Monsieur, with extraordinary daring, placed the maximum upon 6.
Six turned up.
In front of Basil Gregory was a pile of gold, still more important and significant a bundle of crinkled blue and white notes.
He took the notes up with cool deliberation, folded many of them, and put them into the breast pocket of his coat, stretched out his hand, and put the maximum upon black.
"Noir, dix-neuf," the croupier croaked, and another two hundred and forty pounds was pushed over by the rakes to add to Basil's store.
By this time almost everyone at the table was playing as Basil played.
If he staked upon an 8, the number was plastered and covered with gold and notes.
Each time he won and by now a rumour of something utterly unique had spread through the whole vast building, other and lesser punters won with him. When he was up three thousand pounds against the Bank, the Bank had lost quite seventeen thousand.
The air was electric. The word had gone round. Habitués of the Casino crowded to watch one of those extraordinary nights of play which occur now and then—far more rarely than is supposed—and which are talked about for long afterwards. New-comers joined the throng, and still Basil Gregory sat impassive in his place, conscious that he was the centre of attention, but allowing nothing whatever to divert him from his purpose.