The cafe was warm and crowded, full of men who smelled strongly of the mixture of whiskey and tobacco - men who had come to the cafe to drink, swap stories and to lose over a deck of cards, the gold that they had panned in the rich Yukon creek beds. Dirk Malone contrasted sharply with the heavyset prospectors who lined the bar. His eyes were close and narrow, his hands uncalloused. To look at him was to recognise a gambler...