directed to one of the nymphs, who was now on top of a table and tripping the light fantastic with a dance. These shouts emboldened the Red Rogue. His sloppy mouth formed a sickly grin right against my face.
His breath was painfully sharp. "My best game ever," he said threateningly. Or at least whatever it was he was saying, it had a threatening ring, as I cannot be sure of the words-he was, naturally, speaking French and, for the moment, that language was all but lost to me. I hoped the elegant girl with the flower basket was not watching.
Then a voice came from behind me. "Monsieur, if you please!"
The rogue looked over my shoulder.
"I challenge you in a game of billiards, monsieur," said the same voice behind me. "And we shall wager whatever amount you choose."
Red Rogue seemed to forget me altogether, and pushed aside his girl, who wheeled around anxiously at the scene and pulled at his elbow.
"At my table?" said the rogue, pointing to the billiards table where we had collided.
"None other would be as suitable," replied Duponte, bowing precisely.
An amount of money was called out. This scene quickly attracted an audience, not only because an unknown player had dared to take on the champion, but because there was money-rather than the customary drinks-at stake, and significant money.
As though this might be a second Duponte, I looked around the cafe to make sure he was not somewhere else. Though overwhelmed with relief at my escape from harm, I instantly felt Duponte's mistake. In the first place, I knew from my observations of Duponte that he had no money should he lose. Secondly, there was the matter of this fellow's talent for the game of billiards. As if to remind me of this, one of the bystanders behind me whispered to his friend, "Red Rogue is one of the best players in Paris." Except he used the fellow's real name, which, from the mayhem of events, I no longer remember.
Red Rogue slapped his money on a chair. Duponte was busy selecting his stick.
"Monsieur?" the rogue demanded, banging three times on the chair.
"The money is my reward," explained Duponte. "Not yours."
"And what if I win?!" shouted his opponent, the red in his face turning purple.
Duponte motioned a hand at me. "If you are the winner of our game without forfeit," replied Duponte, "then you may resume your business with this gentleman unhindered."
Much to my despair, the rogue turned to me and seemed to savor the barbaric license that would be afforded by a victory. He even offered Duponte the honor of beginning the game. I tried desperately to think if Poe's stories had ever mentioned skill in billiards on the part of the analyst hero; on the contrary, Dupin professed a dislike for mathematical games like chess and pronounced the superiority of simple matches of whist in showing the real skills of ratiocination.
Duponte opened with a shot so terrible that several onlookers laughed.
Red Rogue became perfectly serious, even graceful, as he struck the ball with ease turn after turn. If I had ruined his best game ever, surely this was his second best. I held on to the hope that Duponte would suddenly grow skilled, or reveal that his ineptness was but an act of trickery. Not so; he became worse. And then there were only three or maybe four turns left on the part of Red Rogue before the game would be finished to his advantage. I was searching my pockets, with the thought of replacing my part in the wager with silver, but I hadn't brought more than a few francs with me.
This was most remarkable: through all of this, Duponte remained utterly composed. With each awful turn, his expression stayed perfectly untroubled and confident. This was increasingly upsetting to his opponent, though it did not in the least affect his excellent play. One reward of triumph is to watch the loser deflate. And Duponte was refusing to comply with this. I believe Red Rogue even slowed his victory in order to attempt to induce the proper degradation.
Finally, the villain turned to the table with renewed speed and a flash of anger at Duponte. "Here we finish," he said, then directed a boiling gaze of hatred at me.
"Yes? Very well then." Duponte, to my horror, shrugged.
In my state of fear, I did not at first even hear the commotion at the street door. In fact, it did not gain my attention until there were several people pointing