For a considerable time he did not speak, and became very moderate in his play, tossing his cards about, almost always losing, but losing a minimum, and watching the board. He was sitting next to Grendall, and he thought that he observed that his neighbour moved his chair farther and farther away from him, and nearer to Dolly Longestaffe, who was next to him on the other side. This went on for an hour, during which Grendall still won,--and won heavily from Paul Montague. 'I never saw a fellow have such a run of luck in my life,' said Grasslough. 'You've had two trumps dealt to you every hand almost since we began!'
'Ever so many hands I haven't played at all,' said Miles.
'You've always won when I've played,' said Dolly. 'I've been looed every time.'
'You oughtn't to begrudge me one run of luck, when I've lost so much,' said Miles, who, since he began, had destroyed paper counters of his own making, supposed to represent considerably above £1,000, and had also,--which was of infinitely greater concern to him,--received an amount of ready money which was quite a godsend to him.
'What's the good of talking about it?' said Nidderdale. 'I hate all this row about winning and losing. Let's go on, or go to bed.' The idea of going to bed was absurd. So they went on. Sir Felix, however, hardly spoke at all, played very little, and watched Miles Grendall without seeming to watch him. At last he felt certain that he saw a card go into the man's sleeve, and remembered at the moment that the winner had owed his success to a continued run of aces. He was tempted to rush at once upon the player, and catch the card on his person. But he feared. Grendall was a big man; and where would he be if there should be no card there? And then, in the scramble, there would certainly be at any rate a doubt. And he knew that the men around him would be most unwilling to believe such an accusation. Grasslough was Grendall's friend, and Nidderdale and Dolly Longestaffe would infinitely rather be cheated than suspect any one of their own set of cheating them. He feared both the violence of the man he should accuse, and also the unpassive good humour of the others. He let that opportunity pass by, again watched, and again saw the card abstracted. Thrice he saw it, till it was wonderful to him that others also should not see it. As often as the deal came round, the man did it. Felix watched more closely, and was certain that in each round the man had an ace at least once. It seemed to him that nothing could be easier. At last he pleaded a headache, got up, and went away, leaving the others playing. He had lost nearly a thousand pounds, but it had been all in paper. 'There's something the matter with that fellow,' said Grasslough.