Part 2

The guest immediately showed his cards. His eyes regained their glitter, he counted his points, named the total, and threw his cards down on the table.

It seemed to Hull as if he were falling from an unsteady foothold down into an abyss below. “What have I been doing?” he asked himself in stupefaction and despair. Now at last he began to see everything as clearly as if he had just come into the room: the three glowing electric globes under their protecting dome, the red-covered, lighted table, his friends, the elderly stranger, the scattered cards and the piles of notes.

“Where have I been? What have I been doing?” he stammered.

His brain grew alert again, and the thoughts that had been so confused and obscure now became suddenly clear: it was as if he had drawn aside the curtains and let in the light of day. Then he felt a sudden distrust of himself, which made him uneasy. He held his head in his hands awhile, striving to free it from the weight that seemed to encircle it, and then raising himself erect, he said, “What have I been doing? I held twenty-one in my hand, and then someone called out, in my voice, ‘I have lost again.’ Look there!” He snatched the cards he had thrown away from the heap where they lay, and turned them over. They were an ace, a ten, and a knave--twenty-one!

The elderly stranger’s large grey eyes contracted until the pupils were quite small and seemed to be gazing at a far-distant spot. A shudder went through his body; it was perceptible, though hastily subdued. Then his breast expanded and his breath came slowly and with difficulty, as if he were having to pump the air direct into himself.

“Too late!” said he, briefly and decisively.

Hull made a slight gesture.

“My remark had nothing to do with you,” he said quietly; “it concerned myself only. How much do I owe you?” he asked in a friendly tone.

“Thirty thousand marks!”

Hull emptied his pocket-book.

“You must content yourself till to-morrow afternoon with ten thousand and, of course, an I O U for the rest. Will you be so good as to write the amount and your address in this notebook?”

When Hull got his little notebook back, he read in it:

BALLING, ROOM 15, EXCELSIOR HOTEL.

He passed over his I O U, smiling pleasantly as he did so.

“I am ready to give you your revenge, Herr von Hull,” said Balling, as he rose. “Gentlemen, may I offer you my thanks for the evening’s hospitality? Good-night!”

He said this almost abruptly, but in so decisive a tone that it brought the others to their feet. Karstens offered him his car.

“No, thank you; my own is waiting for me.”

He walked away somewhat stiffly, as though tired out, and vouchsafed no further farewell of any sort. The club attendant conducted him to the outer door.

“Hull, you are off your head,” said Karstens, when the stranger had left the room.

“What did really happen?” asked Hull quietly.

“Ask your purse!”

“My pocket-book is empty. Who won all my money?”

“Your friend there,” said Karstens, pointing to the door.

“My friend! I never set eyes on him before! How did he get here?”

“Hull, you certainly are needing the services of a good physician. Emil, bring the telephone directory.” Karstens turned over the leaves. “Here we are: Dr. Schramm, Psychopathological treatment, 35, Ludwigstrasse....”

“I don’t understand your joke, my dear Karstens.”

“Well, who brought this fine vingt-et-un player here but you?”

“That is not true, Karstens.”