Glen Colliver and his party were the principal players left. The advertising man tossed a thousand-dollar bill on number nine, and lost his bet. He shrugged his shoulders, and turned his pockets inside out with a laugh.
“That finishes us,” he said. “Come along, folks. We’ll play again some other night.”
Sleek Frank Marmosa shook hands with Colliver as he left with his three companions. Then the proprietor returned, and glanced at the few players who remained, all of whom were men.
Harry could divine his thoughts. The big money was ended with Colliver’s exit. There would be no purpose in keeping on with the play.
Standing in the center of the room, Marmosa slapped his hands together as a signal that the play should end. The croupiers stopped the wheels and began to gather up the profits of the night.
Harry looked for Hymie Schultz, and saw the gangster shrug his shoulders. Four-Gun Spirak joined him, and the two men sauntered from the room, the old doorman opening the panel for them to leave.
“Hot shots, ha-ha!” laughed Joe le Blanc. “Guess they got cold feet when they saw the Homicide Twins watching them. Came in to look the place over.
“Well, they got an eyeful. Marmosa had a big night, just to make them enjoy their visit.”
He was addressing his words to Monk Thurman, but the New York gangster apparently did not hear them. He had slouched against the bar, and was half asleep, his head resting on one hand.
Harry had not observed Thurman drinking during the evening; he could not account for the man’s stupor.