“The next card is either a five or a trey. That M there is to find out which it is.”
“Are you sure of that?” the manager asked.
“Not absolutely, of course,” Cloud admitted. “There’s one chance in approximately fourteen million that both my partner and I are wrong.”
“Very good odds. But since you lose in either case, why bet?”
“Because if it’s a trey, she solved your system first. If it’s a five, I beat her to it.”
“I see, but that isn’t necessary.” The manager took the remaining cards out of the rack, and, holding them carefully and firmly, wrapped the M-note tightly around them. Then, picking up the two small stacks of played cards, he handed the whole collection to Cloud, at the same time signalling the dealer to go ahead with his game. “We’ll be smothered in a crowd very shortly, and I would like very much to play with you myself. Will you, sir and madame, be gracious enough to continue play in private?”
“Gladly, sir,” Joan assented, at Cloud’s questioning glance. “If it would not put you out too much.”
“I am delighted,” and, beckoning to a hovering waiter, he went on: “We will have refreshments, of course. In uniform, you might possibly prefer soft drinks? We have some very good Tellurian ginger ale.”
“That’d be fine,” Cloud said, even while he was thinking at the Lensman in contact with his mind: “Safe enough, don’t you think? He couldn’t be thinking of any rough stuff yet.”
“Perfectly safe,” Nordquist agreed. “He’s just curious. Besides, he’s in no shape to handle even the Vortex Blaster alone, to say nothing of the task force he knows would be here two hours after anything happened to either of you.”