Jack would come with him that afternoon, he would take him to a private gambling place where he guaranteed, on his word as a member of the French nobility, that Jack would win enough money to snap his fingers at the idiotic father of his lovely fiancée. ”

“ Jim drained his glass “Bluff. Any man can win when he's holding winners, but success only comes to the man who wins with losers. And in life—as in poker—it's bluff that enables you to do that,” he added sagely. ”

“ And it wasn't until we were thinking of a nightcap before turning in that we stumbled on Jack Rawson and the girl, snugly ensconced in a sheltered corner. We tried to get away unnoticed, but the boy hailed Jim at once.
“Maitland!” he cried. “I want to introduce you to Miss Melville, my fiancée.”
Jim bowed gravely, and smiled.
“My heartiest congratulations,” he remarked. “A pork chop is sometimes a godsend, isn't it?”
They laughed, and for a few minutes we talked. Young Jack, we gathered, was getting out at Marseilles, and going to meet her mother at Nice. ”

“ And, that being the case, why should Jack suddenly alter his plan of going home by sea, and come to Nice? In fact, what was to be done? How could Jack come to Nice in an easy, natural manner, which should cause no suspicion on the part of her paternal parent, and at the same time allow the news of the engagement to be broken at a more favorable time?
We discussed the knotty point at some length, until Jim suddenly settled things in his usual direct way. He and I would also break our journey at Marseilles and go to Nice, or rather to Monte Carlo, and Jack would come with us. ”

“ Quentin and myself to a villa a few kilometers on the road to Nice. Every form of game you can want is there, run for people exactly like yourself—people who prefer peace and quiet. You can play bridge if you like, or poker, or baccarat, or roulette.”
Jim leaned across the table toward me.
“Leyton,” he said, “did you hear that? These guys play poker. Think I'll go and play poker with them.”
For a fleeting instant the Comte's eyes met the girl's, then he rose.
“My car is at the door. Will Mr. Leyton come?” ”

“ I bowed to the girl, and sat down opposite Jim.
“I've just been telling the Comte—oh, by the way, the Comte de St. Enogat Mr. Leyton—that I can't stand these rooms here. Too crowded altogether. I like gambling high; I can afford to gamble high. ”

“ If you get an opportunity, let it be known by mademoiselle that, though in normal circumstances I have the disposition necessary to run a babies' crèche, at the same time, if I happen to get roused, things happen. ”

“ Gunwork is out of the question, and the mere statement that some one is cheating, even if you prove it then and there, on the spot, is no use when you're up against a gang of them. Besides, it wasn't the Comte who cheated ”

“ And, finding the Comte's car waiting outside the door, it seemed but fitting that we should use it to take us back to Monte Carlo.
It was not till much later on that Jim consented to allay my curiosity, though at intervals during the afternoon he had shaken with silent laughter.
I know there had been an interview with Jack, and the girl had been there, too; a girl who had left with eyes misty with joy and happiness, and a boy who was almost dazed by his good fortune.
The girl came up to me as I sat reading the paper, and I rose, smiling.
“He's just the most wonderful man in the world, Mr. ”

“ With the creation of Jim Maitland, Major H. C. McNeile author of “Bulldog Drummond,” has surpassed himself. Next month, in a story no reader will want to miss, Major McNeile takes us to South America to tell how Jim Maitland played the rescuing knight to a girl trapped in a waterfront cabaret.
A Game of Bluff
In Which Jim Maitland Wins the Jack Pot, but Fails to Show His Hand
By Major H. C. McNeile
illustrations by G. W. Gage
DADDY, what is bluff?” ”