property, his neck would be in a noose before the day was out.”
“Then why take the chance?”
The Great Marconi pulled at his glass glumly. “He’s not going to lose.”
The two, carrying their drinks, made their way back to the roulette table. The First Signore had just finished explaining the workings of the ages-old game. Jerry Rhodes stood at the table side, a stack of chips before him. Evidently, through the Tenth Signore, the two contestants had made some sort of financial arrangement so that they could wager.
Jerry took a sip from his glass, set it down and took up a chip. “Well start off slow,” he said, his voice slurring only slightly. “Hundred thousand interplanetary credits on the very number you mentioned—eighteen.”
“A… hundred… thousand… interplanetary… credits,” Cesare Marconi said.
Dorn Horsten had given up.
Antonio d’Arrezzo spun the wheel. He tossed the plastic ball so that it rolled, counter to the direction of the spin, about the edge of the bowl in which the wheel sat. All eyes were fascinated.
The ball lost momentum, slipped from the rim, hit into the numbered slots, bounced out, bounced in again, seemed to have found its place in slot number thirty, but then gave one last feeble bounce.
“Eighteen!” Jerry blurted happily.
The First Signore stared disbelief.
“Thirty-six to one,” Jerry said, grinning around at the small circle of them. “Tha’s what I call odds.” He looked to the Firenze strong-arm, pinch-hitting as croupier. “Let her roll.”
It was the jittery Tenth Signore who said, “Let her roll?”
Jerry Rhodes looked at the Florentine chief of state accusingly. “You said no limit, didn’t you?”
“Eh?” Antonio d’Arrezzo was still staring at the plastic ball, nestled in slot eighteen. “Oh. No limit.
Why… yes, of course.” He had been in the process of shoving two stacks of chips, eighteen to the stack, in Jerry’s direction, with his croupier stick.
Jerry pushed them all over onto number eighteen.
Cesare Marconi shot Horsten an incredulous look. “You mean he’s going to wager thirty-seven hundred thousand interplanetary credits on one spin of the wheel? One chance in thirty-eight of it coming up?”
Horsten shook his massive head. “I told you he was lucky.”
“Nobody’s that lucky.”
The First Signore plucked the ball from the eighteen slot and looked at it He hefted it. He seemed to shrug infinitesimally, then spun the wheel again. He tossed the ball as he had before.
Jerry said, “A bet of thirty-seven hundred thousand credits at odds of thirty-six to one. Why, I’d have to figure it out Mother’ll be pleased. Mounts to a sizable chunk of that ’ranium industry. We’ll go to work on transportation, next.” He looked at the Tenth Signore. “Didn’t you say that was one of the nationalized industries?”
“Yes.”
Cesare Marconi glowered a look of disgust at the young man, turned and went back to refresh his glass. But he had returned by the time the ball was bouncing from slot to slot.
“Eighteen!” Jerry chortled. He looked at Dorn Horsten, as though soliciting approval. “Now isn’t that luck?” He turned his shining face to the Florentine Minister of Treasury. “How much of the ’ranium industry do I have now?”
“You own it,” the Tenth Signore moaned.
“Now look here…” Horsten began, and was completely ignored.
Jerry said, in a burst of enthusiasm, “Let ’er ride again!”
The First Signore shook his head. “But… but if you won again, I wouldn’t have the chips to… to pay off.”
Jerry upended his drink, tossed the empty glass over his shoulder. “Chips, snips,” he slurred. “All or nothin’. One more rolla the wheel. If it comes up eighteen, you lose. Everything. I own all the nationalized industry on Firenze.”
For long moments, silence reigned. The First Signore was breathing deeply. So deeply that he sounded as though he had but finished the climbing of a considerable peak.
“Your Zelenzar The Tenth Signore groaned.
“Quiet!” d’Arrezzo ground out. He turned to his opponent and whispered, “You’re on.”
He picked up the plastic ball, stared at it for a long moment, hefted it slightly. He shook his head, and spun the wheel.
There was commotion at the entry. The door banged open.
The First Signore looked up to glare.
Zorro, in the hands of two of the brawniest of the Florentine guards, was being dragged along, in the trail of a gaudily uniformed officer of what the Section G representatives now recognized as the Ministry of Anti-Subversion. The officer held something in his right hand, and there was an air of triumph in his every move.
“What is the meaning of this!” d’Arrezzo barked.
“Your Zelenza!” the newcomer returned, completely uncowed. “They’re subversive spies! All spies. We captured this one sending a report to his superiors back on Earth. We were able to tape most of it.” He held up that which he had been carrying in his hand.
“Hey!” Helen bleated from across the room where she had retreated with her doll. “That’s my Gerturde’s Tri-Di Dolly Set. You give me that back!”
It was a good try, but without any response whatsoever.
“Report?” the First Signore snapped. His glare encompassed the otherworldlings.
“Yes, Your Zelenza. Most of it is unintelligible. Something about Dawnworld planets. However, we have enough to prove that these”—with a sweeping hand he indicated Jerry, the disgruntled Zorro and Dorn Horsten —“are all operatives of Section G, evidently some espionage agency of the Octagon.”
“I see,” the First Signore said.
Helen had come up to take her stance next to Horsten, at the roulette table, her doll under her arm.
Gertrude began to go
Chapter Twelve
The sound was audible enough for all to hear. The Florentines were not the only ones to scowl.
Of a sudden, Dorn Horsten moved. He took two lumbering steps, grasped hold of the gigantic roulette wheel, and heaved. It came up in his huge hands, and he rested it on one side on the floor. As all watched, taken aback, he pulled away the metal sheathing which covered the bottom. Beneath was a bed of wires and miniature power packs.
“Ah ha,” the doctor snorted.
Cesare Marconi whinnied amusement “Why Cousin Antonio, a rigged wheel? No wonder you were surprised when you didn’t win, and no wonder you won so often before at your parties to raise campaign funds.”
But the First Signore, in his rage, was having none. He whirled on Jerry Rhodes, now completely sober.
“An agent of Section G, I have heard rumors of this Section G and its subverting of member worlds of the United Planets. All a farce! You have no unlimited wealth on Geneva. You would have cheated me!”
“Hal” Helen snorted. “Look who’s talking.”
The open palm of Antonio d’Arrezzo lashed out across the face of the younger man. Jerry Rhodes, off guard, staggered back.
“We will meet on the field of honor!” the First Signore snapped. “Name your weapon!” He turned his glare on the scientist and then went on to Zorro Juarez. “And when I have finished with this make-believe interplanetary tycoon, then you, and you!”
The Firenze chief of state turned his glare on Cesare Marconi. “And then, perhaps you. I am not amused by you befriending these enemies of the State, nor, for that matter your professed adherence to the Engelists.” He turned back to Jerry, still fuming. “Your choice of weapons, Signore.” The term “signore” came out a sneer.
Jerry blinked at him, still not quite accommodated to the last few moments of developments.
