"Would the
Dauntreys tell, if they knew? No, of course they'd hush it up, and get
rid of anything he'd left--in one way or another. Not that there was
much to get rid of, for the Mont de Piete was a kind of home from home
for the Count. He used to run back and forth between there and the
Casino, like a distracted rabbit: pawn his watch; play with the money;
win; race back and get his watch; lose again; and so on a dozen times a
day, till he was stripped of jewellery down to his studs and collar
buttons. It all came from his obstinacy in believing that the croupiers
at trente et quarante were signalling to him whether it was going to be
_inverse_ or _couleur_, when they were really only licking their thumbs
to deal the cards better! _I_ say, if you must have a fetish, have a
reasonable one, like playing for neighbours of zero at roulette. But
that silly boy thought himself too smart for roulette, and he wouldn't
take any advice, so this is what comes of it. I feel in my bones that
_his_ are in the suicide's cemetery this minute. Has nobody told you
that there are no inquests of coroners here in this principality? And a
jolly good thing, too! Why make the rest of us gloomy by putting nasty
details in the papers, when we've come here to enjoy ourselves? _They_
don't ask people to gamble, they merely make it nice for 'em if they're
determined to, and anyhow it's honest gambling. They don't want you to
play if you can't afford it and are going to be an idiot, because they
hate rows and scandal.
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