The players buzzed as they moved away from the table. Envious eyes were upon the tremendous pile of money that Lamont Cranston had accumulated. Had the devil, himself, stepped into this game, he could scarcely have fared better than this remarkable player.
Big Tom Bagshawe had spoken the truth when he said that the time was up. But he had not added the real reason. Tonight, the house had sustained unbelievable losses. The bank was broken!
Attendants were urging the players to leave. The room was emptying, and most persons were satisfied. They had shared in the winnings, to a moderate degree. But the winnings of that one player — he of the immobile face — were a matter of wild speculation.
GIFFORD MORTON was chatting with Herbert Carpenter as the two walked out together. The multimillionaire had won ten thousand dollars. He was in high spirits.
This pair, of all the persons present, caught the attention of Lamont Cranston. Gathering his final supply of wealth, the big winner prepared to go.
It was Big Tom Bagshawe who restrained him. The bulky gambling king intercepted Lamont Cranston and tried to lull him with a friendly smile.
“Congratulations!” exclaimed Bagshawe. “You had luck tonight, sir—”
“Luck is sometimes a habit,” responded Cranston, in a cryptic tone.
“Come into the office,” suggested Bagshawe. “You are laden with all those coins. Suppose that I give you paper money instead—”
Cranston stopped short. He noticed that Morton and Carpenter were going toward the stairs. He caught a few words of their conversation. They were planning to spend a while in the Club Catalina, instead of returning to the hotel at this early hour. Moreover, the attendants had formed an irregular cordon between Cranston and the door to the anteroom.
“Thank you,” responded Cranston, the vague flicker of a smile tracing itself upon his lips. “I shall accept your favor, Mr. Bagshawe. Paper currency would be more convenient.”
With Bagshawe’s hand upon his elbow, Lamont Cranston turned toward the door of the office. He stared straight ahead as he walked. He did not appear to notice the quick, significant glance that Bagshawe threw toward his underlings.
The door of the office closed behind the two men. Attendants who were busy packing away equipment suddenly ceased their tasks. Two men hurried to the door that led to the head of the stairs. When they returned, they nodded toward their companions. The clearing of the rooms continued without further interruption.
These actions had accomplished results. Men were stealing up the stairs to the anteroom. Mobsters, hurriedly assembled at a given signal, were blocking the path that led below.
Lamont Cranston had won with ease. He had deliberately entered Big Tom Bagshawe’s lair. Soon, he would be about to leave this place. But from now on, trouble awaited him.
Big Tom was a man prepared for emergencies. One had arisen, and it would be met. Perhaps the man who broke the bank would leave; but if he did, he would carry neither coins nor their equivalent.
So Big Tom Bagshawe had planned.
But he had not reckoned with The Shadow!
CHAPTER VII
THE MAN WHO VANISHED
BIG TOM BAGSHAWE appeared in an affable mood when he faced Lamont Cranston across the desk in the center of the private office. His pretense was admirable. Thoughts of the losses that he had sustained seemed totally absent.
“Yes,” said the gambler agreeably, “you did well tonight, sir. That is what I like to see — customers who show winnings. It will be a pleasant duty for me, Mr. Cranston, to turn some of that bulky coin into ready currency. We are glad to see money go out — in fact, we are well prepared for it. Nevertheless, we like to keep the gold on hand, as it serves us for chips.”
Big Tom was stalling. With no apparent purpose, he was seeking to delay Cranston’s departure. The gambler looked at the other’s face, and noted a stern, hard expression upon Cranston’s hawklike visage. Big Tom twisted uneasily. He had dealt with difficult customers before; this one promised to be one of the most difficult.
“What was the extent of your winnings?” questioned Big Tom.
“One hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” responded Cranston quietly. “I changed eighty thousand into paper money, at the request of the croupier, during short intermissions. I have seventy thousand here.”
A flood of heavy gold coins descended upon the table. Cranston stacked the yellow discs as calmly as if they had been paper chips. Big Tom sat aghast. This had gone beyond him. The tide had turned so swiftly that he had not realized the extent of the losses sustained by the house.
Calculating mentally, the gambling king recalled amounts that he had sent out to pay off those who were turning in gold for paper. He was dumbfounded when he approximated the total.
Other players had won tonight. Two hundred thousand dollars, at least, had been lost — and three fourths of that amount had gone to Cranston.
Half a million!
That had been Wheels Bryant’s estimate of the crime syndicate’s prospective earnings by the end of this week. With Carpenter still working on a basis of two hundred thousand; with Bryant counting on the gambling house for profits between now and the dead line, tonight’s loss meant that virtually all the previous gains had been wiped out!
Big Tom was in a quandary. Never before, in his checkered career, had he encountered such a night as this. He could not understand it. His gambling devices were fixed to win; his operators were experienced men. Big Tom sensed a double cross.
“Well?”
Cranston’s quiet question brought Big Tom back to earth. The gambling king found himself staring into two penetrating eyes that shone from the other side of the desk.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Cranston,” said Big Tom, with a forced smile. “Seventy thousand dollars is yet due you. I shall give it to you in bills of large denomination.”
He opened a small safe in the corner. He paused after a brief inspection, then closed the safe and turned back to Cranston.
“I am wiped out,” declared Big Tom, in a morose voice. “Wiped out, Mr. Cranston. I remember now that I used up all the paper money to pay other winners. I am sorry — I will not be able to change your gold.”
CRANSTON stretched forth his hand to pick up his money. Big Tom reached forward to restrain him. The gambler’s face had taken on a pathetic expression. Big Tom could feign unhappiness as well as joviality.
“I have been very unfortunate tonight,” said the gambler, in a wheedling voice. “Luck has been against me, Mr. Cranston. This money” — he indicated the gold — “would be a salvation for me. Would you be willing to accept a credit — of seventy thousand — until the end of the week?”
“Sorry,” remarked Cranston. “I am leaving for New York to-morrow.”
Big Tom’s head sank as he watched his visitor calmly pocket the gold coins. Then the gambler listlessly opened a desk drawer and drew forth a printed pad.
“I can pay you well,” he said pleadingly. “Twenty per cent interest, Mr. Cranston. If you could let me have — say a hundred thousand — I will give you my I O U for one hundred and twenty thousand.”
A faint smile appeared upon Cranston’s lips.
“When I came here tonight,” he said, “I brought fifteen thousand dollars. My winnings were ten times that amount. Now you offer me a trifling twenty thousand for a loan of one hundred thousand. Thank you, Mr. Bagshawe. I prefer to make my investments elsewhere. In other gambling houses, for example.”
Dejection registered itself on Big Tom’s face. He dropped the pad back in the drawer, pushed it out of sight, and slowly began to raise his hand. A sharp word from Lamont Cranston caused the gambler to become instantly motionless. Only his eyes traveled toward the speaker.