But he was too late.

The fingers of the hand had opened, the note fluttered down on to the cloth, the money was staked.
At once he leaned back in his chair.
"Il y a une suite," he said quietly.

He relinquished the bank rather than play against that five-louis note.

The stakes were taken up by their owners.
The croupier began to count Wethermill's winnings, and Ricardo, curious to know whose small, delicately gloved hand it was which had brought the game to so abrupt a termination, leaned forward.

He recognised the young girl in the white satin dress and the big black hat whose nerves had got the better of her a few minutes since in the garden.