The handful was worth, Malone knew, exactly five thousand dollars.
That, he'd thought, ought to last them an evening, even in the Golden
Palace. In the center of the strip, inside the city limits of Las
Vegas itself, the five thousand would have lasted much longer—but Her
Majesty wanted the Palace, and the Palace it was.
Malone began to smile. Since he couldn't avoid the evening, he was determined to enjoy it. It was sort of fun, in its way, indulging a sweet harmless old lady. And there was nothing they could do until the next morning, anyhow.
His indulgent smile faded very suddenly.
Her Majesty plunked the entire handful of chips—five thousand dollars! Malone thought dazedly—onto the table. "Five thousand," she said in clear, cool measured tones, "on number one."
The croupier blinked only slightly. He bowed. "Yes, Your Majesty," he said.
Malone was briefly thankful, in the midst of his black horror, that he had called the management and told them that the Queen's plays were backed by the United States Government. Her Majesty was going to get unlimited credit—and a good deal of awed and somewhat puzzled respect.
Malone watched the spin begin with mixed feelings. There was five thousand dollars riding on the little ball. But, after all, Her Majesty was a telepath. Did that mean anything?
He hadn't decided by the time the wheel stopped, and by then he didn't have to decide.
"Thirty-four," the croupier said tonelessly. "Red, Even and High."
He raked in the chips with a nonchalant air.