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Page 37
But abruptly (they had been playing less than fifteen minutes) he
paused and, instead of starting the ball on another race round its
ebony run, dropped it lightly in the depression immediately above the
axle of the wheel.
"The game is closed," he announced evenly, with a slow smile.
"Sir"--directly to P. Sybarite--"although it lacks the resources of
Monte Carlo, this establishment nevertheless imitates its protective
measures. A table losing twenty-five thousand dollars in one day
ceases operations. You are just twenty-five thousand to the good.
Accept my congratulations."
"You are very amiable," insisted P. Sybarite, rising, with a little
bow. "But if you care for revenge, I shall be pleased to continue at
the other table."
"Unfortunately that, too, has suspended operations," returned
Penfield. "However, I hope before long to relieve you of your gains."
Opening the cash drawer, he cleared it completely of its contents,
placing before P. Sybarite a tremendous accumulation of bills, old and
new, of all denominations, loose and in packages, together with some
ten or twelve golden double-eagles.
"I believe you will find that correct," he observed genially.
"Afterwards, I trust you will do me the honour of splitting a bottle
with me in the lounge."
"Delighted," said P. Sybarite.
Penfield strolled off, exchanged a few words with an acquaintance or
two, and a few more with his employees, and went downstairs. The
remaining handful of patrons disappeared gradually, yet so quickly
that P. Sybarite was a lonely outsider by the time he had finished
counting his winnings and stowing them away about his person.
Presenting the croupier with five hundred dollars, he recovered his
hat (at last) and descended, to find Penfield awaiting him at the foot
of the steps.
X
UNDER FIRE
Bloated though he was with lawless wealth and fat with insufferable
self-satisfaction, P. Sybarite, trotting by the side of his host, was
dwarfed alike in dignity and in physique, strongly resembling an
especially cocky and ragged Airedale being tolerated by a well-groomed
St. Bernard.
Now when Pete had placed a plate of caviare sandwiches between them,
and filled their glasses from a newly opened bottle, he withdrew from
the lounge and closed the door behind him; whether or not at a sign
from Penfield, P. Sybarite was unaware; though as soon as they were
alone and private, he grew unpleasantly sensitive to a drop in the
temperature of the entente cordiale which had thus far obtained
between himself and the gambler. Penfield's eyes promptly lost much of
their genial glow, and simultaneously his face seemed weirdly less
plump and rosy with prosperity and contentment. Notwithstanding this,
with no loss of manner, he lifted a ceremonious glass to the health of
his guest.
"Congratulations!" said he; and drank as a thirsty man drinks.
"May your shadow never grow less!" P. Sybarite returned, putting down
an empty glass.
"That's a perfectly good wish plumb wasted," said Penfield, refilling
both glasses, his features twisted in the wriest of grimaces. "Fact
is--I don't mind telling you--your luck to-night has, I'm afraid,
played the very devil with me. This house won't open up again until I
raise another bank-roll."
"My sympathy," said P. Sybarite, sipping. "I'm really distressed....
And yet," he added thoughtfully, "you had no chance--none whatever."
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