The four players had finished their card-playing and were quite ready for the dice.

“Trust in your luck, Belmanoir, and take him!” advised Pritchard, who loved hazarding other men’s possessions, but kept a tight hold on his own.

“Ay, take him!” echoed Falmouth.

“Don’t,” said Fortescue.

“Of course I shall take him,” answered his Grace tranquilly. “My grey against your chestnut and the best of three. Will you throw?”

The Viscount rattled his box with a flourish. Two threes and a one turned up.

With a hand on Fortescue’s shoulder, and one foot on the rung of his chair, Tracy leaned forward and cast his own dice on to the table. He had beaten the Viscount’s throw by five. The next toss Fotheringham won, but the last fell to his Grace.