They stood by the roulette wheel watching the play and she turned suddenly. “I’d like to have a go. What do I do?”
“Decide how much you can afford to lose, that’s lesson number one.”
She opened her handbag and produced two five-pound notes. “Will this be all right?”
He grinned. “It won’t go far in a place like this, but never mind. Who knows? You may even break the bank. Wait here, I’ll get you some chips.”
Max Vernon sat at his desk, magnificent in a midnight blue dinner jacket, a white gardenia in his buttonhole. For supper, the chef had presented him with a mixed grill done to perfection and a glass of champagne was at his elbow.
The man who stood on the other side of the desk, an open ledger in his hand, was Claudio Carelli, the casino manager, and he looked worried.
“But it isn’t good, Mr. Vernon. We put a lot of money into this place. The new decor and refurnishing came to twenty-two thousand and then there are the running expenses. At the moment, we’re virtually living from day to day.”
“You worry too much, Claudio,” Vernon said. “It takes time to build up a prestige club like this. But they’re coming now — all the right people. Another three months and we’ll be in the clear.”
“I certainly hope so.”
As Carelli opened the door to leave, Stratton came in, his face pale with excitement. “Miller’s downstairs in the casino.”
“How did he get in?”
“He’s with the Craig girl. Ben saw them come in. He checked with Bruno on the door. She’s a member all right, everything square and above board. She brought Miller in as her guest.”
“Who put her up?”
“Bruno says it was Sir Frank Wooley. Shall we get rid of them?”
“You bloody fool.” Vernon reached across the desk and grabbed him by the tie. “How many times have I got to tell you? No trouble in the club. What do you want to do — bankrupt me?” He shoved Stratton away from him and poured another glass of champagne. “Keep an eye on them. I’ll be down myself in ten minutes.”
Harriet had a small, but exciting run of luck at Roulette that took her up to seventy pounds.
“I think I’d better try something else while I’m ahead,” she said. “What are they playing over there?”
“One of the oldest games of chance in the world,” Miller told her. “You simply throw the dice and pray that the right number comes up.”
“Any skill required?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Then that’s the game for me.”
The table was a popular one and not only were all the seats taken, but a fair-sized crowd stood around watching. Harriet had to wait for five minutes before her chance came. The first time she threw, she didn’t cast the dice far enough and the croupier handed them back to her with a whispered instruction. There were one or two good-humoured remarks and then she made two straight passes and doubled her money.
There were encouraging smiles from the crowd and she laughed excitedly. “These dice can’t possibly have any more luck in them. Can I have a new pair?”
“Certainly, madame.”
The croupier passed them across and removed the others. Harriet rattled the dice in one hand and threw a pair of ones. “Snakes’ eyes,” said a military-looking gentleman with a curving moustache who was standing next to her. “Bad luck.”
She tried again with no better luck and the third throw cleaned her out. “How strange,” she said with a little laugh. “I just keep getting a pair of ones, don’t I?”
“The luck of the game, my dear,” the military-looking man said.
She picked up the dice and rolled them gently no more than a foot or so. “Look, there they are again. It just isn’t my night.”
The croupier’s rake reached out, but the military man beat him to it, a frown on his face. “Not so fast there.”
“I hope monsieur is not suggesting that there could be anything wrong with the dice?”
“We’ll see, shall we?”
He rattled the dice together and threw them the length of the table.
The elderly man tossed the dice across the table and the result was plain for all to see. Voices were raised suddenly, people got up from other tables and came across as the news spread like wildfire.
Harriet Craig moved through the crowd to Miller’s side. “They
Before he could reply, Vernon appeared on the scene, pushing his way through the crowd, his face angry. “What’s going on here?”
“I was just going to ask you the same question, Vernon,” the white-haired man said. “To start with you’ll oblige me by throwing these dice.”
Vernon stood there, holding them in his hand, a bewildered frown on his face and then he threw. There was a roar from the crowd and the white-haired man gathered them up quickly.
“That settles it. Somebody better get the police.” He turned and addressed the crowd. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve dropped four hundred pounds here during the past couple of weeks and I’m not leaving till I get it back.”
“Ladies and gentlemen — please.” Vernon raised his arms in an attempt to placate them, but it was no use.
The voices rose angrily on either side and Miller pushed his way forward and tapped the white-haired man on the shoulder. “I think I’d better have those, sir.”
“And who the devil might you be?”
“Detective Sergeant Miller, Central C.I.D.” Miller produced his warrant and the dice were passed over without a murmur.
Miller looked across at Vernon. “Are these your dice, sir?”
“Of course not.”
“I notice that in accordance with a specific regulation of the Gaming Act, they carry this club’s registered mark as placed there by the makers. What you are saying is that you have a full set without this pair? That these are forgeries?”
“But that’s rubbish,” the white-haired man put in. “What on earth would be the point of a player substituting for the real dice a pair that would make him lose every time he threw.”
Vernon’s shoulders sagged and his knuckles gleamed whitely as he gripped the edge of the table. He glared across at Miller, who returned his stare calmly.
“Right — I think that’s it for tonight, Mr. Vernon.”
“What in hell do you mean?” Vernon demanded furiously.
“I mean that I’m closing you up.”
“Yes, closing you up for good, you damned crook,” the white-haired man said, leaning across the table.
For a moment, Vernon gazed wildly about him and then he turned, pushed his way through the crowd and disappeared upstairs.
It was just after eleven when Miller went down the Town Hall steps to the Cooper. The radio was playing faintly and when he opened the door, Harriet Craig sat in the passenger seat, humming softly to herself.
“All finished?” she said brightly.
