The Frenchman cried:
"But zis pot--eet ees not settailed to whom eet belong yet!"
The detective stepped back to his chair.
"The easiest way to settle that is by a show-down," he said. "Under the
circumstances, further bettering is out of the question."
"And I rather think I am in the showdown," choked out the prisoner.
"I'll need this money to defend myself when I come to trial."
"You shall have it," assured Dan Badger--"if you win it."
"Well, I think I'll win it," said the ironed man, spreading out his
hand. "I have four aces, and you can't beat that."
"Oh, my dear saire!" cried the Frenchman. "Zat ees pretty gude, but I
belief zis ees battaire. How you like zat for a straight flush?"
He lay his cards on the table, and he had the two, three, four, five and
six of hearts.
There was a shout of astonishment.
"Ze pot ees mine!" exultantly cried the Frenchman.
"Stop!" rang out Frank Merriwell's clear voice. "That pot is not yours!"
Everyone looked at Merry.
"He is using a table 'hold-out!'" accused Frank, pointing straight at
Montfort. "I saw him make the shift. The five cards that really belong
in his hands will be found in the hold-out under the table!"
There was dead silence. The Frenchman turned sallow.
"It makes no difference," said the quiet voice of the detective,
breaking the silence.
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