It was very true that he had missed the knife. It was a favorite blade, and one he had carried a long time. One does not find a good throwing blade every day. He carried a revolver, under his sash and inside the waistband of his trousers; but he was not a gunman, preferring the more silent weapon.
Lee Yung, the fat, bland-faced c******n, sat stolidly in a chair at a poker table, pitting his wits against Faro Lanning. The rest of the players were of no moment to Lee Yung, who would bet a thousand dollars with about the same emotion as a sphinx.
Torres wanted to play poker, but not in such fast company, so he confined his efforts to trying to outguess the roulette wheel, where he could also keep an eye on the front door.
It was after dark that Hashknife, Sleepy, Ike Marsh, Musical Matthew
