CHAPTER III.THE TIGER’S CLAWS.
“Last turn! Four for one if you call it right!”
The monotonous voice of the cuekeeper, announcing with hackneyed phrase the alluring possibility, broke the strained silence of an elaborately furnished room.
It was a room on the second floor of the famous gambling resort owned and conducted by Moses Flood. It was that particular room in the house in which King Faro held sole sway.
The house was in a fashionable street, and had an attractive exterior. No layman would have dreamed that it masked a lair of vice. It was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
It was one of a superb block of brown sandstone residences within a stone’s throw of Fifth Avenue, with a broad flight of carved steps leading to the front door. The elegant stained windows of this front door, as w
