"Maybe," he suggested, "we should leave. With no further interference from us, they might believe defective equipment is the cause of their losses."
"Maybe," replied Dimanche, "you think the crowd around us is composed solely of patrons?"
"I see," said Cassal soberly.
He stretched his legs. The crowd pressed closer, uncommonly aggressive and ill-tempered for mere spectators. He decided against leaving.
"Let's resume play." The dealer-manager smiled blandly at each player. He didn't suspect any one person—yet.
"He might be using an honest deck," said Cassal hopefully.
"They don't have that kind," answered Dimanche. He added absently: "During his conference with the owner, he was given authority to handle the situation in any way he sees fit."
Bad, but not too bad. At least Cassal was opposing someone who had authority to let him keep his winnings, if he could be convinced.
The dealer deliberately sat down on the stool. Testing. He could endure the charge that trickled through him. The bland smile spread into a triumphant one.
"While he was gone, he took a sedative," analyzed Dimanche. "He also had the strength of the broadcasting circuit reduced. He thinks that will do it."