Cassal went in and ordered a drink. It was a variable place, depending on the spectator—bright, cheerful, and harmonious if he were winning, garish and depressingly vulgar if he were not. At the moment Cassal belonged to neither group. He reserved judgment.
An assortment of gaming devices were in operation. One in particular seemed interesting. It involved the counting of electrons passing through an aperture, based on probability.
"Not that," whispered Dimanche. "It's rigged."
"But it's not necessary," Cassal murmured. "Pure chance alone is good enough."
"They don't take chances, pure or adulterated. Look around. How many Godolphians do you see?"
Cassal looked. Natives were not even there as servants. Strictly a clip joint, working travelers.
Unconsciously, he nodded. "That does it. It's not the kind of opportunity I had in mind."
"Don't be hasty," objected Dimanche. "Certain devices I can't control. There may be others in which my knowledge will help you. Stroll around and sample some games."
Cassal equipped himself with a supply of coins and sauntered through the establishment, disbursing them so as to give himself the widest possible acquaintance with the layout.