It was nine o’clock that evening when Morton and Merriwell strolled into the card room. They seemed to be wandering around in search of some amusement to pass away the time.

“Come on here, Morton,” called a player. “Bring your friend into this game. It will make just enough.”

Hugh shook his head.

“No cards for me to-night,” he said. “My luck is too poor. Dropped more than enough to satisfy me last week.”

“The place to find your money is where you lost it,” said another player.

“I’m willing to let it rest where it is a while. I have a severe touch of cold feet.”

“How about your friend?”

“He may do as he likes.”

“I know so little about cards—so very little,” protested Frank. “What are you playing?”

“Poker.”

He shook his head.

“I have played euchre,” he said.

“Quite a difference in the games,” laughed a man. “I suppose you have played old maid, also?”

“Yes,” answered Merry innocently, “I have. Do you play that?”

“He’ll spoil your game, fellows,” laughed Morton quickly.

“How do you know I would?” exclaimed Merry resentfully.

“Reckon Hugh is right, Mr. Merriwell,” laughed the one who had invited Frank. “You had better keep out of the game.”

Fred Darleton was playing at one of the tables. He regarded Frank with a sneer on his face.

“An innocent stiff,” he commented, in a low tone. “They say he never takes a drink, never swears, never does anything naughty.”

“He’s rather naughty at fencing,” reminded a man jokingly; but Darleton saw nothing to laugh at in the remark.

Morton was heard informing Merry that he must not ask questions about the game while play was in progress, as by so doing he might seem to give away some player’s hand.

“Oh, I can keep still,” assured Frank smilingly. “I’ve seen them play poker before.”

“No one would ever suspect it,” sneered Darleton under his breath.

This fellow was wearing dark-colored glasses, after his usual custom.

Merry found an opportunity to inspect the lights. While they were sufficiently bright for all purposes, they were shaded in such a manner that Darleton’s excuse for wearing smoked glasses seemed a paltry one.

“His real reason is not because the lights hurt his eyes,” decided Frank.

What was the fellow’s real reason? Merriwell hoped to discover before the evening was over. He seemed to take interest in the play first at one table and then at another, but finally settled on the one at which Darleton was seated.

As usual, Darleton was winning. He had a lot of chips stacked up before him.

“Why did you drop your hand after opening that last jack pot, Darleton?” inquired one of the players.

“Because I was satisfied that you had me beaten,” was the answer.

“You had two pairs to open on, and you drew only one card.”

“What of that?”

“I took three cards.”

“I remember.”

“Well, you wouldn’t bet your two pairs, and I raked in the pot. How did it happen?”

“I decided that you bettered your hand. My pairs were small.”

“I did better my hand,” confessed the man; “but I swear you have a queer method of playing poker! I don’t understand it.”

“My method suits me,” laughed Darleton, fingering his chips.

“It is a successful one, all right; but I never lay down two pairs after opening a jack pot, especially if the only player who stays in with me draws three cards.”

“You lose oftener than I do.”

“No question about that.”

“Then my judgment must be better than yours. Let it go at that.”

Frank had listened to all this, and he, likewise, was puzzled to understand why Darleton had decided not to risk a bet after the draw. It happened that Merry had stood where he could look into the other man’s hand. The man held up a pair of kings on the deal and drew another king when cards were given out. His three kings were better than Darleton’s two pairs; but Darleton knew he had the man beaten before the draw. How did he come to believe the man had him beaten after the draw?

Frank found an opportunity to look round for mirrors. There were none in the room.

Darleton was not working with an accomplice who could look into the other man’s hand. Merry was the only person able to see the man’s cards as he picked them up.

“I don’t believe he’ll suspect me of being Darleton’s accomplice,” thought Frank.

This was only one of the things which increased the mystery of Darleton’s playing. The fellow seemed to know exactly when to bet a hand for all it was worth, and once he persisted in raising a player who was bluffing recklessly. Finally the bluffer became angry and called.

“I have a pair of seven spots, Darleton? What have you got? I don’t believe you have much of anything.”

“Why, I have a pair of ten spots, and they win,” was the smiling retort.

“Bluffers, both of you!” cried another player. “But I swear this is the first time I’ve ever known Darleton to bluff at poker. And he got away with it on a show-down!”

The entire party regarded Darleton with wonderment, but the winner simply smiled a bit behind his dark goggles.

Morton glanced swiftly at Frank, as if to say: “You see how it goes, but you can’t make anything of it.”

Merriwell was perplexed, but this perplexity served as a spur to urge him forward in his desire to solve the mystery. For mystery about Darleton’s success there certainly seemed to be.

With an inquiring and searching mind, Merry was one who disliked to be baffled by anything in the form of mystery that might be legitimately investigated. A mystery amid common things and common events aroused him to insistent investigation, for he knew there should be no mystery, and that ............