“It is perfect,” I said.
“Well... Chapuyt did not seem to mind this parroting of his bet. But he did not like the greedy triumph with which they gathered in their winnings. He was so upset, in fact, that he left his stake, including his profit, on the table, and walked away. The other players realized that they had offended him. So they did not follow his position again, and were stunned when he won.
“The croupier did not know what to do. Lacking instructions, he let Chapuyt’s bet ride, since a winner almost never comes up three times identically. But Chapuyt won. And as the croupier pushed a quarter-million francs into a neat pile with his stick, Chapuyt reappeared at the table, collected his chips without glancing at the crones, and fled.
“A profit of a thousand dollars creates no excitement at the Casino, except in the first room. So the management paid no attention to Chapuyt when he entered the inner salon where the players were risking that much on each spin of the wheel. He played one 25,000-franc chip, and lost. He risked another, and lost again. Then he began to hit, winning five times successively, parlaying all his profit until he had the equivalent of $100,000. Here he drew in his chips and went back to his original 25,000-franc bet.
“By now he was a celebrity in the inner room, too. His next wager was duplicated by everyone at the table. As in the other salon, he was revolted. Immediately he cashed his chips and departed. The story wearies you, perhaps?”
“No, no,” I said, “I’m fascinated. But you tip the ending. Monsieur Chapuyt was the devil in disguise. As a story-writer, I can tell you it is very old stuff.”
Gautier was delighted.
“Excellent!” he exclaimed. “Such a possibility occurred to the management, of course. Such things do not happen — but gamblers like to be sure. Chapuyt did not leave the Casino alone that night. A man he did not see followed him to his hotel and ascertained that his identity papers were in perfect order. Like most careful travelers, Chapuyt had a minimum accommodation at the best hotel, his meals included in the price. He made no special demands, had no visitors, and no interest except the Casino. His only fault was that he never bestowed a tip. You are surprised at this, I see.”
“It seems out of character,” I replied, “after what I have seen.”
“It is common among working men; and that, the management discovered by inquiry in Paris, was Chapuyt’s origin. For forty years he had lived inconspicuously in St. Cloud within walking distance of work in a pottery factory, where he ultimately became a foreman. He had never married. During the Occupation he had been forced into labor at the Renault auto works, also near his home, and there he had performed small jobs of espionage for the British, who hired him as a chauffeur for a time after the Liberation. When this work ended, he toured Italy. Now he appeared to be on his way home. Does he still sound like the Old Nick?”
“He disappoints me,” I said. “But you do not. How the devil do you know all this?”
Gautier was embarrassed. “It is not generally known,” he said, “but I am a director of the Casino. It is my business to know these things. Sometimes a knowledge of our patrons comes in handy, as you will see. In this case, our conclusion was that Chapuyt, knowing nothing about roulette, was having a phenomenal run of beginner’s luck. It happens. He plays roulette best who plays it worst. Chapuyt had something better than a system: instinct, courage, and ignorance.
“He returned the following night, and this time there was determination in his stride, as though he had decided not to let the avidity of the others deter him from making a fortune. In his changed attitude I saw the beginning of the end. I fully expected his winnings to be safely in our pockets by 11 o’clock, and his nest-egg along with them.”
“But he continued to win,” I intervened.
“Nothing of the sort,” Gautier said. “He didn’t play. To be sure, he approached the tables as before. The chips rested confidently in his quiet hand. But every time he took a playing position, the table filled at once and everyone poised to duplicate his choice. This deterred him. His manner indicated that to him gambling was sport, but to these others it was something evil, to which he could not be a party. Do you understand me?”
“Most gamblers don’t worry about the other fellow,” I said.
“Ah, that’s precisely the point,” said Gautier. “Was Chapuyt a gambler?”
“Proceed,” I encouraged him.
“About 10 o’clock, when Chapuyt had not risked a franc, one of the floor managers suggested to him that he visit the high-stake salon on the floor above, where he might try his luck in peace. The exclusive clientele there, he was told, were of a sort who would consider the duplication of another’s bet very gauche behavior. He went upstairs immediately.
“He drifted about aimlessly, and so doing discovered the solitaire tables. They are not used much — only at the height of the season when the very rich are with us. Chapuyt was intrigued by this form of gaming which could not be copied. We observe the usual Klondike rules. You know the game?”
“I think so,” I said. “We call it Canfield, but actually it is a seven-file layout, each file with an exposed card on top. The right-hand file has six face-down cards, the adjacent file has five, and so on down until the last file consists of a single card, face up.”
“Precisely,” Gautier concurred. “In a casino, the hand stock is played one card at a time off the top, so the player goes through the deck only once. This form of solitaire is an extremely interesting game. If you buy the deck for $100 a card, and run the cards clear out, you pocket $26,000. The payoff is at the rate of five times the per-card investment for each card put up into the foundation. So you begin to win on the eleventh card. But I do not need to remind you that the odds are much greater than five to one.
“Well, to get back to Chapuyt. He seemed to know the game, and finally slid into a vacated seat. The departing player was one of your Americans who wagers $1,000 a card. Evidently Chapuyt thought this the minimum for the table, for he bought the deck at her price.
“He did not win much in the first game — ten thousand, I think it was. But he played carefully. For example, when there was a choice of shifting one of two files, he always moved from the rank which covered the most down-cards, thus reducing his odds, even though the other move might have been more to his temporary advantage. He never played a card to the foundation if it might be needed later to build a file. In other words, he was out to run the pack rather than just to make a small profit. Few people, playing solitaire for money, have courage enough to pursue the ultimate game, and as a result, few of them win. I see from your expression that you are anticipating again.”
“He won, of course.”
“Not spectacularly. But ten thousand here, fifteen thousand there, over several evenings, until he had — with his roulette luck thrown in — a quarter-million dollars of our money.”
“That shouldn’t bother you.”
“Not at all. It is good publicity and eventually most of it comes back to us. But in francs at current exchange it becomes astronomicaclass="underline" 62,500,000, to be exact. We were worried. And since Chapuyt was now playing from profits, he became bolder. For example, he sat down one evening and calmly ran off ten losing games in succession, then in three profitable sequences got it all back. We could only hope that his incredible luck would fail and that he would be cleaned out before the laws of chance gave him what every solitaire player must ultimately realize: a clean sweep of the deck.”