TO Herbert Carpenter, this new knowledge was the final word of faithlessness. Money was again entering Wheels Bryant’s coffers; yet the hidden ace had utterly neglected the man who had taken the rap!
“Waiter,” said Carpenter, in a low voice, “how can I get up to the roulette game? Do I have to see the manager?”
“No,” was the response. “I can fix it. Maybe—”
Carpenter caught the tone. He brought out a ten-dollar bill. The waiter pocketed the money.
“Wait here,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Howard Seabrook,” responded Carpenter.
The waiter walked away. He returned with a card that bore the manager’s initials. It was made out to Howard Seabrook. There was a line for the bearer’s signature.
“Just put your name on there,” whispered the waiter. “If they want to question you, verify it.”
Carpenter nodded. He walked from the Club Catalina and strolled along the board walk, until he reached the Hotel Pavilion.
In an obscure corner of the lobby, Carpenter viewed the throngs of passing guests.