IN his office above the Club Catalina, Big Tom Bagshawe sat with folded hands before the massive desk in the center of the room. His face wore its accustomed smile. The ring of the telephone brought action. Big Tom lifted the receiver.
The voice of Wheels Bryant came over the wire.
“All set for tonight, Tom?”
“You bet,” responded the gambling king, with a chuckle. “Going full blast. More than a hundred people here already. If Yates stays away—”
“He will,” came the voice of Wheels. “He thinks that he has gotten the low-down on the dope racket. Went up to see Mayor Cruikshank, tonight. He’s off on a bum steer, raiding some cheap hang-outs. Shifter has planted some phony leads to keep him busy. There’s no limit tonight, Tom.”
The gambling king hung up the receiver, and his broad smile increased. He pulled a cigar from the box, and chewed away the end while he leisurely ambled from the office, locking the door behind him.
In the gambling rooms, Big Tom’s heart was gladdened by the sight of the reckless players. Every roulette wheel in the place was working. Slot machines were clicking. Faro dealers were busy. A dice table was an additional attraction.
An attendant sidled up to the gambler and handed him a card.
“O.K.?” he questioned. “This guy is a millionaire — got the line on him from downstairs—”
Big Tom read the name of Lamont Cranston. He noted the initials on the card. He looked toward the door and saw the quiet, firm-faced man who was standing there. He nodded his approval as he returned the card to the attendant.
Big Tom’s gaze began to follow Lamont Cranston as the new arrival walked across the room. Then the gambling king’s attention was diverted as he spied two men who had just entered. One was Herbert Carpenter; the other was a stout individual.
Big Tom smiled. Carpenter’s companion had been here before. He was Gifford Morton, a multimillionaire who came to Seaview City for the yachting season. Big Tom advanced to greet the guest. He had met Morton in Florida.
“Trying the wheel tonight, Mr. Morton?” questioned Bagshawe.
“Yes,” smiled Morton pleasantly. “I have a few thousand to squander — as I have done before in other establishments of yours.”
Carpenter threw a quiet glance toward Big Tom. It signified that the multimillionaire was going to lose more than a few thousand tonight, without the aid of Bagshawe’s roulette wheels.
Hard money served in place of chips at Big Tom Bagshawe’s. When Carpenter and Morton stopped in front of a roulette layout, the table was well covered with bright silver dollars and glittering gold pieces. Men in evening dress vied with beautifully gowned women in their efforts to gain big winnings.
Herbert Carpenter dropped twenty dollars on the red, and Gifford Morton followed suit. Passing the man at the wheel, Big Tom uttered a low remark, and received an almost imperceptible nod in reply.
“Easy with them,” were Big Tom’s words.
The gambling king did not know what Carpenter’s game with Morton might be. However, he knew that it would probably be helpful if Morton did not lose too much money tonight. It was evident that Carpenter would like to have his quarry in an amiable mood.
ONLY one person overheard the remark. That was Lamont Cranston. The firm-faced visitor had chosen a spot near the head of the table, and had hazarded a few small amounts on the turn of the wheel. Now, his brilliant gaze was focused upon the man in charge of the wheel.
Several plays went by. A deluge of bets dropped upon the red numbers. Gifford Morton hazarded two hundred dollars on the black. Just as the wheel was about to spin, Lamont Cranston leaned forward and placed a sum upon the same color.
The wheel ended its whirl, and the ball dropped into a black-numbered pocket. The croupier raked in the money from the red space. He stared as he began to pay the bets on the black. Lamont Cranston had won a thousand dollars!
Again, the players made their wagers. Another whirl of the wheel. This time, Cranston had played a two-to-one to the amount of five hundred dollars. One of his row of numbers turned up. He collected another thousand.
“Luck,” growled the operator, in an undertone.
But as the play proceeded, Cranston’s luck persisted. Somehow, this stern-faced stranger possessed an uncanny ability in playing the turns of the wheel. At times, his bets dropped to trifling sums. Those proved to be the occasions on which he lost. Whenever his stakes were large, his number turned up.
Moreover, his percentages were increasing. When he collected sixteen hundred on a bet of two hundred, the croupier glared.
Never before had Big Tom’s wheel lost money. But now the tide had turned. The betting limit was a thousand dollars. This incredible player was going the limit and winning!
Coins laid everywhere on the layout board. Cranston quietly placed a stack of gold coins upon No. 13. The wheel revolved, and the tiny ball bounced back and forth until finally it found a lodging place. The wheel stopped. Beads of perspiration adorned the operator’s forehead when he saw that 13 was the winning number!
There was no smile on the croupier’s face when he noted that stack of gold coins. Lamont Cranston had played five hundred dollars on a long shot. His winnings were seventeen thousand five hundred. The money was paid.
Eager players were finding a new enthusiasm. All eyes were upon this amazing figure, whose mind seemed to possess foresight. Others were following the play that Cranston indicated. The wheel had become bewitched. The bank was losing heavily.
Considerable time had elapsed since the beginning of the evening’s game. The players now gathered here were the elite — the ones who had large sums to lose. Yet they were winning. The operator left the wheel for a short recess. He headed in the direction of Big Tom Bagshawe’s office.
Leaning against the table, the new operator made a slight motion with his thumb. Then he prepared to spin the wheel. At that moment, a whispered voice reached his ears.
“Make no move—”
There was a sinister note to the words. The hard-faced operator shuddered in spite of himself. He stared in the direction of the sound, and encountered the cold gaze of an unperturbed face close to his own.
The operator realized suddenly that he, alone, had heard that voice. He stared into the gleaming eyes, and found himself caught in a hypnotic stare.
With an effort, he dropped his gaze, and he saw something that no one else noticed — the muzzle of an automatic pressed against the edge of the table.
LAMONT CRANSTON’S left hand stretched forward. Above a stack of gold coins gleamed a translucent fire opal. The eyes that saw it dropped toward the pile of money. Fifty twenty-dollar gold pieces clinked upon the board — placed on double 0!
Short laughs resounded about the table. Had the player with such uncanny luck failed at last? Double 0 — the house number! It had not been played all evening!
Small amounts fell on other numbers; but no one dared reckon with the fatal double 0, despite the fact that the genius had chosen it.
The operator spun the wheel. His hand stayed away from the edge of the table. He — alone — still saw that threatening gun muzzle. His head sank listlessly. Big Tom’s wheel was fixed — prepared for such emergencies as this. For once, it had failed. The stone-faced man had called the turn.
When the wheel stopped, it showed the ball resting on double 0. The croupier stood aghast. Mechanically, he pushed over thirty-five thousand dollars to the winner.
Before the wheel was ready for another spin, Big Tom Bagshawe appeared upon the scene. His face was smiling, but the effort was strained. He spoke to the players who were gathered about the table.
“We must close immediately,” he declared. “I know that it is early, but we are very careful here. Our time is up.”