The other made a deprecatory gesture with his hands. "They're cunning. The show had been running three months before we got wind of it. That was about a month ago, and we've tried every trick in the bag to get one of our men inside. There's no chance of rushing the place on a warrant either, because both front and back doors are double, and only one man is allowed to go in at a time. They won't open to two or more. Before we could get the doors down there'd not be a thing left in the place as evidence."
A gleam of temper showed in Foyle's blue eyes. "That's all very well, Mr. Penny. It won't do to tell me that you've known of this place for a month and
that it is still carried on. Why didn't you let a man try single-handed? With the door once open he could force his way in."
"I couldn't send a man on a job like that," protested the other. "Why, you don't know the place. They'd murder him before we could get at him."
He flinched away from Foyle as though afraid his superior would strike him. For the superintendent's hands were clenched and his eyes were blazing. Yet when he spoke it was with dangerous quietness.
"A man of your experience ought to know by now that it's his business to take risks. If you'd made up your mind there was no other way of obtaining evidence you should have sent a man in. Never mind that now. Take your orders from Mr. Green for the day. Green, I'll be back in an hour. I'm going into that place. Act according to your own discretion if you think I'm in difficulties."
CHAPTER XXXVII
The game of faro is one that makes no strenuous demands on the skill of the players. It is chance pure and simple, and therein lies its fascination. While baccarat or chemin-de-fer are almost invariably games to be most in favour when the police raid a gambling-house in the West End, at the other side of the town it is invariably discovered that faro holds first place in the affections of gamblers. In its simplest form it is merely betting on the turn of each card throughout a pack.