At this door Nighthawk gave a single tap. The glass covering the
circular space glided back, and a face reconnoitred. My companion
uttered two words; and the door opened, giving access to a stairs,
which we ascended, the janitor having already disappeared.
At the head of the stairs was a door which Nighthawk opened, and we
found ourselves in an apartment where a dozen persons were playing
faro.
Upon these Nighthawk threw a rapid glance--some one whom he appeared to
be seeking, was evidently not among the players.
Another moment he returned through the door, I following, and we
ascended a second flight of stairs, at the top of which was a second
door. Here another janitor barred the way, but my companion again
uttered some low words,--the door opened; a magnificently lit
apartment, with a buffet of liquors, and every edible, presented itself
before us; and in the midst of a dozen personages, who were playing
furiously, I recognized--Mr. Blocque, Mr. Croker, Mr. Torpedo, and
Colonel Desperade.
For some moments I stood watching the spectacle, and it very
considerably enlarged my experience. Before me I saw prominent
politicians, officers of high rank, employees of government holding
responsible positions, all gambling with an ardor that amounted to
fury. One gentleman in uniform--apparently of the quartermaster's
department--held in his hand a huge package of Confederate notes, of
the denominations, of $100 and $500, and this worthy staked, twice, the
pretty little amount of $10,000 upon a card, and each time lost.
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