Bob Bender gripped Hugh by the arm and cried hoarsely: “Hear that! the signal! They’ve advanced the time by twenty-four hours. If I’m not mistaken the ‘hold-up’ is now on.”
2.
They turned swiftly. The people at the table had left their places, and grabbing their stakes, were running in the direction of the sound. Only the croupiers sat still. These looked at one another in a rather uncomfortable way.
“Come,” said Hugh, “I want to see if it’s really Vulning.”
He ran after the others. The crowd was so dense, it was impossible to get near the victim. Hugh saw the lackeys struggling to extricate a limp form from under the table. The faces of the crowd wore a mixture of curiosity and awe; they pushed and jostled shamelessly, to get a glimpse of the suicide. The inspector, the floor director and the director of games hurried to the scene. It had been a long time since a suicide had taken place at the tables. It would make a nasty scandal.
“C’est tres embetant,” Hugh heard one of them say. He saw a lackey arrive with a black sheet to cover the corpse. Then a woman pushed her way out of the crowd; she was in a hysterical state.
“I saw him do it,” she cried. “I was sitting beside him. It was a big blonde man, a Swede, I think.”
“Look!” said Hugh, suddenly gripping Bob’s arm. “It’s true. There they come.” Almost simultaneously there were a dozen revolver shots, and a bunch of croupiers tumbled from the smaller salon, their hands in the air, their faces sick with fear.
“This is no place for me,” said Bob Bender. “They’ll shoot me at sight. I’m willing to work for the Casino, but I’m not willing to lose an inch of my skin for them.”
Bob disappeared and not a moment too soon. Hell seemed to have broken loose. With a rush and a roar a score of men burst from the small salon. They whooped as they ran, brandishing revolvers and firing in the air. Their swarthy faces were lit by the savage joy of combat. They drove every one before them; if a croupier showed a sign of resisting he was felled with the butt of a heavy revolver. But few of the croupiers resisted; most of them ran like rabbits, diving under the tables.