“I’ll go on for money,” said the immovable major.

“I suppose you won’t have it out with me at double dummy?” said Vignolles to his victim.  “But double dummy is a terrible grind at this time of night.”  And he pushed all the cards up together, so as to show that the amusement for the night was over.  He too saw the difficulty which Moody so pertinaciously avoided.  He had been told wondrous things of the old squire’s intentions toward his eldest son, but he had been told them only by that eldest son himself.  No doubt he could go on winning.  Unless in the teeth of a most obstinate run of cards, he would be sure to win against Scarborough’s apparent forgetfulness of all rules, and ignorance of the peculiarities of the game he was playing.  But he would more probably obtain payment of the two hundred and thirty pounds now due to him,—­that or nearly that,—­than of a larger sum.  He already had in his possession the other twenty pounds which poor Mountjoy had brought with him.  So he let the victim go.  Moody went first, and Vignolles then demanded the performance of a small ceremony.  “Just put your name to that,” said Vignolles.  It was a written promise to pay to Captain Vignolles the exact sum of two hundred and twenty-seven pounds on or before that day week.  “You’ll be punctual, won’t you?”

“Of course I’ll be punctual,” said Mountjoy, scowling.

“Well, yes; no doubt.  But there have been mistakes.”

“I tell you you’ll be paid.  Why the devil did you win it of me if you doubt it?”

“I saw you just roaming about, and I meant to be good-natured.”

“You know as well as any man what chances you should run, and when to hold your hand.  If you tell me about mistakes, I shall make it personal.”

“I didn’t say anything, Scarborough, that ought to be taken up in that way.”

“Hang your Scarborough!  When one gentleman talks another about mistakes he means something.”  Then he smashed down his hat upon his head and left the room.

Vignolles emptied the bottle of champagne, in which one glass was left, and sat himself down with the document in his hand.  “Just the same fellow,” he said to himself; “overbearing, reckless, pig-headed, and a bully.  He’d lose the Bank of England if he had it.  But then he don’t pay!  He hasn’t a scruple about that.  If I lose I have to pay.  By Jove, yes!  Never didn’t pay a shilling I lost in my life!  It’s deuced hard, when a fellow is on the square like that, to make two ends meet when he comes across defaulters.  Those fellows should be hung.  They’re the very scum of the earth.  Talk of welchers!  They’re worse than any welcher.  Welcher is a thing you needn’t have to do with if you’re careful.  But when a fellow turns round upon you as a defaulter at cards, there is no getting rid of him.  Where the play is all straightforward and honorable, a defaulter when he shows himself ought to be well-nigh murdered.”