- ing the stakes, after returning me my thousand, he remarked:
'Thank you, gentlemen, for your entertainment. I don't believe I'll play any more to-night.' And putting on his coat and hat, he left the room.
"Felton sat like one dazed for some moments. Then he walked to the bar and after a stiff drink hurried off. I never saw either of them after that night."
Ashley and Barker have been silent and interested listeners to this yarn by the major. As the latter and his friends rise Ashley rises also and taps the major on the shoulder. "Pardon the intrusion," he says, with an engaging smile. "I have been vastly interested in your poker story, sir, for the reason that I think I know one of the players—Felton, I believe you called him. Do you happen to recall what sort of a looking chap he was?"
"Hanged if I remember," replies the major, wondering at the other's earnestness.
"Was he a rather tall, good-looking young fellow, with light-brown hair and eyes and a tawny mustache?" persists Ashley.
"Now that you speak of the mustache, I believe that your description fits him. He had a heavy, yellowish mustache, which he was in the habit of biting, as though his dinner did not suit him."
"Thank you," says Ashley. "Will you have something more to drink, gentlemen?"
But the major and his party take themselves off and Ashley resumes his seat with a satisfied smile.
"So, Barker, we hit it about right after all, eh?"
"It would appear so," returns the detective complacently. "We now know what we have assumed to have been the case—that Ernest Stanley suffered imprisonment two years for another's crime, and that the real criminal, the man who forged Cyrus Felton's name, was none other than his son, Ralph Felton."
As Barker pronounces these words Ashley hears a smothered exclamation behind him and turns quickly. But all he sees is a gentleman and lady gathering their wraps preparatory to taking their departure. The man's back is toward Ashley, but the latter waits until the party
