A crowd gathered almost imperceptibly. Absorbed in the intricacies of betting, Hendley did not notice the gradual swelling of onlookers. Then, it seemed simultaneously, he became aware of increasing tension, a tightening of hidden springs within his body, and of the crowd surrounding the big table. It was unlike an ordinary gathering in one thing: its peculiar stillness. No one moved or spoke. When Hendley looked around, every eye swiveled toward him. Among the intently watching faces he saw that of the visitor, whose expression was no longer confident. He seemed puzzled. There was in the other faces a controlled anticipation that increased Hendley's nervousness. The crowd's strange silence, its air of breathless waiting, seemed somehow ominous.
He started to reach for a glass—drinks were brought regularly to the table. He'd been drinking automatically, without thinking. Now he drew back his hand. He'd already had far too much. Although his brain seemed remarkably clear, like the cloudless sky over the Freeman Camp on a cool night, he realized that that drunken clarity could be deceptive.
He gave all of his attention to his plays. Shortly after he returned to this grim concentration, the tide of the duel changed. Hendley thought he detected a fixed sequence in the robot's guesses. Betting experimentally, he won. Again. Another win. With increasing sureness he raised his bets boldly. In half a dozen plays he recouped all of his losses and more. The run continued. He couldn't lose. Then, abruptly, the pattern of the robot's moves disappeared. Hendley grinned. He had three-fourths of the chips on the table now—he had the advantage. More important, he had proved to himself that the robot was vulnerable. A machine didn't adjust as quickly as a human being, perhaps because it felt no fear.
Hearing a muttering in the crowd, Hendley stared at the ring of faces. He was surprised to see a number of the Freemen smiling at him encouragingly. So they were not all waiting for him to lose! Some of them appeared disappointed, but almost as many were pulling for him. The knowledge buoyed him tremendously.
The game dragged on. Hendley kept searching for another weakness in the robot's play, but without success. The stacks of chips became even again. Hendley kept varying his guesses, changing his bets at random from high to low number combinations, but slowly the robot drew ahead again. At last Hendley admitted to himself that, if the game went on long enough, the robot would inevitably win. But the game ended at dawn. If Hendley held out until then he could cash in his chips. He wondered how long he had been playing. Hours, it seemed. His body ached, and the continuous tension had begun to affect his nerves. That was part of the robot's strength, he thought. It was tireless. Moreover, it did not make the small errors Hendley occasionally made from carelessness or lack of concentration. With the rest of the play relatively even, these infrequent slips alone could account for the robot's superiority. It seemed clear that the robot had made corrections to prevent the one serious blunder of consistency it had made. That had been Hendley's only chance to win. Now all he could hope to do was stave off defeat until the first light of day.
The end came with the suddenness of a physical blow. Only afterward did Hendley realize that the robot, like a fighter sensing weakness and stepping up the tempo of his attack, had quickened the speed of play. Hendley lost several bets in succession. Instinct warned him that so many losses could not be accounted for by chance alone, but he was already panicking. He cut his bets down to the minimum. Still the robot won. Frantically, Hendley stalled for time as much as he could, groping for the pattern in his play that was betraying him. Now the mind which had seemed so clear and sharp was a dizzying confusion of numbers. The robot brushed aside his delaying tactics, continuing the pressure. Hendley was reduced to three chips. How long had they been playing now? How much longer did he need? If only the casino had windows so that he could see the first light in the east!
He lost again. Now chance itself worked against him. He lacked enough chips to wait out the pendulum swing of luck. He had to risk the final two chips together in a desperate attempt to gain more of a working margin. His total in the draw was high—ninety-two. Good enough to win nine times out of ten....
The crowd burst upon him, shouting, cheering, pounding him on the back. After the hours of taut silence the noise was overwhelming. Hendley couldn't understand. He'd lost. Why were they congratulating him? "Great game!" someone shouted. "Best I've ever seen!" The crowd was moving out of the casino, carrying him along with them. Someone beyond the confusion shouted a question. "—lost the big game!" came the answer. "Almost made it—there's only an hour left 'til dawn!"
A face thrust close to Hendley's, a forehead swollen and red, eyes bright with excitement. "You've still got a good chance!" the man cried. "We have to catch you before sunrise. Just an hour to hide out!"
"Hide!" Hendley gaped in bewilderment.