Five men were standing on the entrance steps to the door below, and the crowd was thickly massed beyond, leaving a little semicircle clear about the steps.

Those behind struggled to get closer, and leaped in the air to catch a glimpse of what was going on.

Harkless stood alone on the top step, his hand resting on the shoulder of the pale and contrite and sobered Hartley.

In the clear space, Jim Bardlock was standing with sheepishly hanging head, and between him and Harkless were the two gamblers of the walnut shells.

The journalist held in his hand the implements of their profession.
"Give it all up," he was saying in his steady voice.