Hearts and Masks | Page 6

asked.
"Anything you like, sir, from a crusader to a modern gentleman,"--with
grim and appropriate irony. "What is it you are in search of--a
masquerade costume?'"
"Only a grey mask," I answered. "I am going to a masked ball to-night
as a Grey Capuchin, and I want a mask that will match my robe."
"Your wants are simple."
From a shelf he brought down a box, took off the cover, and left me to
make my selection. Soon I found what I desired and laid it aside,
waiting for Monsieur Friard to return. Again I observed the other
customer. There is always a mystery to be solved and a story to be told,
when a man makes the purchase of a pistol in a pawnshop. A man who
buys a pistol for the sake of protection does so in the light of day, and
in the proper place, a gun-shop. He does not haunt the pawnbroker in
the dusk of evening. Well, it was none of my business; doubtless he
knew what he was doing. I coughed suggestively, and Friard came
slipping in my direction again.
"This is what I want. How much?" I inquired.
[Illustration: "This is what I want. How much?" I inquired.]
"Fifty cents; it has never been worn."
I drew out my wallet. I had arrived in town too late to go to the bank,
and I was carrying an uncomfortably large sum in gold-bills. As I
opened the wallet to extract a small bill, I saw the stranger eying me

quietly. Well, well, the dullest being brightens at the sight of money
and its representatives. I drew out a small bill and handed it to the
proprietor. He took it, together with the mask, and sidled over to the
cash-register. The bell gave forth a muffled sound, not unlike that of a
fire-bell in a snow-storm. As he was in the act of wrapping up my
purchase, I observed the silent customer's approach. When he reached
my side he stooped and picked up something from the floor. With a
bow he presented it to me.
"I saw it drop from your pocket," he said; and then when he saw what it
was, his jaw fell, and he sent me a hot, penetrating glance.
"The ten of hearts!" he exclaimed in amazement.
I laughed easily.
"The ten of hearts!" he repeated.
"Yes; four hearts on one side and four on the other, and two in the
middle, which make ten in all,"--raillery in my tones. What the deuce
was the matter with everybody to-night? "Marvelous card, isn't it?"
"Very strange!" he murmured, pulling at his lips.
"And in what way is it strange?" I asked, rather curious to learn the
cause of his agitation.
"There are several reasons,"--briefly.
"Ah!"
"I have seen a man's hand pinned to that card; therefore it is gruesome."
"Some card-sharper?"
He nodded. "Then again, I lost a small fortune because of that
card,"--diffidently.
"Poker?"

"Yes. Why will a man try to fill a royal flush? The man next to me
drew the ten of hearts, the very card I needed. The sight of it always
unnerves me. I beg your pardon."
"Oh, that's all right," said I, wondering how many more lies he had up
his sleeve.
"And there's still another reason. I saw a man put six bullets into the
two central spots, and an hour later the seventh bullet snuffed the
candle of a friend of mine. I am from the West."
"I can sympathize with you," I returned. "After all that trouble, the
sight of the card must have given you a shock."
Then I stowed away the fatal card and took up my bundle and change. I
have in my own time tried to fill royal flushes, and the disappointment
still lingers with a bitter taste.
"The element of chance is the most fascinating thing there is," the
stranger from the West volunteered.
"So it is," I replied, suddenly recalling that I was soon to put my trust in
the hands of that very fickle goddess.
He nodded and returned to his revolvers, while I went out of the shop,
hailed a cab, and drove up-town to my apartments in Riverside. It was
eight o'clock by my watch. I leaned back against the cushions,
ruminating. There seemed to be something going on that night; the ten
of hearts was acquiring a mystifying, not to say sinister, aspect. First it
had alarmed the girl in Mouquin's, and now this stranger in the
curio-shop. I was confident that the latter had lied in regard to his
explanations. The card had startled him, but his reasons were altogether
of transparent thinness. A man never likes to confess that he is unlucky
at cards; there is a certain pride in lying about the