Downing hesitated. Aside from liking Mitch, he believed in doing favors where no cost to himself was involved.
'You're asking me to put you in the game,' he said.
'No, I'm not. Of course, I figured that you'd probably want to watch me…'
Downing said that it worked out to the same thing. Mitch denied it. 'We'll all go in together, sure; you and Red and I. You can make talk with her while I'm at the table. But that doesn't add up to putting me in the game. You know everyone, and we're just a couple of more people that you know.'
'Well…' The gambler half-nodded. 'You don't push yourself, now. You can't do it here.'
'I wouldn't do it anywhere.'
'And you only fade. No shooting.'
Mitch agreed. They arose, Mitch grinning to himself. Tonight he would simply break the ice, get himself known to the high-rollers. Then, another night, after making sure that Downing was no longer in town, he would come back for another visit..
They reached the door of the room. Downing suddenly turned on him, with a curse. 'Why, you sneaky-! It went right past me, and I didn't see it!'
'Yes?' Mitch said innocently. 'Something wrong, Frank?'
'You didn't have any intention of playing! You didn't even know where the action was!'
'We made a deal, Frank.'
'I know. But watch yourself, Mitch. Make that the last fast one of the evening.'
Red saw the by-play from the bar. She coupled it and colored it with their earlier encounter with the gambler, and the result was not flattering to Downing.
She bared her teeth, rather than smiled, as Mitch introduced them. He started to help her down from the bar stool, and her elbow pulled firmly from his grasp. His brows raised slightly. Ironic humor twinkled at the back of his eyes. He had been around for a very long time, and was a very long way from his place of origin. The situation appealed to him, and he knew how to make the most of it.
The action was on the third floor. Downing guided them to a private elevator, and its operator gave them one unobtrusively searching glance, photographing them in his mind. Debouching from the car, they were met by another man, a suave but huskier version of the elevator operator. And again there was that swift photographing glance.
He opened a door on the opposite side of the hall, stood back, with a little bow, and pulled it shut after them.
The room was approximately octagonal in shape; sunken, a few feet from the entrance, by three broad steps. There were no windows. A bar-buffet, with a Negro attendant, half-circled a corner of the room. Flanked by four long, low lounges, set back at a comfortable distance, was an oblong dice table.
A half-dozen people stood around it, one of them a stout middle-aged woman. With a nod to his companions, Mitch wandered over to it. Downing and Red sat down on a lounge.
Laughing inwardly, the gambler gave her a confidential wink. 'How about a good stiff drink, honey? You look like a gal that could slug it down.'
Red shook her head. 'No, thank you!'
'It don't cost nothin',' Downing said craftily. 'Get yourself pie-eyed, and it won't cost you a penny.'
'No!'
She tried to ignore the gambler, keeping her eyes on Mitch, watching the easy way he made himself one with the group around the table. But Downing would not be ignored. He kept up the dumb act, even nudging her with his elbow, until be again had her exasperated attention.
'… and you know somethin'?' he was saying. 'I think you're a heck of a pretty gal.'
'Gee, Dad!'-she gave him an icy grin. 'You're a daisy!'
'It's sure been a hot day, ain't it?' Downing went on. 'Sweated so bad I had to wash my feet.'
'Why you poor thing, you!' Red said. 'Didn't it make you awfully sick?'
'Well, yeah it did kind of. You know what I always say? I always say it ain't the heat but the humidity.'
'Do you?' Red said. 'Do you always say it ain't the heat but the humidity?'
'Yep. Yessir, that's what I always say.'
'Well, you'd better write it down somewhere,' Red said. 'You might forget it, and then where would you be?'
Downing pulled a look of heavy suspicion. He asked her if she was trying to razz him or somethin'. 'I'll bet you are,' he said. 'I'll bet you're tryin' to razz me or somethin'.'
'An intelligent gentleman like you? Perish the thought!'
'You can't fool me,' Downing said darkly. 'I reckon you don't like me very much, do you?'
Red turned on him, giving him the full effect of her scornful eyes. 'No, I don't like you, Mr. Frank Downing,' she said. 'To be honestly frank, I don't like you a darned bit!'
'Well, there's nothing like being honestly frank,' Downing murmured. 'Unless it's redundant.'
Red started. She blushed, tried to look indignant and suddenly giggled. 'Why, you- you-!'
'Something wrong, lady?' Downing said innocently. 'There certainly is!' Red declared. 'Just where have you been hiding?'
'Me? I been here all the time, ma'am. Sittin' right next to the humidity.'
'Then that's quite long enough,' Red said firmly. 'You get right up from there and bring me a drink!'
Downing laughed and got up. He brought drinks for both of them, along with a plate of hors d'oeuvres. A brisk conversation sprang up between them, and a feeling of liking as well. One of those peculiarly strong likings, which so often evolve from meetings that have started off badly.
Meanwhile, the man nearest Mitch had picked up the dice. He was apparently the big winner of the evening, the pockets of his dinner jacket bulging with currency. An oldish young man, with prematurely gray hair, he dug out a fistful of bills and dropped them on the table.
'Let's see. Four, five, six…' He sorted it with one finger. 'Seven, seven-five. Shoot it all.'
Money showered down on the green felt. Rattling the dice, he announced that he was shooting seventy-five hundred, with a thousand still open.
'Only a thousand, people. Don't make me fall back before I fire.' His eyes swept the group, hesitated at Mitch, then tendered an invitation. 'A thousand open. All or any part.'
'It's only money,' Mitch smiled, and he took Out his wallet.
The dice rolled. Came out with a hard eight. The man followed with a four, a six, another four-
He let it ride. Fifteen thousand dollars. There was two thousand open that time, and Mitch took it.
The dice rolled and stopped with two deuces up. Another hard four! Three of them in less than as many minutes! To Mitch it was like a red flag.
It could be on the level, of course. It couldn't be anything else in a place like this. But still…
He watched the progression of numbers, the dice combinations as they rolled out. Six-
